#i used to think i had good attention to detail

[submattenthusiast]

putting matt in his place and edging him in a public

restroom

hott

matt was usually a good boy and avoided punishments at all costs, but today was so horribly different. he had been acting out all day, not holding doors for you, showing off in-front of his friends, giving you a nasty attitude. you didn't know why he was acting like this but you were fed up.

you dragged him by the hand to the nearest restroom, locking the door behind you. you pushed him back until he hit the sink. confusion plastered all over his face, he was confused on why you took him away from his friends and why you weren't saying anything. he began to get a bit nervous.

"what the fuck is your problem matthew" you angrily spat, grabbing his jaw. he squirmed at your touch, trying to shimmy out of your grasp. you tightened your grip after seeing what he was trying to do. "stop fucking moving and answer me" you demanded, tilting his head up.

"i–ouch i don't know what you're talking about" he somehow got out. that only deepened the trouble he was in, his response making you angrier. "yeah so you weren't being a total ass today?, you weren't acting all tough and showing off in-front of your friends?" you spat, knowing he couldn't keep his attitude for long. "trying to make them think you're all cool and tough". "maybe i should go tell them how submissive you really are, tell them how you whine and cry in bed, tell them how you call me mommy" you degraded him until he dropped the attitude.

"no-no please m sorry don't tell them" he pleaded, the thought of his friends knowing such intimate details embarrassed him. you let go of his jaw and he let more apologies spill from his lips. "sorry isn't cutting it, you're gonna learn how to behave after this". he whimpered in response , knowing he was about to get punished.

"if you even think about saying anything besides mommy it's not gonna be good for you" you warned. he nodded as before unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down just enough for you to pull his cock out.

you lazily jerked him off as he whined and moaned in your ear. you could tell he wanted more, wanted to beg for you to go faster, but wouldn't dare, your threats replaying in his head. he threw his head back as you quickened the motions of your hands, bringing him close to his orgasm. matt tapped at your free hand, using this to get your attention so he could ask to cum.

his cock started to twitch in your hand and you quickly let go of him, leaving him high and dry. matt cried out at the loss of pleasure, looking at you with tears in his eyes. you ignored his stare and fixed yourself in the mirror before heading towards the door. when he realized you weren't gonna let him cum a few tears fell. maybe he should've behaved.

[writeriguess]

Oh I've really been thinking about it, this situation is great. I will request one of bakugou x reader. Bakugou is a professional hero and the reader is a famous model, the situation arises from a modeling campaign where she had to pose with another model. Bakugou will explode with jealousy.

The buzz of excitement filled the room as you prepared for the photoshoot, the clatter of makeup brushes and soft murmur of voices a steady background hum. You sat in front of the large vanity mirror, glancing at the stylist working on the final touches to your makeup. Today was a huge campaign—one that would no doubt garner a lot of attention. A series of intimate, couple-themed shoots with a fellow model, Itou Haruki, who was well-known for his tall, charming figure and confident, magnetic presence.

But that didn’t stop the knot of anxiety from forming in your stomach.

You were a professional, of course. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to pose for a campaign that required getting close with a male model. But the theme of this shoot was particularly intense. "Intimacy" was the key word, and everything from the poses to the facial expressions had to convey a deep sense of connection between you and Itou. It meant you’d be spending hours pressed up against him, hands on each other’s bodies, faces so close you’d practically be breathing the same air.

Not that you had anything against Itou—he was kind, easy to work with, and charismatic. But there was one person you knew wouldn’t like this situation at all.

Katsuki.

Just thinking of your boyfriend’s explosive temper sent a wave of unease through you. Being one of Japan’s top heroes, Katsuki Bakugou was used to handling dangerous situations, but jealousy? That was something he struggled with, especially when it came to you. He hated seeing anyone else get too close to you—whether it was physically or emotionally. And this shoot was bound to make him lose his mind.

The door to the dressing room opened, and you saw Itou stroll in with his signature easygoing smile. "Hey, you ready for this?" he asked, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair as he approached.

"Yeah, I guess," you replied with a soft chuckle, though the tension in your chest remained. "Should be fun, right?"

"It’ll be fine. We’ve worked together before. You know I’ve got your back," Itou said reassuringly. He flashed you a grin, clearly sensing your nerves.

You nodded, grateful for his laid-back attitude. You hoped Katsuki would understand it was just work. But as you glanced down at your phone and saw the unread message from him, you weren’t so sure.

The set was beautiful—soft lighting casting a warm, golden glow over the lush, intimate bedroom scene. A bed with crisp white sheets, dimly lit candles, and scattered rose petals gave the room a romantic ambiance. The director had made sure every detail would add to the illusion that you and Itou were in a passionate, private moment.

You stepped out from behind the curtain, dressed in a sleek, fitted dress that clung to your figure in all the right places. The neckline dipped low, revealing just enough to be seductive but not too much to cross the line of professionalism. Across the room, Itou had changed into a white button-up shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the collar, with dark slacks that hugged his lean, athletic frame.

"Alright, you two," the photographer called out, adjusting his camera. "We’re going for chemistry here. Real connection. You need to look like you’re completely into each other. Just lose yourselves in the moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the eyes of the crew on you as you stepped closer to Itou. He gave you a reassuring smile as his hand rested lightly on your waist. "It’s all good," he whispered. "Just act like it’s a scene from a movie."

You nodded, exhaling slowly as you positioned yourself in front of him. His other hand slid along your arm, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through your body, though not from attraction—simply from the nerves coursing through you.

The first few poses were simple. You stood in front of him, leaning your body against his while gazing up into his eyes. He tilted his head down, his face mere inches from yours, his hand resting on the small of your back. The photographer snapped several shots, giving directions on how to adjust your positioning.

Then, things started to get more intimate.

"Let’s try something closer," the photographer instructed. "Itou, sit on the edge of the bed. Y/N, get between his legs, rest your hands on his shoulders. Lean in close, like you’re about to kiss."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you moved to follow the instructions. You could feel Itou’s breath on your skin as you leaned in, faces so close that you could see every detail of his features—the curve of his lips, the sharpness of his jawline. His hands settled on your hips, holding you firmly in place as the camera clicked repeatedly, capturing every second of your proximity.

"You’re doing great," Itou murmured, his voice low and professional.

But you couldn’t help the nagging thought in the back of your mind—what if Katsuki sees this?

As if on cue, a loud, familiar voice echoed through the room, making you freeze in place.

"What the hell is this?"

You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Katsuki’s voice was unmistakable, filled with that fiery, raw edge of anger that only he could muster. Your heart sank as you looked over your shoulder to see him standing at the entrance of the set, fists clenched, and his eyes blazing with fury.

"K-Katsuki?" you stammered, pulling away from Itou as quickly as possible.

The room went silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Katsuki stormed over, his heavy boots pounding against the floor, each step radiating pure, unbridled jealousy. He didn’t care that the entire crew was watching. His eyes were locked on you, then Itou, his jaw tightening as if he was barely keeping himself from exploding—literally.

"What the hell are you doing, letting this asshole touch you?" Katsuki growled, his voice dangerously low as he stopped just inches away from where you stood.

"It’s just for the shoot!" you tried to explain, your heart racing. "It’s work, Katsuki. You know that."

"Work?" His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Itou, who was standing up now, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. "I don’t give a damn what it is. No one gets to touch you like that but me."

"Katsuki, please," you pleaded, stepping closer to him, but he was already too far gone, jealousy eating away at his rationality.

Itou raised his hands in surrender. "Hey man, it’s just professional—"

"Shut up!" Katsuki snapped, turning to glare at him. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the hell away from her."

The entire crew looked on in stunned silence, unsure of what to do. You reached out, placing a hand on Katsuki’s arm in an attempt to calm him down.

"Katsuki," you said softly, your fingers gently squeezing his tense muscles. "I’m yours, okay? Only yours. You don’t have to be jealous. It’s just a job."

His jaw twitched as he looked down at you, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. But there was something else in his eyes too—something vulnerable. He hated the thought of anyone else being close to you, even if it was for work. His hand clenched and unclenched as if he was fighting the urge to punch something.

"Get changed," he finally muttered, his voice quieter now but still strained with emotion. "I’m taking you home. This is done."

