#almost forgot that one teehee

[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[heros-shade-fanclub]

UUUUUHHHMMMM. round 2 of zeldatroid crossover because I literally cannot stop myself. samus + adam learn what a minigame is while link and midna get killed instantly in The Game Where The Air Kills You

[vien05]

I said to the community aun no beats reminds me of chosen and dark so

[hballegro]

the clock is here. all hail.

i forgot to turn antialiasing to the right settings with my pen so it is. the little numbers are chunky. thats life sometimes. just dont zoom in too hard. if i fix it, i wont make a new post abt it ill just edit it on to this one or something [and state that i did so in the post]

prev post with noclock version

and as promised here is also progress pics, harvested from when i sent screenshots to friends as i worked. as a bonus ive also included various layer names and the 5 different names the file went thru. the parts i [very lazily] painted over with dark blue had not been done yet, ergo anything with dark blue over it is just the picture itself so do not regard it

i will now be nice to myself and work on my fanfic and smaller drawings for a while. i will do eye posts sometimes still when i get a slow day and wanna do some peepers for 3 hours, i have collected many eyes [klinger, fr mulcahy, trapper, margaret, charles, hawkeye, bj. ive been busy stealing eyeballs to paint on. theyre all on one document its pretty funny]. i will be doing my best to force the cast into my style so i can do quick stuff.

i also WILL do more paintings of full shots again, but. fellas. ive done 3 back to back full paintings with no other digital art projects in between.

this has been NOT good planning lol

not sure if i should tag everything again so i will just. do so? idk i have not been on tumblr hardcore since like 2018 and have never regularly posted so idk proper etiquette. im gonna leave off characters for this one ig

[dailyhtfboards]

forgot to post an image of floothy, here it is

Huh! That’s funky actually, cus I went back and checked through Wrong Side of the Track’s boards and while there’s one other board with “Floothy” I guess we’re callin em, most of the rest have Flakes appearing normally? Buuut turns out that Toothy was originally shown entering the park in the boards and in the final episode he’s replaced with Nutty!

Considering how small Flakes role is and how Toothy was seemingly supposed to be part of the episode, it could be entirely possible that Toothy was supposed to fill Flakey’s role. Floothy might just be a funky byproduct of that. I imagine if this did actually happen it’s because it would make more sense for Flakey to be anxious about a roller coaster than Toothy.

[epictigerswag]

I feel like I got the combination of adhd and autism that means I can only enjoy things sometimes

[spearxwind]

Ok so here's my thoughts so far:

I'm adding four existent guys to Richard's side in Hollowridge for two purposes: 1. Beef up their side because atm there aren't any significant characters in it other than Richard himself and December. and also 2. Because I miss these guys and they have similar vibes (ultraviolence). [Feel free to refer to this lineup for the other HR ocs mentioned in this post]

Since some of you might know them, some of you might not I decided to draw them real quick so you have more than just names to look at :]

David (left) is an altered human, like Beial. He has two huge, fully functioning wings and ability to generate lightning to attack with. He's also got insane an self-healing ability, which makes him be able to come back from almost any wound :)

Midas (right) is an ancient corpse from the old world that is being kept alive/maintained by a bioengineered fungal colony (an organic computer made it's home inside an employee to keep working when it's mainframe failed). He's still MOSTLY himself personality-wise, but due to his lack of a head a lot if not all his memories have been obliterated. His human body is a disguise for a bigger monster form.

Engel (left) is an ex-soldier and acts as Richard's main enforcer. He has a mimic weapon called MAUL, which manifests as multiple guns that he can manipulate independently. He's clearly deranged and will use any and every opportunity to use his weapon on anyone else. He loses control of it sometimes.

Set (right) is a mystery for now :) but he's pretty strong.

This brings the total characters on each side of the conflict up to six so things are more balanced. On Dianne's side there's three people and three weapons, and on Richard's side there's a couple people, a couple weapons, and a bunch of unethical Experiments™.

Ough tomorrow if ppl are interested i can talk abt my new oc ideas from today bc Im actually really excited about them 👉👈

[kirammanswoman]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES *ੈ✩‧₊˚

part 1 part 2 (wip) part 3 (wip) masterlist

three hockey player roommates that are in desperate need of a fourth roommate after their original one moved out on a whim. a professionally trained, braniac figure skater who needs to move. what’s the worst that could happen?

hockey!vi/ellie/abby x figureskater!fem!reader

warnings: reader is mentioned to be a lesbian!!!

a/n: im back n sorry it took so long, i forgot to say i was gonna make this n smau as well TEEHEE!! also ik i made a typo on the smau portion stfu ik…IF YOU KNOW WHERE THE ART FROM THE BANNER ABOVE IS FROM PLEASE LMK I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST AND CANT FIND THE ORIGINATOR

lowercase intended, unedited.

the moment you woke up to your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums at 5 am for the tenth time this week,

you knew.

sitting up from your tousled bed sheets and wrinkled pillows, you dig through the thick comforter to find your pj pants that you lazily threw off the night before. you dont know whether it’s your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums to metallica at 5 am (he for sure hasnt slept yet) or your head, but something was pounding. as you walk over to your mini kitchen in your tiny studio apartment, formula sheets, periodic tables, and notes were sprawled across the floor from the previous night’s panicked “i have to review this now or else i’ll die of anxiety before i sleep” study session.

you took a step forward, stepped on an eraser. another step, a pencil. and one more, lo and behold you’re at your kitchen counter, after two measly, groggy steps. so small, so crammed, so stuffy.

yeah. you had to move out.

morning practices weren’t your favorite, like at all. you studied for chem the night before, now you’re getting rewarded with two hours of coach medarda nit-picking at your every move. every axel, every jump, every loop. all. of. it. being medarda’s prized figure skater out of the bunch of girls was great, i mean, you were olympic bound because of her. however, the physical repercussions that come with exhausting your body in order to move so beautifully on ice wasn’t fun. you hurriedly tamed your bed ridden hair, threw on your practice clothes, stuffed your pristine white skates in your bag and sped off. that is, before almost eating shit on your tile floor because you tripped over your air fryer that was placed on the ground because the counter was far too small to stuff it in a corner. you curse to yourself as you clutch your foot— your very important foot— and you hop outside to lock the door.

when you finally locked the door (which took ages bc the dusty ass lock is older than you are) you sped walked to your car with a one track mind, a throbbing foot, and a repetitive thought.

i have to move out. fast.

-

-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE JUST PACKED UP AND LEFT?”

“meant it how i said it you loud dipshit. her room’s empty, abby”

“yeah ellie and i tried to stop her and get an answer, i even ran out to the driveway shirtless but all she said was ‘im sorry vi but i have to go, my last payment for rent will be in for next month’ and she drove off”

the three hockey players stood in their living room, now missing a roommate, thus, missing a fourth person for rent. their former roommate, korra, insisted that she had other matters to attend to and had to move out urgently. they were perplexed, clueless, and a little angry at the sudden decision, but lo and behold, they can’t do anything about it now can they.

“alright— okay, sit down you shitheads— and put a shirt in vi, we gotta figure this out.”

“she did give us at least some allowance of time to figure something out right?” ellie responded to abby, fiddling with her silver rings. abby nodded and bit her lip while thinking if their next move.

“okay— here’s the deal.” she sat down and signaled the other two to sit as well. “i’ll ask my dad to cover the payment for the month after next month if we dont find one in time—”

“wait wait wait— what do you mean find one in time? you’re gonna go looking for a new one like a fuckass model agency recruiter?” ellie raised a brow

“no you fuckin idiot, im gonna post something on the locker room’s bulletin that we’re looking for new roommates.”

“like that’s gonna fucking find us one abby” vi scoffed

“okay listen you fuckasses— i can guarantee” she cut herself off “vi put a shirt on for fucks sake—“ she said as she threw a shirt to vi as she hurriedly threw her shirt on overtop her nike bra “im the damn captain of the team— i’ll make the rest of them look at it and convince them if we have too.”

“so— we’re taking anyone?”

“no, just hockey players”

yeah. right.

-

-

“ONE MORE TIME. CHIN UP.”

coach medardas demanding voice reverberated within the enclosed rink as you went through the last stretch of your routine again.

fuck fuck fuck ow ow ow shit shit shit—

was all you could think while repeating the final move of your routine for the fifth time now. as you hit your ending pose, medarda’s neutral face flickered a slight smile.

“good. much better. you’re free to go” she nodded you off. you thanked her and skated off the ice. everything hurt. every. single. thing. which was crazy considering you’ve been skating since 5 years old. never get used to it you suppose.

“how’s little miss perfect’s ice skating practice go?”

a voice breaks your thoughts off while you retrieve your stuff from your locker. you smile warmly at the girl with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair leaning against the door.

“hi D” you smile as you put your skates in your duffle.

“geez, medarda beat you black and blue again?” Dina asked as she walked over to one of the benches by your locker.

“black, blue, red, orange, green— the fuckin rainbow” you laughed

“ohhhh— i get it, because you’re a LESBI—” you covered dina’s mouth before she could finish.

“i swear to god—”

“no one’s here!” she muffled from her covered mouth, as she took your wrist into her hand and gently lifted it from her mouth. “plus i wasn’t actually gonna say it for real for real” she laughed.

it’s not like you had a problem with being a lesbian, fuck, if anything you thank every possible part of your existence for being attracted to women. it’s just—you had a reputation— and sometimes hiding a part of yourself was just easier to maintain that reputation. (a/n: this is fucking false, be so authentically you because you’re fucking beautiful, dont let anyone make you think otherwise. i love u.)

you shook your head at your best friends antics.

“sooo…find a place yet?” she said, fiddling with the charms on your duffle.

you sighed and scratched your forehead “no— skating and classes have been eating at my literal ass lately” you slumped at the space beside her

“babes, come on. that place is hella sketchy—“ she paused. dina never pauses. she’s always speaking, so this leads you to believe something’s turning with the gears in her head.

“anyway you need to leave soon— oh wait hold on!” she sprung up slightly. her eyes were wide and her smile was so bright it could blind people. oh no. you thought. she’s thinking. thats bad.

“you remember ellie? hockey player, short hair, green eyes, really actually very hot?” she perked up

“yea…? what about her—“ “they need a roommate!”

and there it is. a thought. from dina. she didnt even let you finish your sentence, so you didnt even let her convince you.

“no.” you deadpanned, glaring at her. “dina i refuse to room with the infamous women’s hockey trio league who probably disguised frat boys.” you started to pick up your stuff to walk out of the lockers.

“come onnnnnnn!!! its a perfect opportunity!” she walks a little behind you. “its literally falling on your lap!”

“no dina i wont—” “LOOK!” she said, as she abruptly stopped and basically yanked you by your ponytail to look at the bulletin board. with a yelp and a ‘what the fuck D!’ you stare at the slip of paper right smack dab center of the bulletin board.

“dina woodward, no.”

“dina woodward, yes.” she said as she ripped a piece of the tags hanging below with the email and number of whoever put the sign up.

what the fuck are you gonna do with her.

-

-

“see, i told you fuckers it would work.”

a sweaty, glistening abby was smirking at her roommates that were sitting on the bench. the Jackson University women’s hockey league sit at the rink’s locker room, packing up after a long practice. ellie and vi sit at the bench, staring up at at abby.

“okay?? and who is it?”

“ummm…a girl named (you)? dunno its kinda vague. she emailed ‘Good Morning, I am interested in potentially being a roommate. Let me know when and where we can discuss the details and we can decide if it’s a fit. Thank You.’”

“she sounds 45 years old.” ellie said

“and like a bossy-stuck up princess bitch” vi added, handing ellie her water bottle for her to drink out of it.

“okay shut up, she cant be that bad.”

“she’s a hockey player?” ellie asked, swinging the water bottle back like its a shot.

“she should be—“ she headed over to the bulletin board “it says here hockey players onl— oh no.” she said, while looking intently at the paper pinned to the board. abby’s eyes were hopelessly searching for where it says hockey players only.

the other two stood behind her, looking for it as well.

and alas,

nothing.

“you fucking idiot.”

-

-

after a long day of practice and a three hour lecture, you were finally fucking home.

throwing your bags onto a nearby chair by your counter, you strip off your practice clothes and make a B line to the bathroom. the relief of the hot water hitting your sore muscles felt like you were meeting an angel. truly a spiritual experience. you wash your body and hair off of the dried out sweat after practice and put on your usual giant sleep tee and headed to heat your food in the microwave. this was the usual after you got home after a long day of practice and more lectures that were frying your brain. you finally had time to relax at home.

just as you were settling down on your couch next to your cat named Dog, an email notification pinged on your phone.

📧: Abby Anderson a.anderson@email.com

Good Evening, this is Abby. I saw that you emailed about a roommate inquiry? I was wondering if you could meet at the Bison Cafe to discuss the details. Also, please feel free to leave your number so communication is more seamless. Thanks.

you’re gonna punch your best friend.