You nodded, relieved that he hadn’t blown up—literally or figuratively. You shot an apologetic glance at Itou, who gave you a small, understanding smile, before grabbing your things and following Katsuki out of the room.

The car ride home was tense. Katsuki didn’t say a word, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his eyes remained focused on the road. You knew better than to push him when he was like this, so you stayed silent, watching the city lights pass by in a blur.

When you finally arrived home, Katsuki slammed the car door shut behind him, storming into the apartment without waiting for you. You sighed, following him inside. The moment the door closed behind you, he rounded on you, his eyes burning with jealousy and frustration.

"You really thought I was gonna be okay with that?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Watching that bastard put his hands all over you?"

"It was work, Katsuki," you repeated, trying to keep your voice calm. "It meant nothing."

"Like hell it meant nothing!" He paced back and forth, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "You were practically in his lap!"

You bit your lip, stepping closer to him. "I’m sorry. I should’ve told you how intimate the shoot was going to be. But you have to trust me, Katsuki. You’re the only one I want."

He stopped pacing, his fiery gaze meeting yours. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his expression torn between anger and something softer—something vulnerable. Then, with a frustrated growl, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest.

"Just…" His voice cracked slightly as he held you close. "Don’t let anyone else get that close to you again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face against his chest as you whispered, "I won’t."

Katsuki buried his face in your hair, his grip tightening as if he was afraid you might slip

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[fiddlefordisms]

Canon Details and Analysis of Fiddleford McGucket Part 2

See the first part here

Let's flash-forward to what we know about Fiddleford after college. At some point, he got married to Emma May Dixon, and they had a son together (Tate McGucket), they live in Palo Alto, and Fiddleford seems to be self-employed: McGucket's Computermajigs. Now, don't get me wrong I enjoy Fiddauthor quite a lot (and I'll give some in-depth analysis and theorizing and thinking of possibilities about that particular relationship in that context at the very end), but I want to focus on Fiddleford's character and what we do know about his wife and child.

We know from Journal 3 that Fiddleford keeps a picture of his wife and son on his desk because he says it helps keep him "grounded." It's very important to note that this picture includes his wife - if they really wanted to imply that Fiddleford's relationship with his wife was on the rocks, they could've easily made it just a picture of his son. We know that Fiddleford must have had strong feelings for his wife because in the Gobblewonker episode of Gravity Falls, Old Man McGucket claims that when his wife left him, he built a pterodactyl-tron (building giant death robots is something he does when he's upset or wants attention). If he was wanting to leave that relationship, he would not have been upset about her leaving him.

In another page of Journal 3 when Fiddleford quits the portal project, Ford writes about how he should "go back to his doting family." This tells us that while Fiddleford and Emma May did have a fight over him not getting her a Christmas present, Ford still somehow had the impression that his family was "doting." I think it's important to point out that Fiddleford has been erasing his memories since the Gremloblin incident - and the fight scene with his wife happens very shortly before the big portal test. We know the memory-erasing gun has side effects. So, anytime Fiddleford "forgets" something should be looked at as highly suspect and indicative that his memory-erasing gun is affecting him.

We know that Fiddleford must have been a good father before he left to work on the portal for Ford via context clues. In the show, despite Tate's original home being in Palo Alto, Tate chose to pack up his things and live in Gravity Falls where his mentally-addled father now lives. He chose to do that and seeing what became of his father, even though he's the town's biggest embarrassment with a reputation for being a crazy old man - chose to stay. In Shmeb U Unlocked, we're informed that Tate is extremely intelligent and capable of predicting lottery numbers.

He could literally go anywhere he wanted if he wanted. And yet, he stays in Gravity Falls where his father lives. He must have really loved his father despite it being so hard with his father's mental state and the fact that he has every right to be angry that his father left. We know that Fiddleford must have really loved his son because of that picture on his desk, because much later even with all of his memory problems, he still remembers his son, and he's desperate to spend time with him, and in the end, they're able to repair their relationship and spend quality time together.

Now, let's talk about a couple of details that I think a lot of people overlook. During the stargazing scene in Journal 3, Fiddleford mentions offhand that he'd like a place where "the screen door ain't broken." I think this is a VERY interesting detail because it makes it sound like Fiddleford's business hadn't quite taken off yet and that he might have been struggling financially because he can't afford to get his door repaired.

This opens a doorway into a theory of mine that Fiddleford is being paid for his time as Ford's assistant. Now, we're not told this outright in Journal 3, but I think we can gather this from a little thing I like to call context clues. After all, Ford probably thought the exact nature of payment deals for his assistant didn't need to be included in his research and personal journal. There's nothing interesting about it. Additionally from a narrative standpoint, it might have come across as looking like Ford had to bribe Fiddleford to help him, and that's not the vibe they wanted for Fiddleford. They wanted to emphasize that these two are at the very least good friends and that Fiddleford is the type of person who will set aside his own personal projects and self-sacrifice to help a friend at a moment's notice.

We know from the show and Journal 3 that Ford was given grants to study the anomalies of Gravity Falls. Presumably, this money would not only cover the costs of field research equipment and a research base (the shack) but also money for a research assistant if needed.

Fiddleford's wife would have to be the most permissive, most doormat wife in THE HISTORY OF EVER to allow her husband to go up to Oregon to work on a project leaving her to not only take care of her son by herself but also have to pay all the bills and rent/mortgage by herself. We know this is not the case because she (rightly) did NOT let it slide that her husband forgot to get her a Christmas present.

Fiddleford would not have had much time to work on his own business while working on Ford's portal. At this point in his life, he has his mental faculties intact, he's proven time and again to be considerate and sweet (Alex Hirsch even refers to him as a sweet soul). He's big on making thoughtful gifts, he wants to help others (in Journal 3, he is seen fixing up the ferris wheel at the carnival where he meets Ivan, although it was definitely wrong - he had good intentions in wanting to help people with their bad memories, even in the show - Old Man McGucket shows up in the sap-hole with the dinosaurs having fixed a broken lantern - Fiddleford is exactly the type of person who would see a broken-down car on the side of the road and pull over and get out his toolbox and help that person out), and he loves his family very much. He would NOT let them go unsupported and floundering for themselves while in his right mind.

So, this leads me to believe that to help convince his wife to let him help his old college buddy with his project, he'd be getting paid for his help. Ford likely would've found this reasonable and might have suggested it himself if Fiddleford expressed wanting to help but not being able to leave his family without any support. It probably wasn't a lot, but it might have been a bit better than what he was currently drumming up via his own business. This could also be why Ford is so adamant about referring to Fiddleford as his assistant in the journals rather than his friend.

Do I think his wife might have still had some reservations about her husband going to Oregon and could be a fertile field for argument later? Yes. Absolutely. But I think the fact that she let him go in the first place and the fact that Fiddleford is self-employed rather than more conventionally employed generally shows that she was a supportive wife and trusted her husband.

I absolutely DO NOT think, as some have posited, that Fiddleford abandoned his wife and son (especially his son whom he dearly loves) to have a "Brokeback Mountain" situation with Stanford. That is a terrible misreading of Fiddleford's character AND the situation. Again, Fiddleford is the type of person who HELPS people, and how much more so for someone who is likely his best friend? Not only that, but his FIRST EVER friend. A friend who Fiddleford probably knows has been alone in Oregon for years and who also has a hard time making friends, a friend who probably doesn't call him enough because he's "busy" with his research (Ford even says in the journal that he "has no choice but to call Fiddleford"), a friend who is probably stubborn about asking for help who is asking HIM (the guy who helps) for help?

Fiddleford might even already be worried about him.

And this is a "project" - a project has a beginning and an end. Fiddleford was NOT expecting to stay in Gravity Falls. He was going to go there, help Ford, and then go back to his family whom he loves. I'm not saying complicated feelings couldn't have arisen (again, I am a Fiddauthor shipper), but I am saying that Fiddleford didn't go to Oregon because he was running away from marital problems with his wife (on an additional note - people are free to write what they want - But what is WITH bisexual erasure and villifying / ignoring female characters? I mean, just because she wasn't in the show or talked about much doesn't mean we should do female characters a disservice) and intending on cheating on her.