-

-

[wrioluvr]

subby vampire x dom male reader pt 2 pt 1

thank u guys for liking kliff!! he's so baby. felt kinda mean and thought about a scenario where reader is like, a regular monster fucker and poor kliff finds out he hooked up with another vampire and gets super jealous teehee... but this is wholesome tho.

content: reader is kind of a player, blowjob (reader receiving), reader loves tormenting the poor old man, more plot-focused than pure smut

★ ; 🦇🍷. . ♱

after visiting kliff at his crumbling manor a few more times, you decided that you were getting tired of making the trip out into the woods everytime, and invited him over to your house instead, an invitation he eagerly accepted. though he kept a calm composure, inwardly, his thoughts were running wild - he would finally be able to bask in a whole home full of your scent.... maybe even steal a few small trinkets he could toy with whenever he felt lonely... or... or even get a feel of your bed, where he fantasised about waking up next to you and spending the rest of his days as your faithful househusband. oh, how delightful.

"thank you ever so much for allowing me to enter your abode. i am most honoured." thanking you profusely, he elegantly sat down on your sofa, only to immediately scrunch up his face in discomfort. you stared at him, puzzled. "what's wrong? you don't like my home?"

"no, no... it's not that... it's just that... this scent is so familiar. in an unnverving way..." he mumbled, talking to himself. suddenly, a look of recognition, mixed with horror, dawned on his face. "correct me if i'm wrong, but... there's not a chance you've had another vampire over.... is there?"

"oh! i forgot you vampires have a heightened sense of smell. yeah, i hooked up with another vampire like, 3 weeks ago." you said nonchantly, like it was the most insignificant thing ever. kliff merely gaped at you, aghast at your casualness. "so... so... i'm not your first vampire relationship?" he asked meekly, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

"well, yes. i dated, hmm...." you start to list them on your fingers. "two vampires, one werewolf, one merman... oh, right, and one evil ass fairy. he was mean."

poor kliff looked like he was about to collapse, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. thankfully he was sitting down, otherwise he would have fallen over. "where on earth do you even find these creatures?"

"i get around."

"and you never thought to mention this?!"

"i mean, i didn't really think it was important..."

kliff sighed, suddenly feeling a little insecure at his complete lack of romantic experience in contrast to your many flings. "may i at least see what your past vampire suitors looked like?" he didn't want to admit it, but he was suddenly feeling very clingy, even more than usual. he had to be better than all your exes! so that you wouldn't leave him like you left them!

"sure. here you go." you pull out your phone and show him a picture, only for kliff to gasp loudly and clutch his chest even tighter. what a drama queen.

"HIM."

"you know him??"

"that little whore was going around sleeping with every man and woman in town a hundred years ago! i cannot BELIEVE he is still so promiscuous in this day and age. he even seduced you..."

"woah! language, kliff!"

kliff stops mid-ramble and clears his throat in embarassment. "my apologies. this is most uncouth of me. i do not know why i am getting so frustrated over this. the two of you are not seeing each other anymore, correct?"

"yes. you're the only one i'm seeing right now."

"and, if i may be so bold to inquire,,,, how was he like as a lover?"

"he was kinda annoying." kilff let a smirk escape his lips upon hearing this. "i knew it-" "the head was good though."

"what- what does 'head' mean?"

"he sucked my dick." you say bluntly.

"oh, good heavens."

"don't be a prude! wait... kliff, are you jealous of him?"

"i most certainly am not."

"at your big age? please be serious." you tease, amused at how possessive he suddenly got.

"do NOT make fun of me. i said i'm not." the pout adorning his face said otherwise.

kliff barely noticed it, but slowly he inched closer and closer to you, eyes scanning your neck as he frantically searched for bite marks.

"did he bite you anywhere? did it hurt? you must know, i would never even consider drinking from you, right?" he took your hand, eyes searching desperately for validation, any form of praise that indicated you thought he was the better vampire.

you rolled your eyes. "jeez, kliff. i didn't take you for the possessive type. don't worry, none of my previous vampire lovers have drunk from me."

that did little to reassure him, since he was on the same page. "then... then... i must be better at this 'head' thing!" he declares, face full of misplaced determination. you almost double over laughing.

"it's not a competition! my god, you're so unserious."

"it does not matter to me! i must be better than that lustful shame of a vampire at every aspect. especially since we are of the same species."

"okay, okay. calm down. i'll let you try."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

"just let me know you can't breathe or whatever. i'll guide you through your first time, yeah?" kliff nods, a blush extremely prominent on his undead features as he knelt between your thighs. he quite enjoyed this... submissive position.

"also- watch the fangs." the authoritative, yet gentle tone of your voice sent shivers down his spine.

he himself could be considered a monster, but he paled in comparison to the monster that sprung out of your pants once he clumsily undid the zipper. kliff gasped, a look of pure lust and nervousness written all over his expression as your slightly erect cock hovered over his face.

"so... basically... you just put it inside your mouth, then start sucking it. easy enough, right? come on, don't tell me you've never heard of a blowjob in your entire existence."

"of course i have..... i admit, i own quite a bit of... erotic fiction." he mumbles, eyes still on your cock, cheeks growing redder by the second. "but, goodness, it's so different seeing a real phallus up close. especially one of your size."

"phallus??? just say cock."

"mhm...." he hesitates, unsure where to even begin. flustered, he looks up imploringly, silently begging for you to guide him.

you chuckle at his frozen state, completely at a loss on what to do. "so needy. i'll help you."

tenderly, you run a hand through his soft hair, applying just a little bit of power to tug his head forward, guiding him to your tip. obediently, he opened his mouth, taking the shaft inside. it was warm, his rough tongue grazing over your tip, causing you to grip his hair a little tighter. kliff let out a masochistic moan in response. slowly, he ventured further down your length, but unable to reach the base without gagging. he looked up at you with apologetic eyes, but you squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was doing well. "good job, kliff. you're a natural." spurred on by your praise, kliff found a lewd rhythm, mouth bobbing up and down in a continuous passionate attempt to make you feel good.

your small grunts of pleasure kept him going. panting, you ask, "you sure you've never done this before, kliff? you're so good." he frantically shakes his head, mouth still full of cock, as if the idea that he engaged in such intimate acts with anyone but you was horrifying. he was loyal like that. it was intoxicating, the head only vampires could provide - fangs lightly grazing your cock's sensitive areas, the slight thrill unmatched. merman head was sloppy, werewolf head was rough, but vampire head was a little dangerous. you liked that.

soon enough, you were about to cum. you warned him, patting his shoulder twice, he vigorously nodded, giving you permission to cum inside his mouth. he'd only ever been used to having blood in his mouth, so having your cum inside instead was a new experience. but he liked it. maybe a little too much, as he swallowed it so enthusiastically. you gazed upon him affectionately, finding his virgin excitement over such lewd matters endearing.

"how was i?" the breathless question hung in the air, a reminder of the atmosphere thick with your intertwined tension.

cupping his face with one hand, the other stroking his hair soothingly, you muttered the words he most wanted to hear. "you were better than him."

kliff jumps into your arms, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. "thank you. you're the absolute best." he's so content to spend the rest of his days with you. treat him with care, yeah?

>ᵥᵥ< 💘

tags: @4eaever @szapizzapanda @flyingsquids @vampmasc

omg i'm so happy with this one, one of my fav writings i've ever done so far. i felt like i characterised kliff and captured their dynamic quite well here hehehe

[angel4astraea]

꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ft. athletic trainer!hajime iwaizumi ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ content warnings: sfw/nsfw work, petnames used (angel, sweetheart, pretty, baby), praise, car sex teehee, female pronouns used. ꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ a/n: RAAAGHHH, i swear im not ovulating!! inspired by this: nsfw link

Firm believer that Hajime Iwaizumi is a perfect man. Let me explain:

Hajime would do whatever you’d ask him to in a heartbeat, just use manners and your big eyes to rope him in. If you need him to carry bags or boxes? He’s in, let him use his muscles to do the heavy work, angel. What about picking up groceries you forgot? Send him the list and he’s got it, right down to the right brand so that his girl’s cravings are satiated. Oh, the time you rolled your ankle while trying to keep up with him on the morning run? He carried you on his back the rest of the way without a single complaint. 

That’s how whipped he would be.

Hell, he even wears his own promise ring around his left ring finger to shoo off women trying to flirt with him. Hajime is dedicated to the pretty lady who waits for him to return from his work. Though, he hopes to have a wedding ring of his own after he finds the right ring to propose to you. God, he’d love to have a small gemstone in his thick ring that reminds him of your eyes.

Hajime would find other ways to satiate you. 

If you needed him biblically after seeing him try on suits for a friend’s wedding, he’d oblige. The look in your eyes would be telling him to hurry up, pick the one you like and let’s get out of here. And he doesn’t need more than five minutes.

“Haj,” You plead, “Hurry..” 

God, he was going to lose his mind before he even kissed you. 

Hajime had parked behind some stores, somewhere secluded. He made sure the emergency break was on before reaching over and pushing your seat back. Without much thought of how elegant it was going to be, he climbed over the centre console and into the space before your seat. A little cramped, but better than driving another twenty minutes and barely making it into the front door. 

He took another quick glance around outside before leaning down for a hungry kiss. His teeth nipped your bottom lip, dragging the glossy skin out while you whined in protest. The ache between your legs almost hurt, hips bucking to meet his clumsily. That’s when he pulled away to strip the skirt you were wearing, alongside those turquoise panties, tossing them both onto the driver’s seat. 

Hajime groaned when he felt how warm and slick you were already, all from eye fucking him in the tailor and a little kissing. “Perfect, so perfect sweetheart.” He said softly before working you open on his fingers: one, then two fingers, three after a few minutes. Curling them with some light force was enough to make your toes curl and thighs clamp around his hips. 

Removing his fingers from your warmth, it felt like grief. Though, through kisses he promised to make the ache go away. He always does, especially when it brings tears to your eyes. Hajime undid his belt and buttons, sliding his cock past his boxers and taps the tip against your clit. Once, twice, then thrice. Your hips twitch, sensitive nerves haywiring your brain. So close to getting what you want, no, need.

Pushing in, Hajime drops his forehead to your shoulder. His right hand keeps him from crushing you, gripping the middle compartment. He starts off slow, testing the waters while observing your face. 

“How you feelin’, hm?” He starts, tone low but knowing. “Feel good, angel?” 

Oh god, he might kill you too. You nod and let your limbs relax, already feeling like jell-o. When he saw your little nod, he smirked softly and began to move his hips a little faster. The sound of skin hitting skin was loud in the cramped space, fog creeping up the windows. Small praises hit your ears, but did it sink in much? No, not when he was making you cream on him.

“Doin’ so well..” 

“C’mon pretty, take what you need..”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m all yours.”

Gentle words and never mean, that’s how Hajime was. It always hit the spot, well, other than his tip inside you. It wasn’t much longer with his tip hitting the little spot inside of you until you twitched, squeaked and wriggled around in the seat. White cream formed around the base of his cock, a medal of the sort from his meticulous work. 

With a rather deep thrust, it sent you over the edge. Your hands gripped his biceps tightly, nails paid by him digging into his skin. His lips found yours as he slowed down, your walls milking him for his worth. 

“Fuck, baby.” He laid his head on your shoulder before pulling out, reaching to open the middle console. Baby wipes saved a lot of time with clean up, calloused hands cleaning you gently, words cooed at you for being so good, so patient. 

Yeah, he’s a fucking dream.

[yunwangja]

���｡°✩ unrecognized, part 3 °｡⋆

kenma kozume x fem!reader

things went so much that a month passed by with kenma after he confessed to you that night, but you've never really talked about it yet.

➤ masterlist

genre: fluff, romance

tags: kenma x fem!reader, univ setting, fluffy ! DAMN KENMA (yes that's a tag)

notes: i think you'll be a bit lost if you haven't read the first two parts so i recommend you to please do so ! this is the final part of unrecognized, i hope you guys like it <3 nothing left to say teehee

“again.”

you don’t even get the chance to respond before he leans in once more, brushing his lips against yours like it's the easiest thing in the world.

he tilts his head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss with slow, unhurried intent. his hand lifts to cradle your face gently—his thumb strokes the curve of your cheek, grounding you even as the world around you seems to melt into a hazy blur.

then he pulls away, but not without stealing one more kiss. a final, teasing peck, like punctuation to the moment. he smiles as he does it too, something soft and a little smug pulling at his lips.

you… well… again…

you don’t even know how this became your life.

it’s been over a month since he first came over to your dorm, unexpectedly, takeout bags in hand, his usual hoodie slung over one shoulder like it belonged there.

you remember the way the light from your laptop glowed in the dim room, how the movie you picked played mostly as background noise while you talked.

that night was easy. great, even. it felt like pressing play on something long overdue.

from there, it unfolded naturally. he got your number, finally. and suddenly, he was around more—dropping by during your breaks, claiming the seat next to you in the library during your empty hours, walking beside you on grocery runs like it was the most normal thing in the world.

little by little, kenma threaded himself into the fabric of your life. until one day, you looked up and realized—he was already a part of it.

and then, things like this started happening.

this wasn’t even the first time, to be honest. you’ve learned a lot about kenma in the past few weeks, but something that stood out almost immediately was how smooth he could be when he wanted to.

he had a quiet way of slipping past your defenses, like water finding the smallest crack. it was the same energy he brought when he first kissed you—no warning, just his arms around your waist and his mouth on yours like he knew exactly where he belonged.

you couldn’t even blame him. not when you were just as guilty. and here you are again, limbs tangled on your couch in another one of these slow-burning, heart-thudding makeout sessions that leave your mind a little scrambled.

you like it. all of it. the way your life has shifted in this short span of time, the way it feels more full somehow. more real.

but even now, a question quietly stirs at the back of your mind. it’s been hovering there for a while now, unspoken and unaddressed:

where are you two right now?

it always seemed this unspoken thing between the two of you. the progression of the past month was definitely not forced—it did seem you both wanted it. it felt so effortless, so natural, like following a current.

huh. you got lost in all of these that you forgot to talk it through with him.