Because again - A) He loves his family (family photo on his desk which doesn't exactly scream "Make sweet love to me Ford") B) His anxiety issues C) His empathy - he doesn't have the narcissistic traits cheaters generally have D) He's likely Catholic and all the religious hang-ups with that - (also adultery being a sin is mentioned waaaaaay more than homosexuality) E) The hostile time period for queer folks.

Also, Stanford "I find romance baffling" (Journal 3 - stargazing scene) is probably one of the biggest indicators that no cheating went on (but I'll throw you "cheating Fiddleford" headcanoners a bone much later on in which I think a possible "cheating" scenario could have realistically occurred - and I'll tell you my reasons for why I personally don't believe that happened either, but I'll begrudgingly accept a "possibility" and let you guys go nuts with the idea.)

More to come in later parts.

[lilsoftext]

•~* HIDDEN AWAY *~•

-chris sturniolo x female reader

-summery: chris surprises sof with a much-needed weekend getaway to a secluded cabin in the woods, away from the pressures of public life and social media.

——————————————————————————

It had been a hectic few weeks for Chris and Sof. With work, social media commitments, and their friends constantly around, they barely had time to themselves. Both of them needed a break—something far from the flashing lights of cameras and the ever-watchful eyes of the internet.

Chris had planned it quietly, booking a small cabin a few hours outside the city without telling Sof the details. The only hint she had was that he told her to pack a bag for a few days. When she had asked for more, Chris just smiled and said, “You’ll see. Trust me.”

---

The car ride was filled with the soothing hum of the road beneath the tires, broken only by the occasional conversation and the music playing softly from the speakers. Sof leaned her head against the window, watching the trees blur past, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the bracelet on her wrist. Chris glanced at her from the driver’s seat, smiling to himself at how peaceful she looked.

“You okay over there?” he asked, reaching over to gently squeeze her knee.

She turned her head to look at him, offering a small, contented smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just wondering where you’re taking me.”

Chris grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

Sof playfully rolled her eyes. “You and your surprises. What if I don’t like it?”

“You will. I promise.”

She leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh of mock exasperation. “Fine. I trust you.”

---

A couple of hours later, they pulled up to a small cabin nestled in the woods. The air was crisp and cool, with the scent of pine trees surrounding them. Sof’s eyes widened as she stepped out of the car, taking in the scene.

“Chris, this is beautiful,” she said softly, her breath catching as she looked at the cozy cabin, smoke lazily curling from the chimney.

“I thought we could use a little getaway,” he replied, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “No cameras, no internet—just us.”

Sof leaned back into him, her hands resting on his. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They stood there for a moment, taking in the quiet of the forest around them, before Chris kissed the top of her head and grabbed their bags from the car.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get settled in.”

---

Inside the cabin, it was just as cozy as it looked from the outside. There was a stone fireplace in the living room, a fluffy rug spread out in front of it, and large windows that let in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. A small kitchen was tucked into the corner, and there was a door that led to what Sof assumed was the bedroom.

“This place is amazing,” Sof said as she wandered around, running her fingers along the wooden furniture. “How did you even find it?”

Chris shrugged, setting their bags down by the door. “I have my ways. I just wanted us to have some time alone, you know? No distractions.”

Sof turned to him, her heart swelling with affection. “I love it. Really.”

He smiled, walking over to her and pulling her into a warm embrace. “I’m glad. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

She pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes as she breathed him in. “Me too.”

---

The first night was spent lounging by the fire. After a quick dinner they made together, Chris lit the fireplace, and they curled up on the rug with a blanket. Sof had brought a book, but she barely got through a few pages before she put it down, too content in the moment to focus on anything else. Chris was lying next to her, one arm draped over her waist, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Do you think we’ll ever get used to all of it?” Sof asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

Chris shifted slightly, looking up at her. “What do you mean?”

“The attention. The constant noise. Sometimes it feels like we don’t get a moment to ourselves.”

Chris was silent for a moment, then he sat up, propping himself on his elbow to face her. “I don’t know if we’ll ever get used to it. But we can have moments like this. We can make time for each other, even if it means disappearing for a few days.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And when we’re together like this, that’s all that matters to me.”

Sof looked into his eyes, her heart melting at his words. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

They stayed like that for a while, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the occasional rustle of the wind outside. It was peaceful, and Sof couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease.

---

The next morning, Sof woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. She stretched, feeling the warmth of the blankets around her, and smiled as she realized where she was.

She found Chris in the kitchen, already dressed, flipping pancakes on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard her footsteps, grinning.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Sof smiled, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “You’re up early.”

“Had to make breakfast for my girl,” he said, turning his head to kiss her on the forehead.

She laughed softly, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You spoil me.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

They ate breakfast by the large windows, watching the sunlight filter through the trees. It was such a simple moment, but Sof cherished it. There was something about being away from the rest of the world, with no obligations, that made everything feel more real—more meaningful.

After breakfast, they decided to explore the area around the cabin. There was a small trail that led down to a lake, and the two of them spent the afternoon walking, talking, and laughing. Sof couldn’t help but notice how light Chris seemed—like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

They reached the lake just as the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the water. Sof stood at the edge, looking out at the reflection of the sky on the surface. Chris came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her once again.

“This is perfect,” Sof said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris nodded, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Yeah, it is.”

They stood there for a while, watching the sunset in comfortable silence. Sof felt Chris’s arms tighten around her, and she closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment.

“I love you,” Chris murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

Sof’s heart skipped a beat. She turned in his arms to face him, her eyes searching his. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice full of emotion.

Chris smiled, his eyes shining with affection. He leaned down and kissed her again, this time with more passion, as if sealing the words between them.

---

That night, they returned to the cabin, their hearts full and their spirits light. They spent the evening talking about their future—about the things they wanted to do together, the places they wanted to see. Chris told her about his dreams, and Sof shared hers, feeling more connected to him than ever before.

When it was time for bed, they curled up together under the blankets, Chris’s arm draped over her waist once more. Sof closed her eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, and smiled to herself.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. And as she drifted off to sleep, she knew that no matter what challenges came their way, they would always have each other.

And that was all that mattered.

——————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed it. if you have any request, leave them down below.

lilsoftext <3

[celestiamour]

I saw that you said your asks are open so, what kind on kinks do you think Cassandra Nova has?

ft. cassandra nova x f! reader — marvel

╰₊✧ kinks i think she would have┊0.9k words

contains: smut!! dom cass & sub reader┊look at the warnings for the short version & the keep reading for details, master/pet dynamic, dollification, power imbalance, bratting/brat-taming, dacryphilia, overstim/edging, bondage & blindfolds, corruption kink, dumbification, exhibitonism, marking

➤ author's note: OOHHOO IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED ANON, I THINK SHES A FREAk

this is just a list of the major ones, but i’m a firm believer that she’s open to trying anything at least once as long as you’re open to trying them out with her!

━━━ .°˖✧ master/pet & dollification ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ she is the one who rules the void, the empress who you’ll inevitably work for if you want to survive, of course, she would love to have a pretty little thing like you at her knees to spoil while running the land. someone as adorable as you would be much more useful entertaining her and keeping her company rather than acting as one of her minions, and you’re more than happy to be the eye candy she keeps by her side who eagerly answers to her every beck and call with a bright smile. the power imbalance with you is different than the ones with her minions, more intoxicatingly dizzy knowing she has complete and utter control over you.

╰₊✧ as a reward, she likes to pamper you with all the fine things she could get her hands on: feeding you fruits and sweets, dressing you up in lace skirts, tying ribbons into your hairs, maybe even applying rose tints on your lips— most of the nice things that are impossible to find or cultivate in this wasteland are presented to her, but she always ends up gifting them to you since she has no other use for such opulence aside from spoiling her pet.

━━━ .°˖✧ bratting/brat-taming & dacryphilia ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ despite how much she loves to indulge you in luxury when you’re good for her, she also loves it when you give her a bit of a challenge even though it all ends the same way with you whimpering out an apology under her. she’ll tie you up so tightly that you could hardly even squirm with a blindfold as she either overstimulates or edges you until you cry, choking out whiny little sorries with tears streaking down your face. the contrast between how you were just pouting and digging your heels into the ground a few minutes ago versus now when you’re begging for relief and moaning her name like a prayer is such a turn-on for her.