“again.”

he’s leaning in again, clearly not done with you yet, but you gently press your palm against his chest, holding him back. not forcefully—just enough.

“wait.”

kenma pauses, just barely, his golden eyes flicking up from your lips to your eyes. he looks a little confused, but he doesn’t move away completely.

“hmm?”

you take a breath. his closeness makes it harder to think, so you shift slightly, putting a bit more space between you. even then, you’re still facing him, your fingers curling slightly against his hoodie as you search for the right words.

“what… what’s happening?”

he tilts his head, like a cat hearing something unfamiliar.

“huh? we’re making out.”

his answer is so matter-of-fact, so kenma, it almost makes you laugh. but instead, you sigh and try again.

“no, i know that, just—” you falter, glancing away for a moment as you try to collect your thoughts.

you can tell he’s waiting for you to finish, to explain yourself, but under his quiet gaze, you falter. the words don’t come as smoothly as you want them to. you shake your head.

“nevermind. let’s just talk about it later.”

you try to move past it, leaning in this time, but it’s his turn to stop you. he places his hand gently against your arm.

“what’s on your mind?”

his voice is softer now. more careful. he looks at you with real concern, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with the lightest touch.

“tell me.”

and god, you’re so weak for him when he’s like this.

“i mean,” your voice comes out quieter now, a little uncertain, “i guess we just never talked about... all of this.”

“what do you mean?”

“just…” you hesitate again, then push forward. “i feel like things have gone so fast we forgot to confirm what we are or something.”

you take a breath, eyes locked on him. “i mean, things are going great, but what is… us? what do you think?”

he listens. you see it in the way his eyes focus, the way he sits up straighter, more attentive now.

“i want to know what’s in your mind, kenma.”

a pause.

“i see.”

he shifts his weight a little, propping his elbow on the back of the couch as he faces you more fully. when he speaks, it’s after a moment of thoughtful silence.

“well, i guess, i’m… happy.”

happy? that’s it?

“that’s such a basic answer, but honestly, that’s what i’m thinking right now.”

he chuckles a little, looking toward the ceiling as if trying to put the right words together.

“up until a month ago, i used to be your acquaintance. i was just the guy who tagged along with your friend’s boyfriend… mostly so i could catch a glimpse of you.”

that makes your heart stop for a second. you weren’t expecting that.

“it was like i was close, but still far. and i hated it. i wanted to do something about it. i kept waiting for the chance.” he looks back at you now, eyes warm with memory.

“and then that night i talked to you, it happened.”

he laughs quietly, like he’s reliving it.

“did you know i was panicking inside before i followed you to the kitchen?”

you blink at him. “really?”

“of course.” he grins, a little bashful now. “it was my first proper conversation with you and i was going to tell you that i thought you were really pretty.”

your heart stutters.

you always thought he said that so casually that night. as if it meant nothing. but now…

“when i left the room i had to calm myself down. kuroo thought i was having a panic attack.”

you burst into laughter, and he smiles at the sound. it’s quiet, but genuine.

“but i’m happy i did that. after i talked to you, it’s like a big burden was off my chest. it felt easier, i guess.”

he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. he stares at them for a second, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“well, that’s what i think.”

you stay quiet, watching him.

“i’m sorry if we haven’t talked about it. maybe i got too distracted with everything, too,” he murmurs, “but also… i get kind of panicky whenever i think about formally asking you to be my girlfriend. it’s stupid.”

you tilt your head, an amused look rising on your face.

“but you can kiss me as soon as you burst through my dorm?” you tease, lifting an eyebrow.

he shrugs, smiling. “well, i’m better in action.”

then he shifts, gaze locking with yours again. this time, there’s no hesitation in his expression. only clarity.

“and before we continue that—” he leans a little closer, still holding your hand.

“yn. can you be mine?”

you can’t help it—you grin. your cheeks warm as you chuckle, your fingers tightening slightly around his.

“i think i’ve been yours since that night, kenma.”

he lets out a breath of laughter, his smile soft and full of quiet relief. he looks down for a second, like he’s grounding himself in this moment. then he looks back at you.

“good.”

the silence that settles after is anything but awkward. his hand is warm on your waist, your other hand resting over his heart. everything around you feels still, like time itself is pausing to give you room to breathe this in.

you’re actually here with him. this close. and it feels… right.

you didn’t feel uncomfortable at all—which was weird, maybe. given that your first proper conversation was his confession, you thought you’d be more on guard about him.

but you’re not. since that encounter, he was all over your mind. and you’re feeling all of these things.

you feel steady. safe. at ease in a way that surprises you.

you want to get even closer. to curl up against him and stay like that for hours. you want to tell him how you spent your afternoon obsessively looking up that obscure artist he had playing from his phone the other day.

you want to listen to his stories. you wanted to hear more from him. you wanted to know his thoughts, and make you wonder why it took you this long to get to know him better.

you want everything. everything about him.

“kenma.”

he’s still looking at you.

“hmm?”

“thank you.”

his brows raise slightly. “what for?”

you don’t answer right away. instead, you bury yourself in his neck, breathing in the warmth of him. he stiffens for a moment—caught off guard—but then he relaxes, wrapping his arms around you with a quiet sigh.

“for talking to me that night,” you murmur against his skin. “i’m happy i got to know you like this.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, your lips tugging into a small, sincere smile.

“and i want to get to know you more. until i know every single thing about you.”

kenma chuckles quietly, heart thudding beneath your hand.

“alright.”

he leans down again, lips brushing yours with a tenderness that speaks volumes.

and this time, when he kisses you, it feels like a beginning.

[hihomeghere]

megan, sweet sunshine, i have a soft request for you with our darling strong man. 🥺

can i please request #12, #13, #54, #55, & #61 with charles? i need some tooth-rotting fluff with this man in my life. it’s what makes my heart happy. 🤍

thank you dearly! i am so beyond excited to see what you come up with here!