╰₊✧ possibly an unpopular opinion, but i don’t think her sadistic and apathetic personality would apply here. yes, she likes seeing you cry, but only from pleasure and not from pain. there’s a safe word in place in case it’s too much for you, and she listens to you about what you like and don’t like. 

━━━ .°˖✧ corruption kink & dumbification ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ she likes being your first, whether it’s the first person you’ve been intimate with, the first time you’ve had such a mind-blowing orgasm, the first time you tried out a kink which quickly became your favorite— she believes it makes her more memorable to you, but let’s be honest, it’s impossible to forget a woman as extraordinary as her. slowly, you’ll find yourself being more depraved and more needy after your first time together, begging for her attention so sweetly just as she planned. it sounds wrong to be purposely tainting your innocence, but it’s not like it was something that was going to stay for very long if you wanted to maintain this relationship.

╰₊✧ after a while, you start thinking with your pussy more than your brain since you’re so understimulated with how busy cassandra can be and her refusal to let you get your hands dirty. reading the same books, watching poor-quality noir dramas on a barely working television, and playing with yourself in an attempt to achieve the same effect she had could only entertain you so much. when she finally comes back to you, she always fucks the boredom out of you until your eyes are rolling back and you can’t think about anything but the buzzing euphoria. she loves how dumb you go on her fingers or mouth and can’t say anything aside from useless little mewls and she coos that it’s okay and she’s got you. 

━━━ .°˖✧ exhibitonism & marking ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ of course, when you’re always by her side and dolled up like a princess, it’s inevitable for there to be some wandering gazes which are more leering than anything. although she knows you only have eyes for her and that none of them could take care of you like she did, she’s a possessive person. what’s hers is hers and she would like to keep it that way (what’s theirs is also hers, that’s just how it works around here). 

╰₊✧ to prevent anyone from getting any ideas, she’ll leave hickeys all along your neck and upper chest to show that you’re taken (she’ll even go as far as to have her name tattooed on your skin if you’re okay with it). also has a tendency to have sex with you in places where she knows other people will hear you screaming her name over and over again, you don’t know about this because you’re more shy and your try to muffle yourself if you did, but she’s shameless about her sex life and very proud to be the one fucking the prettiest girl in the void.

╰₊✧ (also, if anyone had the gall to flirt with you or something and she found out, best believe that they are going to be doing the most tediously difficult tasks available. or worse, she can be very creative with punishments.)

[heatherfield]

Hi! Just wanted to tell you that you tagged the DW post with 10 and Donna with "ouat s4a" too 😅 which isn't really the same fandom

Bahaha you're so right, I totally did. 😂 Thank you for letting me know!! I tag so many things back-to-back and sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At least I can see my brain was connecting that it was "season 4" lol.

Thanks again! I fixed it.

[sharkieboi]

everyone’s talking all these sophisticated points about Glass Onion but i personally cannot get over the lingering camera shot on the ass of the statue Benoit hides behind to eavesdrop on Miles and Peg

[taahko]

every so often im struck by the memory of one of my college professors getting very angry with our class (art history of pompeii 250) because when she excitedly detailed the ingenious roman invention of heated floors in bathhouses via hearths in small crawlspaces, we asked who was tending the fires. she said "oh, slaves i suppose. but that isnt the point". and we said that it actually very much was the point. she had just told us that in roman society there were dozens of people, maybe hundreds, who spent every day of their enslaved lives crawling in cramped, hot, smoky tunnels to light fires to warm pools of water (which they were not allowed to swim in). how could that not be the point?

she wanted us to focus on the art, on the innovation of heated plumbing, on the tiles and decorations of the bathhouses, and all we wanted to do was learn more about the people under the floors. and she didn't know anything more about that. in fact, she said she thought we were focusing too much on superfluous details.

it feels almost hokey to put too fine a point on the idea im getting at here but i will anyway: There are a lot of people who are still under the floors. all these beautiful, convenient, brilliant innovations of modern society (think fast fashion, chatgpt, uber, doordash) are still powered by people working in inhumane, untenable conditions.

the people who run these systems want you to focus on the good - who doesnt love warm water? - but if anything is going to improve or change in our lifetimes, you need to examine these things with an attentive, critical, and empathetic eye. and for fucks sake stop ordering from amazon

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Terry Pratchett about fantasy ❤

Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Terry: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.

Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

[selineram3421]

здраствуйте можно сделать реакцию на ревность аластора

Translated:

Hi, can I get a reaction to Alastor's jealousy?

Yes.

Jealousy Headcanon 1

Alastor X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ platonic to romantic, violence, all caps in bold italics = SOUND EFFECTS, implied torture/murder, gore? eyeballs, possessive? Alastor wants all of your attention ⚠

Alastor has never felt jealous! How absurd of you to think that! Hahaha! Ha... Who is that demon taking up your attention?

He always had your attention.

You could be talking to the Princess but still focus on him.

Hell, you could be checking in a guest and still keep up with his tale of the day.

But now it was quite odd.

There was a demon coming by the hotel, not to see if they were interested in the cause but to use up his friend's precious time.

Even now the beastly thing walked up to the check in counter and started up a conversation with you.

He watched from the bar.

"Hey! I see its dead as ever in here.", the dragon demon grinned as they leaned on the counter.

"Not true~", you had replied. "I checked in four new guests!"

Yes, you had a knack of persuasion. Able to convince many to do almost anything. Sometimes even him.

"Oh yeah? How many sinners walked in?", the scaled creature leaned close.

Far too close for his liking.

"I just told you how many.", you replied and placed a finger on the dragon's snout, pushing them back as well. "Personal space."

He didn't like this demon.

Everything about them set something off. Their manners, their way of speaking, the way they move-

"Oh come on, I don't bite sugar cake~", the beast took your hand and kissed their way up to your elbow.

The way they t̵̬̥̻͂̿̈́ȏ̴̒͠u̸c̷̈́̊̆́̓͘h̷e̴̖̖͒̓͂͋̎ḑ̴̣̋͜ you.

"Nope!", you yanked your arm away and held it close. "None of that.", you laughed nervously with an uncomfortable smile.

It looked wrong. Your smile should be a happy one.

"I said I don't bite!", they laughed and tried to grab at your arm again. "You know I'm messing! When's your break?", they leaned over the counter, still trying to get at something to pull you closer. "I know a good bar to go to, or we can go to the club! I'd like to see your ass in something a little less-"

"Ew, no.", you rejected and backed away.

"Come on!", they started to climb on the counter. "Its just one time! I'll even help you get in and out of your clothes.", they grabbed onto your sleeve.

That's ENOUGH!

He quickly shadow traveled and snatched the wrist of the dragon.

"I believe they said no."

The beast growled with a sneer before looking at him, freezing up once realizing who had their wrist.

"I was just joking man. Haha..", the dragon looked between him and you. "I understand! I'll back away. The slut is yours."

"Excuse me!?", you said angrily.

His antlers grew, the low static that hummed now raising up in volume.

"₵₳ⱤɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₱Ɇ₳₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?"

"The slut-"

SNAP

He held the demon's snout shut as they screamed and cried over their broken wrist.

"Now, there is a no killing rule in the hotel.", he said and then grinned menacingly. "But that doesn't apply outside."

His smile widened after seeing the panic in their eyes.

"Dear.", he turned to face you. "Has this guest overstayed their welcome?"

You stared at the beast with such a terrifyingly hateful glare.

"Yes they have.", you replied, crossing your arms. "I'd like to keep a souvenir, for memories."

And then you gave him that lovely smile.

"Alastor, do you think you could get me a dragon eye or two? I hear they make nice details to things."

"I'll make sure to get them.", he released the demon, only for his tendrils to take hold of them. "I won't be long.", he reassured, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of it.

He saw you blush before he 'escorted' the demon outside.

After finishing up (and calling Niffty to clean up), he returned with two freshly picked dragon eyes.

You thanked him with an odd little gleam in your eyes. No doubt your mind jumping idea to idea of what you could create with them.

Now with the pest gone, he would have your attention again.

Just like he wanted

"Thank you Alastor. I'll be able to make something interesting with these."

"I can't wait to see what you make this time."