Charles Smith / Reader

Jay, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! Hope you had a geat thanksgiving, smooches <3

Word count : 1k, a lil guy Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” Warnings/tags : Readers gender is unspecified, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ear, Charles is shirtless teehee, Charles Smith x reader, mention of guns, reader has repressed feelings whoops, Charles is a sweetheart, let me know if I forgot any. Divider by @saradika

The sunlight creepy through the sliver in the tent flaps, rousing you from your sleep. You groaned, turning your head to bury your face in your pillow. Only to be met by a solid wall of body heat. You blinked your eyes open, squinting slightly against the harsh glare of the sun. A dark hand raised to block the sun from your eyes. You couldn't help the smile that spreads across your face as your eyes landed on Charles. Both of you stared at each other for a moment or two before he broke the silence. His deep baritone, rumbling through his chest.

“You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” He hummed. That was something you simultaneously loved and hated about Charles. He always spoke his mind, he didn’t beat around the bush or try to save feelings. You appreciated his honesty in a world so overrun with deceit, especially in your kind of business. 

It was refreshing, but at the same time, you had no idea how to combat it. So when you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, all you could do was bury your face in his bare chest. He laughed, soft and sweet as he wrapped his arms around you.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as he ran his hands up and down your spine. 

“Sleeping with you was the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” You replied, his honesty was infectious. It made you want to speak your mind more often. Which after years and years of lying to survive, was a dangerous thought. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

What the two of you had was new. Only having confessed your feelings three weeks ago. Although it felt like a lifetime. It was easy with Charles, like breathing. Nothing had ever been this easy. You pulled back, meeting his near obsidian eyes. You pressed your lips to his, and it was like coming home. Like this is how it was meant to be. Like you were one person, torn apart at the beginning of time, destined to find each other. Destined to be one, once more. He engulfed you, pressing you back against the bedroll as he moved on top of you. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked up at him. 

“You cold sweetheart?” He mumbled against your lips, “Here, take my blanket.” He said pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he covered the both of you. A sly grin spread across his lips.

“You are something else.” You chuckled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He hummed in agreement, laying almost his full body weight on you. You let out a soft sigh, running your fingers up and down his warm back. Your ears perked up as you heard him mumble something into your neck. “Hm?” You asked softly.

“I like watching you sleep.” He mumbled, a bit clearer this time.

“The hell are you talking about?” You laughed, turning your head at an awkward position to look down at him.

“You look so much softer,” He said, propping himself up on his arm, “so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep.” He didn’t meet your eyes as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish you looked like that all the time.” 

You knew what he meant. You wished the same thing. Wished that you were safe, that you didn’t have to constantly be on guard. Ready for the next attack, your fingers itching for your pistol or shotgun, just in case. A world where you had a real bed, in a real house, not some flimsy tent. A world where Charles and you could have something together, a family.

“So you want me to be unconscious all the time?” You teased weakly, trying to make light of the very heavy meaning to his words. If it was anyone else, they probably would have laughed along and dropped the subject. 

But Charles wasn’t anyone else.

“I want you to be safe.” He clarified, even though he didn’t need to. Your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked up at him, finding his piercing gaze already trained on you. And it was like time had stopped. Like some higher being had frozen the world outside of the little tent the two of you shared. You swore that even the birds stopped their chorus as you stared into his eyes. Searching for some type of deception, something to prove to yourself that this was too good to be true.

But you couldn’t find anything. 

Instead his hand moved to gently wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. 

“Sorry.” You chuckled wetly, shaking your head. 

“It’s alright.” He cooed softly, almost like he was comforting a small child. ”You don’t… you don’t have to be this ‘tough outlaw’ with me.” He said with a small smile, “You can just be you, just y/n.” He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. Your throat felt tight as you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his breath puffing against your cheek. His scent, a deep spice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The heat that seemed to radiate off him like a fire, like he was blaze within. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and for the first time in your life you actually meant it. He chuckled softly, a smile spreading across his lips.

“I love you too.” He hummed, his words carrying so much weight with so little effort. He spoke like he was merely saying hello to a passerby, like he meant it.

“Charles-“ You started, the rest of the words left unsaid, hanging in the air. That you didn’t want to have to be so damn tough all the time, that you wanted security. That you wanted a home, that you wanted Charles. That you wanted him forever. 

“I know.” He mumbled, and you believed him. “I said I’d take care of you didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You agreed breathlessly, “you did.” 

[tojisun]

oki but this is sooo biker!simon after that first hookup you two had!! (this is a silly ramble based on the vid teehee)

biker!simon (ghost) riley x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; D/s; sexting :’> // biker!simon mlist

you left with your number saved in his phone and his number saved in yours – simon having been the one to type it in. he named himself in your contacts as ‘simon 🏍️’ then got too shy at its obnoxiousness so he renamed it to ‘simon’ only.

(you later changed it to ‘si <3’ anyway).

simon sends the first message, unable to wait.

“hope you got home safe.” <

he would’ve dropped you home if he could, but simon understands why you preferred to keep your location a secret from him.

he waits for your reply, which arrives thirty minutes later.

> “thank you!! and i just got home, safe and sound <3”

simon almost chokes at the giddiness that lodged in his throat, his fingers trembling as he sends his reply.

the conversation picks up after that, mutual awkwardness breaking as friendship begins to bloom. you two try to make up plans, but your schedules never synced up and it left simon starving. aching with a heavy desire because he wants to see you again. wants to be with you again.

he wonders if you felt the same way. if you ache for his touch. for his body. if you lay on your bed at night, tracing at your skin, reminiscing the way simon pressed kisses into your soft corners and tender flesh.

simon wonders if you do. hopes that you do.

because even though he knows how much you’ve whispered how you love him, he had chucked it to your delirium; had told himself that it was a spur of the moment thought in fear that you would actually reject him.

so it came to him as a surprise when you sent him a… sensual message. nothing too conspicuous, but something that set him ablaze.

> “i miss the way you held me.”

simon stares at the message, going breathless as the memories return to him full force. it’s not like simon forgot – he knows he can never – but he’s been trying to push it in the back of his mind to pursue a more innocent relationship with you.

because you deserve more than a series of messages full of the ways he’d promise to fuck you – positions, places, and the amount of times he’d make you cum just with his mouth. because you deserve more than just words. words that aren’t even spoken, just typed.

and yet, he couldn’t help himself. he types in his reply, his mind overtaken by a fog that settles within his blood, mingling with reason.

“i miss you too, sweet girl.” <

simon breathes in, his mind shackled by the memory of your heat wrapped around him, and adds:

“miss the way you moaned for me.” <

he doesn’t hesitate when he sends this but simon does feel a twinge of guilt when he finally sees it in the message thread, something that snaps him outside of the fog just long enough to feel the way he’s been tightly gripping on his phone.

because what if this was too much? was he supposed to just hint at what happened? to dance around the tension until you two finally get to meet? to-

> “i miss how you filled me up.”

“fuck,” simon whispers to himself as he stares at your message, his voice a ragged timbre of his devastation. he almost drops his phone on the floor, seized by the greatness of his desires that is pumping blood to his ears and into his cock.

he swipes his eyes along your message once again, unearthing the sound of your voice from his memories as he envisions the way you would’ve said this – breathy, whimper-y, broken. your throat having been thoroughly used by simon.

“fuck,” he repeats, adjusting himself underneath his sweats before sending his reply.

“i filled you good, didn’t i, princess? kissed somewhere deep in you. deeper than anyone has ever reached.” <

simon feels like a fucking depraved teenager at the way his cock jumped just at the mere sight of the speech bubble appearing on your end, showing him that you’re typing up a response. he stares at his screen intently as though willing it to finally reveal the earth-shattering reply he knows you’re going to send, only to see the speech bubble disappear completely.

he blinks, confused, and restarts his messaging app at the thought that it’s glitching. when it finally reloads, simon tries not to drown in his disappointment when he sees no new received replies from you.

his fingers twitch, apology already forming from the back of his mind, ready to be typed out. he bounces his legs, worrying over the appropriate words to use because he truly is sorry. he-

a notification ping shakes him from his thoughts and simon realizes that his phone had turned off amidst his spiral. he breathes in shakily, gulping when he sees your contact name flashing on the screen – ‘princess’ – and taps at your icon.

oh.

“oh,” simon repeats out loud, his voice a warbled croak.

because who wouldn’t be breathless at this?

this being an image of you in nothing but simon’s zip-up jacket, the one that he lent you from that one fateful night when you two met up. it falls just past your pelvis, giving him a good glimpse of your thighs only to cut just above your knees, a grave loss that resonated with simon as he honest to god whimpers. it’s not zipped up all the way, stopping like a low v-cut on your chest which shows enough of your cleavage and your pretty tits that simon’s throat constrict in his thirst.

simon’s greedy eyes almost bypass your other message:

> “i wish you can tear my clothes off me again.”

he groans, feeling his cock leak from your message; from seeing you love his rough side.

he has to grip his phone as his unrelenting mind wanders, imagining the way he’d rip that jacket off your beautiful body. the way he wouldn’t even fully shrug it off you because simon wants to take you that way – surrounded with everything of him. his cock buried in your cunt, his hands braced on either side of your face, and his clothes grazing the skin with which his hands can’t caress. simon wants to envelope you with all that he is. with all that you will allow him to give.

fuck. he wants you. he needs you.

simon has to breathe through his mouth as he sends you a reply, choosing careful words to express his intention.

(but not to express the twinge of his darkness. of his possessiveness. not yet, anyway.)

“i’d do that and more, sweetheart.” <

he licks his lips, fingers hovering above his screen. thinking. hesitating. making up his mind. then, sending:

“wanna see what you do to me? how you make me so fucking hard?” <

simon absolutely moans at your beautiful, submissive reply:

> “yes, please.”

(what a good girl. and simon doesn’t even need to teach you how to be one. god, aren’t you just too perfect for him?)

[queerholmcs]

bbc sherlock episodes ranked based on their mycroft holmes scenes 🌂

14. unaired pilot. zero mycroft holmes. thank god they transitioned to the 90-minute format for the real thing. 0/10.

13. the blind banker. no mycroft holmes screen time. sad! (the text conversation with M at the very end, however...) 1/10.

12. the hound of baskerville. his baby brother breaks into an army base using his id card and his response is to roll his eyes, send a handful of questioning texts, and then give him 24 hours unrestricted access anyway. it's sweet! but the jim-mycroft bit at the end should have been fleshed out a bit more. who cares about about a glowing rabbit when jim moriarty is scratching sherlock's name into the walls of a cell that mycroft put him in. come on! 4/10.

11. the abominable bride. this one would be higher but the fatsuit thing is weird. but at least we get "did you understand it? the murderous jealousy." and all of his "i care so much but i'm really not very good at showing it" on the plane and don't even get me STARTED on the state of his tie! 5/10.

10. the empty hearse. he puts on his silly little outfit and learns serbian to go bring his little brother back home! and then pretends to be surprised that sherlock is interested in the current state of john watson and literally nothing else? okay. and then they play chess i mean operation and he can't handle a broken heart (how very telling!) and then they play deductions because secretly he is pleased to see you, underneath all that. 5/10. WAIT no sorry i almost forgot about the les mis phone call at the end. 6/10.

9. the sign of three. yes i know he's technically barely in this one but the phone call at the start of the reception is fun and the treadmill/sex/filing joke is silly and his role in sherlock's little mind palace scenes is exquisite! like yayyyyy there he is, guiding people to the right answer, one leading question at a time! 7/10.

8. his last vow. christmas dinner is the highlight of the episode tbh. i mean i'm kidding but only sort of. we get to see him having domestic little moments with his parents and then he's standing outside smoking with his brother asking him to refuse a suicide mission in eastern europe and "here be dragons"... it's literally sooooo..... and he gets thrown out of baker street by force teehee! and that's before we even address his appearance in sherlock's mind palace as he's attempting not to die. "what was directly behind you as you were being murdered?" and "don't go into shock, obviously." and that little bit more insight into sherlock's relationship with him. and he gets an actual on-screen interaction with greg lestrade, so that's fun! 9/10.

7. the great game. this is where the show really kicks off when you're watching from the beginning imo. soooo many fun little moments with him... turning up at baker street after that explosion to try and get sherlock to look at a case and so we get to see them interact as brothers but that's nothing compared to what we get to see between mycroft and john... "what's he like to live with? hellish, i imagine" and "sherlock's business is booming since you and he became... pals" and then john gets all dressed up to go and see mycroft about the case because sherlock puts his best man onto it and. it's all just very fun for me. 10/10.

6. the lying detective. could use more mycroft tbh but what we get is absolute top-tier stuff... the little scene where they're all tracking sherlock's phone and he comes in to see for himself and makes a comment about how he needed the excuse to stop talking to the prime minister, and then he calls john up in the middle of the night about it because everything's about sherlock and there's his little "the fact that i'm his brother changes absolutely nothing. it didn't the last time and i can assure you it doesn't with—" and i think it's super fun! and then the spooks scene in baker street where the skull is replaced with a black box and he detests conversation in the past tense and mrs hudson hisses at him to "get out of my house, you reptile"... once again, top-tier stuff! 10/10!