Perhaps he'll ask you that question sooner than later.

Of course he has to prepare everything to properly court you.

I am using a website to translate requests. Please let me know if I have translated anything wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @lbcreations-blog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[kxsalt]

*Hic* - *Hic*! Well past midnight, the man opens his front door to find a young drunk lady. His best friend’s sister holds her heels in one hand. Wavering on his doorstep, she explains. “Hiii! I hope I *hic* didn’t wake youuu… Cahn I use your bathroom?” He chuckles at her slurred speech and obliges. Letting the girl inside, he takes her shoes and watches her bum wiggle away in her little black dress.

She spends long enough in the bathroom that he considers checking on her. His friend’s sister finally emerges, flowing like water into the room. The girl’s pupils are dilated. She stares around at the art on his walls, gawking at nothing in particular. “The lights in here are soooo nice…” Mumbling and dizzy, she flops onto the couch next to him. “Having a fun night?”

Prompted by his questions, the girl launches into an elaborate description of her night. Her friend’s house. The club. Free shots. Another club. The girl had been staggering home when she stopped by. He’s fairly certain that she’s left out at least one detail. She sniffs, swallows, and grinds her teeth. Running out of story, the girl stares off into space. One hand rubs the blanket on the couch.

“That does sound like a lot of fun.” She’s not paying attention. “This blanket is *hic* soooo soft… How did it get that soft?” The girl doesn’t notice the awkward silence as she strokes it against her face. “Uh, it’s well worn… Here, I like it on my legs.” He pulls the blanket across her bare thighs. His hand rubs the blanket, groping her body through the fabric.

A naïve giggle. “Hahaha, omg that feels sooo nice!” The man pushes up her leg, rubbing his covered fingers against her pussy. “Oh…” It takes her a moment to process what’s happening. “Uhm…” She pushes his hand away. “I should really go.” Standing up, her legs wobble and start to give out. She falls back onto the couch.

“Whoa, young lady. You’re way too drunk to be wandering around at night. There’s lots of creeps out there. You have to stay the night. You can use the soft blanket.” Already forgetting his forbidden touch, the girl touches the blanket. “I dunno. I don’t wanna be trouble.” He shakes his head. “You’re no trouble. You know me, I’ll take care of you.”

The host fetches her a strong drink. She takes another long bathroom break. The girl is spacy and dazed as he puts her hand in his lap. Pushing in close to her, the man touches her thighs and back. “Waht… are you…?” Her slurring has turned into confused mumbles. “You wanted to fool around, right? It feels good, right?” She swallows nervously.

“Maybe… I dunno… I could think *hic* about it tomorrow? Like I’m kinda drunk…” The girl tries to shuffle away. “What do you mean? You’re fine. Barely tipsy. You don’t feel sick or something do you?” He rubs her shoulders. “Uh, no, I feel good.” The blanket slips aside. Bare fingers touch her pussy. “Well, you’re fine then. Let’s just do a little bit.”

Relenting, she lets him touch her. In the blur, his hard cock is pressed into her palm. The girl is willing enough to stroke him while he plays with her pussy. A moment of clarity comes when he kisses her. “Um… weird… you’re my brother’s friend… we shouldn’t be doing this.” His finger slips into her wet cunt. “It’s okay, it’ll be our little secret.”

She falls into the blur again. The confused girl regains focus with him laying on top of her. Between her legs, he rubs his cock against her pussy. “I…” She can barely articulate herself. “I don’t wanna…” The man feigns indignity. “You always wanted to. I know you’ve thought about it. You just told me you have.” Humiliated that she would admit to fantasizing about him, she covers her face. Blurry imprints of the light dance across her closed eyes.

“You’re so good.” She comes to. His cock slides in and out of her young pussy. “Please st-“ He interrupts her. “I’m so happy you wanted to hook up.” Warm pleasure from drugs and sex pour through her body. “Did.. I…?” The man laughs as he fucks her. “Yeah, that’s why you came over.”

Why did I come over? I wanted to use the bathroom. I trust him. She stares down between their bodies. Her black dress is pulled up and down, showing off her tits and pussy. Maybe I did want to hook up with him. I guess it feels good. His body increases the pressure on her. He’s already inside me. I can’t ask him to stop, now.

The girl submits. He enjoys her slippery pussy. The man rolls her onto her stomach and holds her hair as he fucks her. It feels good. So that probably means I wanted it. Rutting deep into her pussy, he pushes her into the soft blanket. Comfortable, she starts to fade again. The alluring fabric touches against her face with every rough thrust.

Her black dress lays on the blanket. The man carries the young lady to bed. Cum runs out of her pussy. Standing over her half-conscious body, he strokes his cock. Through scattered vision, she watches him get hard. “That was so good, let’s do it again.” He muses. “…nuh…” The girl mumbles. “Come on, you already did it once.” His cock is thrust into the limp girl. “uh… okay… I guess…”

[elodieunderglass]

hi! i was just wondering if you’re getting a piece of this pie. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/voidrealmminis/rise-of-the-eldertubbies?ref=profile_saved_projects_live

Oh my goodness! Haha thanks for showing me! And no, of course, this guy is still selling my dream while claiming it’s totally nothing to do with me. I hadn’t heard about it so thank you.

For those just joining us, here is the saga of the elder teletubbies:

1. in 2017 I posted a dream I had on Tumblr. In the dream I discovered that the childish teletubbies shown on BBC’s Teletubbies are merely the children of a species that grows up to be forest cryptids as adults. The post contained a detailed character description explaining how the children’s simple antennae become more complex antlers; their coats become thicker hair; their eldritch screens are unknowable; here, look:

The adult Teletubbies have more branching, complex antlers and shaggy coats. They are less brightly coloured. They are terrifyingly large. Their strangely human faces, emerging from the thick fur, are unquestionably adult; remote, serene, reproachful. Their television screens are glitchy, esoteric and unknowable. They are cryptids whose public exploitation has undermined their rarity and their strange, alien dignity.

That’s a pretty clear description.

2. The post quickly gained attention and many people drew art, made sculptures, designed in-depth character concepts, and even made DnD character sheets and entries with detailed notes. It was 2017. The post got over 90k notes. It had an extremely clear description of the cryptid in it. This wasn’t at all obscure.

3. The post and four pieces of the concept art, including the first piece by were screencapped and posted on r/tumblr. The post included this art by the now-deactivated @finoliatav which is, I think, the first piece of art. Most screencaps don’t show that it’s animated! Once you see it you can no longer pretend that any more work needs to be done in designing these characters, really - they’re all variations on a very clear theme.

4. A guy called Jars started drawing the BBC Teletubbies as adult Teletubbies. He noted on Reddit that his inspiration for the first one was the r/tumblr post but after that, he considered it entirely his own creative work. He drew each of the 4 BBC Teletubbies as adults using my character description and wrote a little story about how his character had stumbled upon them in the woods. He’s a good artist and his work went viral on Reddit and instagram. Those places being separate from Tumblr by the walls of the enclosure, they quickly believed the Jars was being highly original and praised him for it.

5. jars got carried away by his fame and started merchandising for all he’s worth. He’s selling elder teletubbies placemats. He got a collaborator to help him make and sell plushies.

6. Plushies of my character design applied to BBC characters. Jars sells them. To people. Who buy them. He sells these.

7. I think this is like… his job.

8. It has been years of this. I don’t think he has actually come up with anything else to sell by himself. But given that he now has millions upon millions of views on platforms I don’t use, let alone dominate (Instagram, YouTube, Reddit, TikTok) he seems to have fully subscribed to the idea that this is his THING.

9. After a while I wrote him a friendly email expressing that since my original dream was very much about discomfort with how the teletubbies were being exploited, I didn’t mind him selling his own art but that I wasn’t happy with him selling plushes based on my writing.

10. He wrote back along the lines of it all being his original intellectual property and absolutely nothing to do with me, etc, so jog on and don’t interfere.