5. a scandal in belgravia. we get the really fun sibling rivalry stuff at buckingham palace and on top of that we get that brotherly warning of "all lives end, all hearts are broken. caring is not an advantage" and then jim sends him a text and we get a gorgeous little diva down moment and then there's still the flight-that-never-takes-off "a damsel in distress. in the end... are you really so obvious? because this was textbook. the promise of love. the pain of loss. the joy of redemption. then give him a puzzle and watch him dance" speech??? AND he makes john cancel his christmas plans (and get dumped) because he's worried about sherlock??? 11/10. i'm going to throw up.

4. the six thatchers. where do i even begin... the episode opens with the hlv flashback to "my brother is a murderer" and then two minutes later mycroft is in a secret office handing out secret files saying "a d-notice has been put on the entire incident. no-one [but us] will ever know the whole truth." and then there's the agra wikipedia quote my beloved and that entire scene is just. MWAH! opens with a mirrored shot and he's got his feet kicked up on his desk and he's twirling a pen in his hand and "i love an acronym. all the best secret societies have one" with that stupid smirk on his face. and then he just sort of stands there and watches while mary dies at the end! so it's fun. 10/10. i might have to write a book about it.

3. a study in pink. we bring the plot to a screeching halt halfway through the episode (thank you so much hbomb for that insightful analysis) to introduce sherlock's older brother who's only even in like two stories from the canon and who is here portrayed by none other than the programme's co-creator himself so that he can stand in front of you and tell you that john watson is a little liar and that sherlock holmes and dr watson are freak4freak. 10/10 no notes.

2. the reichenbach fall. truly the episode of all time. no it's still not enough to top tfp but come on. my man gives jim moriarty sherlock's life story and has to confess all of this to none other than john watson himself and then has the audacity to say "tell him i'm sorry. would you?" and after the fall itself they show him reading a tabloid paper in the diogenes club. because god forbid he put himself in a place where silence is not tradition, where he might be asked to use his words to discuss that which has just transpired. 10/10, no notes. (i mean. hm. actually i have rather a lot of notes on this. but we don't have time to get into that here.)

and coming at number 1: the final problem. he's got an old-school cinema room in his house and an umbrella-sword-gun and "who was it said, truth is rarely pure and never simple?" and "say thank you to dr watson. he talked me out of lady bracknell. this could have been very different." and "memories can resurface. wounds can reopen. the roads we walk have demons beneath, and yours have been waiting for a very long time" and "heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but i can give you a map reference for hell." and "colloquially it is known as the patience grenade" (and he's authorised the purchase of quite a number of those but he'll still retch at the sight of blood) and i think i need to go and lie down now so everyone say thank you mark! 13/10. absolutely delicious. mwah!

[soupetiedee]

Empty space EURGHH…

I know I’m extremely busy, but I can’t force myself not to draw online every once in a while (every week), plus it calms me down and everything (it does not but I love it anyway).

I’m very skeptical of this one because I have no idea if I forgot something; the point of this process was to leave it imperfect so it’s kinda dumb to look for mistakes. I gave up on trying to make it look anatomically accurate and it’s doing wonders on my mental health teehee..

I really like the hands so I did a focus on them too and I also put the rita galv version of the signature because it’s so good looking man :/…

I like to think Adam has calloused hands covered in paper cuts and other scrapes. I dunno, seems like a pretty alternate thing to not care about your physical body lol. Also he probably smells like cigarettes and Xanax - like… a very artificial, almost repulsive scent y’know?

Also I wonder if I’ll find this on Pinterest in three days… like the only art I’ve seen so far reposted there was my John Ward fanart. It’s kind of flattering tbh but only because I know there my giant ass signature on it. Also btw if you want to like…use my arts in pfps, edits (my art’s not good enough to go in edits but who knows lol) etc, you can as long as you tell me!!! :)))

Okay that’s it bye

[dearjoons]

🛟 LIFEGUARD!JUNGKOOK HEADCANNONS

warnings: lifeguard!jungkook x lifeguard!reader. part-time summer job. yes, he’s a teenager with a full sleeve tattoo. ignore the logic. reader is a gorgeous baddie (just like you). he has a PHHAATTT crush on reader. teehee

lulu speaks: SOMEBODY SEDATE ME BEFORE I JUMP ON THAT CHLORINE INFESTED DICK 🤑🤑

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who notices when the pre-teen girls do flips and jump in the pool in “cool” ways to try and get his attention. he just giggles and shakes his head.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who knows your schedule better than management does. he’s not stalking you—he’s just… informed. hyper-aware. “oh, she usually gets here around 2:45… not that i’m watching the clock or anything.”

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who has a very tiny, very silly, very managed crush on you. very under control. very…very.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who takes hydration very seriously. he carries one of those giant half-gallon water jugs everywhere, full of ice and either hose water or an egregious amount of blue gatorade.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who reeks of sunscreen, bug repellent, and chlorine.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who is incredibly good with kids. he claps when the toddlers make their first jump, gives high-fives during his pH testing time, lets them climb on his shoulders when he breaks pool rules and gets in.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who walked into a nearby 7/11 after accidentally keeping his lifeguard uniform on. he didn’t even notice until the cashier called him “baywatch”.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who decides to simply not wear his shirt when you’re working a shift with him. he claims it’s purely coincidental. okay jungkook. sure.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who glances over at you while he’s sitting on his tall lifeguard chair so much that it’s borderline hazardous.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who smiles extra cheekily when you decide to take up the rest of his shift for him. he’ll probably just end up staying and doing your maintenance for you.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who stays after hours almost every evening. the sky turning a certain hue of purple, the pool clear of moms and their kids. just him. and maybe you.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who notices when the moms (single or not) bat their eyelashes at him. he doesn’t engage. because he did once, and let’s just say that wasn’t the best summer he’s had.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who challenges you to cannonball competitions during adult swim, the towel-wrapped kids being the judges.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who would 100% dive into the pool with a serious face if you so much as even slipped in.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who texts you “get home safe?” every time you get the late shift. it’s still light outside by the time you do, but it’s the thought that counts.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who literally forgot to blow the whistle when someone broke a rule one time because you had just walked by and adjusted your swimsuit strap.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who thinks about you when he does laps. like an idiot. breathes out under water and pretends it’s not because he imagined what you’d look like sitting on the edge, feet in the pool, smiling just for him.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook whose voice subconsciously gets deeper around you. he didn’t even notice until one of the other guards said, “okay darth vader”. jungkook turned red.

𓇼 lifeguard!jungkook who has been in love with you since his first summer on the job but has no idea what to do about it.

lulu speaks pt2: wenomechainsama 🔥 tumajarbisaun 🗣️wifenlooof 🤤 eselifterbraun ❤️‍🔥

cai bot. masterlist. navigation.