11. I’m not entirely sure where the original intellectual property is when taking BBC characters and drawing them according to someone else’s detailed description of how to “evolve” them (branching antlers, shaggy coats, eldritch screens, serene adult human faces) especially having drawn them after seeing four separate detailed reference photos to base your own drawings on; especially when they’re the existing BBC characters from the show and not even your own. Like, Jars, you were given an entire detailed brief, several sets of references, an entire concept and a television show: the only artistic choices made here were to pick up your own personal pen and do the drawing. You have never deviated from my description, which you did not come up with yourself in any way. But okay Jars. You did some real intellectual heavy lifting here, this is Intellectual Property suddenly, and I guess this is your day job!

12. I myself actually have a day job, am capable of generating lots of other original material just for funsies, have never asked you guys for money, and I’m not generally huge jerk I don’t think. Also, I’m uncomfortable but have never been clear on how to stop him - I don’t think I can. So I don’t do much about this, apart from occasionally scream with hilarity with you guys about it.

13. Like this is the opposite of Goncharov. This is a guy making his wage on a 2017 tumblr collaborative shitpost insisting that this is the beautiful fruit of his only brain. And millions of people believe him.

14. There are now YouTube documentaries with millions of views and TikTok lore about Jars, and his lore, the Elder Teletubbies, which apparently he invented. People are making their wage talking about the history of Jars and his teletubbies lore. These documentaries are, if you can’t tell, not especially well-researched, as it is not difficult to find the original elder teletubbies art on the internet, which is all timestamped. Occasionally hilarious people from Tumblr point this out in the comments (thank you, you guys are hilarious) but the juggernaut is unstoppable!

15. Jars is now, apparently, doing a kickstarter to raise money for some kind of DnD sheets using the grown up BBC teletubbies.

16. I will point out that tumblr made and played with DnD teletubbies in 2017 for free and nobody had to pay $3000, but again. The juggernaut is unstoppable.

I have never, ever known what to do about this guy.

I have always been open to advice but genuinely never been able to articulate how it “damages” me, apart from ethical discomfort about how much I hate my writing being monetised by other people, especially when it was about my discomfort with exploitation. The juggernaut is unstoppable though. He fully intends to get thousands of dollars from this. He almost certainly will!

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[jellyfishsthings]

The five times you left Spencer speechless (or how I like to call it, in quiet awe)

Warnings: reader wears glasses but no biggie, reader can fight and use a gun because why not, bau!reader, smitten Spence, nothing happens just feelz, Spence's drug addiction... I think that it

1. The first meeting

It had been a long week. People were crowding the small space of the bullpen. It had been the first case after Gideon's return, and Spencer had been buzzing with excitement to work with his mentor again. The case hadn't been particularly easy, and almost one agent named Elle Greenaway had been lightly injured, who would from now on work with them. His eyes were burning, and he gave into the temptation to wear his glasses as he looked into the nearly filled report in front of him, containing at least seventeen pages worth of information. Madame Strauss claimed that his reports were unnecessarily detailed, how that was a problem he couldn't tell. The hours seemed to blur together as he continued writing his report, losing many minutes trying to form his handwriting into something more presentable.

That was the moment. The time he first laid eyes on her. He had read many romance novels, which he wasn't going to admit, that the moment someone met the one time seemed to slow to near non-existent and his reality at the moment seemed like something coming out of a book.

She was wearing a chunky white pullover with huge sleeves that strangely represented bells and a light brown plaited skirt that reached just at the middle of her thighs. Long legs that seemed to be going on for miles ended at a pair of black Mary Jane's. And sure, her appearance was incredible, but that was not what made him make a double take. He was sure he was hallucinating as he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in his life, looking as if it was something that came out of a Renaissance painting. Her hair was in a braid resting on her shoulder, and wire-framed glasses sat on her nose, making her eyes appear slightly bigger. A tattered pair of wired headphones framed her face, and for a second, Spencer forgot how to breathe, the most cognitive function, the one he had been able to do since he first entered this world. His ears were buzzing, and his brain was running in endless circles.

A hand was moving in front of him, and he stared at the angel that was standing in front of him. Her mouth was moving, probably talking to him, and he willed himself to pay attention.

“S-Sorry.”

“It's alright.” The angel answered him; maybe he had finally overdone it with the sugared coffee he was drinking as if it were his primary source of hydration. “ I am looking for Aaron Hotchner.”

“R-Right. Umm…”

“Good, you are here. Come with me.” Hotch's voice echoed in the empty room, and Spencer's cheeks flamed an angry red as the girl turned and kindly waved at him as she quickly climbed the stairs and entered the conference room. Spencer had half a mind not to turn his chair and stare at her. With an unnecessary loud cough, he turned back at his report and thanked his luck for Morgan's absence because if he had witnessed this, he was going to hear the end of this anytime

2. The lesson

A month had passed since he first saw her. And yet, he could recall her vividly, the deep-set eyes, the rosy lips. His birthday had been a blur as he celebrated them in the office and invited JJ in a lame attempt to ask her out which just resulted in a long evening where JJ and Penelope talked endlessly and he could comprehend the sport he was supposedly watching.

He was waiting in Hotch's office as a stand-in. He was teaching a young agent to join the unit and he was thrilled when he heard that the student was just a few months shy of his own age. At the moment, he was trying to move a huge board to the office when someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around way too fast and came face to face with the angel he saw, the one he thought he willed into existence.

“Do you need help with that?”

“No, no. I got it. Are you Hotch's student?” Ge asked and immediately regretted it. Of course, she was his student. Why did he have to lose half of his IQ around her? He gave one last hard shove to the board end and then aligned it with the desk. “So um… Hotch asked me to be your tutor for today if that is alright with you. Um… What material are you studying?”

“Mostly psychology. Which I am not very good at, by the way.” She retrieved a huge book from her bag and a small pencil case that was filled with just a pen and three markers, red, yellow, and green. Just as she opened the book, he could see that its majority was colored and that it had notes in the margins. His heart thudded louder in his chest.

“What do all those colors mean?” He asked curiously as he approached her.

“Well green means that I understand it; yellow means that I am working on it and red … I just have no clue. It's just mostly yellow at the moment, though the notes help.”

“What's red?” She looked at him in a strange way, and too late did he realize that she was studying him, his question had been earnest and probably too forward, and he rushed to explain himself. “ I just - I asked because I have a PhD in the subject.” He could see her eyebrows lifting before they settled in a scowl and whacked his brain to understand what he said wrong.

“You are Doctor Reid, right?” She asked quietly, and he stupidly nodded as an answer to her question. “Well there is … I don't understand some differences between some categories of killers; they have much in common, so why are they in a separate category?”

“The answer is actually way simpler I'd you think of it in a Venn diagram.” He rushed to the board, and drew a few circles, and he started writing on it as he explained its category separately. He talked for what seemed like hours, and he embarrassingly looked at his watch. He must have been talking for over an hour, and he turned to look at the girl only to find her writing on her book, still in the margins looking at him expectantly. The way she was staring at him almost had him stammering once again, and he felt his knees weaken for a strange reason. So he carried on.

When he was done, he turned to look at her; she was still writing something before she whispered. “You need to tuck your chest in when you are firing a gun.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Aaron said that he was having trouble with one of his agents' firearm training, and it must be you. You have a long torso, so your weight center is different from the diagrams in the training books you must have read. That's why you keep missing.” And just like that, she was gone again wishing him good night and a nice weekend.

His head was spinning as he walked towards the training room, and he wore his earmuffs and protective glasses. Tuck your chest in. And so he did before aiming and pressing the trigger three times. His shots were the best, but he hadn't missed. Pride swarmed his chest; he was going to do it.

The next day, he failed his exam. He had lost his gun.

3. The first case

Small-town cases were always the most thrilling in his humble opinion. And any time somehow a cult or demons were involved, he worked ten times harder to prove them wrong. Only this time, their team had a new member. Gideon did seem to take a liking to her, in contrast with Spencer, who was incredibly warm to her the moment she entered the room. Maybe it was because he had met her before, or maybe it was because whenever she was around him. Somehow, his conversation with Morgan had turned to the explanation of attraction in the neurotic sector.

“Chemicals, such as dopamine, may cause one to be giddy, euphoric, and even to experience suppressed hunger and sleep cues. You may recall a time when someone made your heart thud erratically in your chest, heat rise in your body making you blush, and the sensation of being tongue-tied or not able to form coherent thoughts. These are the characteristics of attraction.”

“Is that what you feel around her then? Because you don't act like yourself around her. I mean, come on, you are a germaphobe, and you were the first to shake her hand.”

He’s a germaphobe, he is, and that doesn’t just go away when you meet someone lovely, but he did shake her hand. She surprised him too quickly to think beyond taking her hand, letting it happen. Their formal meeting, the one where they acted as if they hadn't spent an evening together in this same room. Hotch gave him a funny look. Mostly impassive, but not quite, and he was definitely on to him. In the duration of the case, he tried to keep his distance, which didn't go that well when he found himself staring at the barrel of a gun that was aimed at him. Everything went by too quickly as she dove toward the UnSub, without a second thought tackling him to the ground and disarming him in a few short seconds. He wanted to be impressed, yet he had seen her in the training room with Morgan as they had hand-to-hand combat. She moved with agility, and her every move seemed calculated and strategic. He had felt his heart stutter in his chest as she helped him stand and checked him for injuries.

He was lovestruck as Penelope teased him. His silly crush on JJ had been entirely forgotten.

4. The Lila Archer incident

He was an idiot. It was the first time he would characterize himself in such a way. And hopefully the last.

When you guard a beautiful actress, Spencer, don't jump in the pool with her.

Love,

Spencer

He could identify the disappointment in his colleagues' faces from the very first second, yet the one that pierced him the most was hers. She barely spoke during the discussions about the possible type of the UnSub, no matter how much Elle or Hotch urged her on. She had been stuck with him for pretty much all of the cases and he had to admit that she was a brilliant young woman. The others interpreted her quietness as an inability to profile but her insights were what had helped him make some major breakthroughs on the last cases. When they congratulated him for that he simply smiled stating that he didn't work alone yet the others probably thought that he was just trying to cover his partner and not share mutual credit for their work. It unnerved him how she seemed incredibly distant and stoic always five paces away from the rest of the team.

Yet this time she seemed furious, it was the deathly kind of quiet, the one that sent a chill to his bones and left all the apologies that were spewing up in his brain die on his tongue.

Frustration was welling up on him and he tried to muster up the courage to talk to her, only to find her crying in Morgan's arms. He couldn't understand for the life of him what she was saying and a selfish, terrible part of him hoped that, maybe, she had been crying for him.

5. The drug addiction

Tobias Hankel was going to be a name that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sometimes deep into the night he was still at that cabin fighting for his life, the one time his intelligence wasn't enough. What drew him to steal those few bottles of Dilaud from his pocket, why he used them, why he formed his addiction. He didn't want to be a drug addict but it was his new reality. He desperately tried to stop it, tried to hide it and always felt ashamed when he relapsed to that horrible habit. He would sit in his bathroom sweating, crying and begging a higher force, a higher being to end his torment, despite never being a religious man, only for his phone to ring demanding his presence because of a new case and for him to fall back to his old routine.

It was a tough journey and he wanted to talk with his friends about that, he needed their help, yet they ignored his problem as if it didn't exist, even though the signs were clear. He was always lashing out, having terrible mood swings and when they tried to confort him about it he lashed out. He had met an old friend of his and he had been the only one he had been brutally honest about his … condition. Gideon knew, his mentor knew, he had the confirmation, yet he turned a blind eye to the situation. Everyone did, except from her.

Everyday she would bring him his extra sweet coffee filled to the brim with stevia and not sugar, because sugar was just as addictive. When he craved, he played with his fingers, tried to distract himself but to no avail, a long strip of hard licorice sweets would appear in front of his face, after research be learned that the flavourful of licorice was extremely distinctive and strong and its hard texture led a person to chew endlessly at just one piece. It was the best food to consume to distract yourself. Every night after a case she would show up at his place with Greek takeout, which was apparently the best cousine, and demand longtime marathons of a show or series of movies, which wasn't something unusual for the two of them. She visited him because she knew that he would never use in her vicinity. He had never known true love until that moment and he recalled a quote by Jane Austin.

To be loved is to be known.

words: 3.007

[kooberryfields4ever]

lucky

hello !!!!!!! was not expecting this to get as long as it did nor did i expect the turn but what can i say i am a creature driven by self satisfaction……… :( anyways originally this was gonna be like a 1k max drabble bc i rewatched jks sleepy eepy sweetie live and he was twitching and looked so pretty that i HAD to write something domestic !!!! but i am an ANIMAL and thinking about jungkook sleepy in the morning made me feral😇 hope u enjoy!!!!!!!!

wc: 2500+

content warnings : fluff & smut below the cut, light nipple play, fingering, jungkook has a cute panty kink(?), jungkook is an unstoppable force, unprotected piv sex, gendered terms (the word “girl” is used & detailed desc of female anatomy), messy orgasm

MDNI !

You’ve been awake for ten minutes now, just watching Jungkook twitch in his slumber. It’s early morning – a little after 8:00AM – and he looks so unbelievably beautiful under the gentle sunlight flittering through the blinds. With a soft smile on your lips, your eyes trail over his eyebrows, paying attention to how they raise and drop in his unconsciousness, moving down to his relaxed jaw and the divots of his shoulder blades when your gaze lowers. The gentle rise and fall of his back as he breathes and the fist that keeps clenching and unclenching while you lay beside him makes your smile widen. Jungkook is a breath-taking sight, looking so at peace while you observe him. His muscles are softer in their unflexed state and you can’t help it when your finger finds his right triceps and paints shapes over it. His tattoos are next on your list of targets, and soon your wandering finger is tracing the inked motifs like you’re re-carving them into his skin, following the lines and curves of the patterns as if they were new to you.  

They are very much not new to you, though. You think you’ve studied them over a hundred times, committed them to memory, made them so indelible in your mind that you’re sure you could redraw them perfectly if he ever asked. You chance at moving your touch to his fingers, watching his face amusedly when you lift his hand to inspect them and he furrows his brow. The soft letters adorning the bones of his joints are met with the pad of your thumb as you stroke them adoringly, fighting the desperate urge to kiss his calloused palm when the tips of your fingers press against the rough skin. Your fingers don’t get to explore for long before he opens a single eye suspiciously, curling his fingers around your hand to stop you. 

“Good morning,” his voice is deeper, sluggish, yet gentle still through the rasp. “You having fun?” 

“I was,” you smirk, intertwining your fingers with his instinctually, “until you so rudely interrupted me.” His thumb rubs your knuckles sleepily, bringing them to his lips for a chaste kiss, turning onto his back, pulling you closer to his chest and tucking his other hand behind his head. 

“Mm, my bad.” Comes his short reply, blinking his eyes open once again to find yours. His fingers card through your hair when you sit up on your elbows, leaning against his solid frame. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip while you allow yourself to continue observing him from above now that he’s awake.  

“Do you know you twitch a lot in your sleep?” You ask, reaching over to rub some sleep from the corner of his eye. Your thumb runs over his cheek, then down to his lower lip, dragging it down playfully and watching it bounce back when you let go abruptly. He shakes his head slightly to answer your question but sits quietly, content to just let you fiddle, fondly mirroring the smile you offer him when you lean forward to press your foreheads together. “I should’ve filmed it. You almost knocked me out.” 

“Instead of leaving me in peace?” He quirks a brow, tilting his head back to press a kiss to your lips quickly before lowering it again. “I don’t think I’m capable of hurting you, even if I’m unconscious. It’s written out of my biological code.”  

You giggle, shaking your head. “As if I would’ve let you anyway, we both know I'd win in a fight.” 

Your lips chase his naturally, and he hums sweetly when you connect them again, smirking. “Is that a challenge?” He mumbles into your mouth, you feel his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer still before flipping you onto your back effortlessly. He continues kissing you like that. 

“Because I really beg to differ,” he ruses, trailing a hand down to the back of your thigh to hold your leg up against his hip. “Think I’d win in a heartbeat.” Another kiss. “How easy was it for me to get you like this?” His hips move against yours in a slow motion, making you very aware of a growing presence between his legs as it presses against you through all your layers of clothing. 

“You play dirty, that’s why,” you joke back, pushing your palm against his forehead. He moves away from your lips to attach his mouth to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone delicately, the same way your fingers did to him minutes ago. “Caught me off guard, that’s- that’s not fair,” the small moan that leaves you after your stutter is unintentional. Curse Jungkook and how easily your body gives in to his ministrations. You loathe the way he seems to revel in it too, snickering when he moves his hips again. 

You lean your head back against the pillows when he pushes your tank top up over your tits and you can feel his lips enclose around your nipple. It’s not a fair fight, Jungkook knows that. Knows that when his teeth brush against the darker flesh it’ll pebble against his tongue. Knows that when his hands slip down past your waist and hips, your legs will spread instinctually for him. Knows that when your fingers tangle in his hair, he’s got you.  

“Could die between your tits,” His muffled voice knocks you out of your pleasured trance, and you hum in acknowledgement. He’s resting his face between your breasts rather lovingly now, kissing the skin between them with a hand on your waist. The hand tangled in his hair falls to his nape, scratching at the baby hairs grown out from his last haircut.  

“I wouldn’t encourage you to.” 

“Couldn’t be the worst fate.” 

His response has you rolling your eyes, “No, a worse fate would be me beating you to a pulp because you thought you’d win in a wrestling match against me.” He chuckles, looking up at you and resting his chin on your chest with a soft pout. 

“Seemed to like my approach a second ago,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body to kiss you again. There’s no underlying motive behind it, he just really likes your lips on his. You give in because, despite your argumentative nature, you like his lips too. He kisses you lazily, knee slotted between your legs, half-heartedly holding his body up to stop himself from leaning all of his weight on you. Your arms drape naturally over his shoulders and around his neck to keep him there, and you can feel his smile against your lips. 

“You still hard?” His only response is the subtle grind of his hips against yours in affirmation and a slight lowering of his hand on your waist, on a slow but steady mission. 

“Should I be offended that you don’t seem to be doing anything about it?” 

“Gettin’ to it, jus’ let me kiss you.” He licks into your mouth sweetly, chasing the taste of you. Tries to pull you impossibly closer when you chuckle, spurring him on even more. He bites your lower lip, his wandering hand finally slipping past the waistband of your pyjama pants and brushing over your underwear. You can feel him smirk when he finds the small bow on the front, parting from your lips to slip your pants down to get a good look at them. They’re childish, pink and polka dotted and old; you’ve had them since before you and Jungkook even started dating but hardly wear them anymore. 

“Cute.” Is all he says, and you roll your eyes before reaching down to pull them off. He grabs your wrists, meeting your eyes sternly. “Keep ‘em on.” 

You slip your hands from his grasp, nodding hesitantly but obediently. You watch him curiously when he focuses his entire attention on your clothed pussy, entranced by it, pressing his fingers against the damp fabric to watch it cling to the shape of you, darkening with your arousal. 

“Fuck, they’re so cute, baby,” he babbles, not really even speaking directly to you, just thinking out loud, “can I fuck you with them on?” He asks sweetly, kissing your chest and keeping an eye on you as he waits for your answer. You nod, combing your fingers through his hair when he peppers more kisses across your tits as a thank you. He pushes the fabric aside slightly to gain access to your pussy with no restrictions, not hesitating to sink his middle and index fingers past your opening. He knows you’re wet enough, preening when he hears your breaths turn to soft moans. He’s so familiar with your body now that curling his fingers up against your g-spot is second nature to him. You encourage him wordlessly, watching him work while his head still rests on your chest.  

He knows you, so when you start to tighten around him and your moans turn into held breaths, he withdraws from you. You go to protest, furrowing your brow annoyedly, but he shushes you.  

“Gonna have you come on my dick, baby.” There’s a brief pause while he separates from you to push his boxers down and take your pyjamas bottoms fully off too, grunting when he strokes himself languidly above you before rubbing his tip between your dripping folds, still fascinated by the panties he made you keep on. 

“So pretty,” he coos, and for lack of better judgement, you nod. “So fuckin’ wet, love when you get like this for me. All for me.” He’s egging you on, coating himself in your arousal and pressing his forehead to yours when he sinks the mushroom tip of his cock past your opening. It’s calculated and slow, you think it’s to tease you, to prolong your frustration even longer; truthfully, it’s because Jungkook is embarrassingly close and wants to make himself last as long as he can. 

“You wore these the first time I fucked you,” he admits, sinking deeper into your walls and breathing against your lips, “all I could think about for the rest of that week was getting to fuck you again, you were so perfect.” He pulls out slowly, before pushing back in, deeper this time. You let out a half-moan, half-breath, and he repeats until he’s fully seated inside of you. 

“Wanted to fuck you with them on then, too, thought they were so cute.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Thought it was pervy, thinking your panties were cute and wanting to keep them on,” he chuckles, kissing you gently and quickening the pace of his hips to fuck you faster, “think you would’ve thought I was a creep, wouldn’t have let me. Was easier to make you think I just wanted to take my time undressing you.” 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have.” 

“Mm, you’re well trained now.” 

His words get him a slap at the back of his head, and he laughs with you. The amusement doesn’t last long however, and soon he’s hiding his face in your shoulder to piston his cock in and out of you. You curse under your breath, letting him grip your thigh to guide your knee to your chest, wanting to fuck you deeper. He tuts, frustrated at the fact that he can’t get as deep as he wants, and soon your knees are over his shoulders with his hands holding your hips while he fucks you vigorously. He’s grunting animalistically, his tip prodding your cervix over and over, the corona of his cock rubbing deliciously against your g-spot every time he pulls back.  

“Touch yourself.” He instructs from your shoulder. It’s gentle, you know he doesn’t mean to come across as commanding but you like it anyway. You’re quick to obey, of course, and soon you’re trailing a hand down to your own pussy to start rubbing at your clit. He wants you to finish, that much is apparent, and you assume it’s because he’s trying to hold off his own orgasm for you. It’s wordless between you when you feel the familiar band in your stomach begin to tighten, and your free hand wanders across his broad back, digging your fingernails into his shoulder blades in such a contrasting way to how you were so gentle only ten minutes ago. He grunts, knows you’re close because you’re clenching around him and he can feel you holding your breath. He kisses your collarbone as silent encouragement, and a few more strokes has you coming undone around him, finally releasing your breath and pulsing around him in a way that has you nearly pushing him out. 

“Gonna come, where you want it?” He asks quietly, knows your answer but wants to hear it. You always want it inside, and Jungkook is always more than happy to oblige. 

“On my panties.” Comes your surprising reply, and Jungkook’s pupils dilate to proportions you didn’t think were physically possible. He stops moving, dropping his grip on your hips to brace his hands against the sides of your head and hold himself up above you.  

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he jokes, dipping down to kiss you fervently, picking up the pace of his hips again, “you’re so fucking perfect, you want me to come all over your panties, baby? Want me to make a mess?” 

You’re not stupid, you know as much as the next girl that if there’s anything a man likes more than coming inside, it’s staking his claim. Of course, semen washes off - but the thought of Jungkook painting your panties white even makes your stomach flip. You nod, and he doesn’t need any more persuasion before he pulls out of you and sits up in order to stroke himself, a singular goal in mind. Your panties are still tucked to the side so he can see all of you as his fist pumps his cock quickly. You observe him, his cock is still wet from your arousal and his tip is so swollen and red that you’re unsure how he lasted even this long. As expected, he doesn’t last very long, and soon thick white ropes of come are shooting from his tip and coating your pussy and the fabric of your panties. He’s shuddering, curling over on himself before collapsing beside you on the bed. 

“C’mere,” he pants out, slipping his arms around your middle and pulling you toward him, “this was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” 

“Really wasn’t, I was doting on you.” 

“Feeling me up is ‘doting’ now?” 

You push him away playfully, but he keeps his grip on you, laughing when you turn around to get away from him. He pulls you back towards him and spoons you.  

“I was being cute and you made it pervy, like always.” He can hear the pout in your voice, so he mumbles something in agreement. Knows there’s no winning here when he just came all over your panties like some kind of neanderthal. He rubs his hand over your belly, kissing your shoulder blade affectionately to keep you close. Your own hands cover his, intertwining your fingers once again and snuggling sweetly into him. 

a/n 🗒️ as always tysm for reading !!! if u have anything to say pls do i love to hear from ppl and reflecting on criticism is my driving force 💆‍♀️ reqs/asks are open !!!!