#unit detected

[abysshydra]

The more we go through with our systemhood, the more I think there's a good chance of us being dissociative. First red flags were when we realized how little we had in common with purely Non-CDD systems. Our functionality is more often than not is similar to what we see in traumagenic circles.

Most of the time all of this went through our radar, because we didn't pay attention to it. I mean, no one wants to have a complex disorder, I know I don't. Everything we researched so far was brushed aside as a symptom of something else, from memory issues of autistic origin, to dissociation and identity disturbance caused by BPD. Lack of childhood memories was brushed off the moment we remember one singular pixel out of entire picture. Traumatic moments were ignored as "not that bad" and others because they "happened too late".

The community we saw after starting research was violent, aggressive, demanding. They had a box in which they didn't fit too anyway. Only specific type of trauma, blackouts, voices, arguing, distinct people in your head. You need to suffer, they were saying, openly and covertly. But I was t suffering that much.

Blackouts as they are portrayed are nonexistent for us, we don't hear each other, we don't switch openly, we don't dissociate this hard, we don't argue with each other. We were fake in their eyes. We are not distinct enough to classify as DID system, yet we are too distinct to be OSDD-1a. Memory barriers partially exist, yet they are too little and too much at the same time. I could remember what I ate yesterday, but I didn't remember where one of us saved a document until they stepped into front.

Hearing from people who are different from that box, who are nothing what we usually think of when we hear DID/OSDD was mind changing. Perhaps what we experience is exactly what we thought it wasn't.

Hearing from mixed origin or inclusive CDD systems was mind changing. That unhealthy framework we were forced to see all the time was broken. People with no headspace, people without distinct members, without specific type of headmates, who didn't go through physical abuse, who have too little amnesia, who are still functional despite having CDD. People who don't struggle like others want them to. I saw how similar I was to them.

But I am not going to say for sure. It is a complex disorder and I am only now starting to actually consider it while being in a good enough mindset, when the thought of having that disorder is not making me feel like shit. Perhaps, the longer I am in the inclusive mixed origin or CDD community, the more I will learn, the more my opinion solidifies. But for now, even leaning towards having CDD, I am still questioning. My symptoms are more important than labels.

[critter-of-habit]

He is innocent!

[seraphinitegames]

It's here! The demo for chapters 3 and 4 for Book 4 of The Wayhaven Chronicles is HERE!!!

https://dashingdon.com/play/seraphinite/the-wayhaven-chronicles-book-four-demo/mygame/

This link now supersedes the Patreon early access link.

(We're aware that Dashingdon will be closing down at the end of the month, so we'll be putting the demo up in an alternative location when we get the chance! Don't worry, the demos will still be available. Hope you enjoy this demo update, as well as the future one to come, hehe! :D)

[lgbtqmovierecs]

LGBTQ Series of the Day:

Dead Boy Detectives

Description:

Two teenage ghosts work alongside a clairvoyant to solve mysteries for their supernatural clientele, until a powerful witch complicates their plans.

Name: Dead Boy Detectives

Genre: Comedy/Drama/Supernatural/Horror

Age Rating: 15

Release Date: 2024

Relationships: MLM & WLW (Subplots)

Representation: Gay, Lesbian

Episodes: 8

Running Time: 52-56 minutes

Country of Origin: United States

Language: English

Starring: George Rexstrew, Jayden Revri, Kassius Nelson, Briana Cuoco, Ruth Connell, Yuyu Kitamura, Jenn Lyon

[wandasaura]

ITS SIN

summary — when the weight of your day finally catches up to you, you find yourself tethered to the precinct with olivia

warning(s) — dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, age gap relationship, power imbalance, authority kink, domestic dominance, implied mommy kink, praise, soft affirmations, pet names, primarily comfort, light hurt/angst mentions of a shooting, alluded to anxiety, very lightly implied anxious attachment style, maybe illusions to subspace, olivia ‘pick your poison babe, i’m poison either way’ benson, men/minors dni

authors note — this was written by high aura on a whim. happy 4/20. this was not proofread nor edited and literally not a single thing on this blog ever has been or will be. part two here.

You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve left hours ago, but there’s a gentle glow coming from beneath an office door, and you’re reminded that you’re not alone, that you’re never alone — anywhere you go, she’ll be there; at work, at home, at the corner store across from her apartment with Noah when you’re just trying to surprise her with flowers — her favorite flowers, the kind that die in days but evoke a smile anytime the eye catches their colors. It’s wrong, straight up sinful really, dating your boss, engaging in explicit sexual scenarios with your superior officer, letting personal mix with professional, but you crave her like a rugged addict. Maybe you’ve never experienced addiction. Not true, stone cold, shivering, bone shattering addiction, but you’ve experienced Olivia Benson, and her withdrawal symptoms come at a much larger price. She’s unavoidable poison, and she takes pleasure in your pain. Distance pulls your heart to shreds, but proximity gets you drunk. Either way, she’s compromised you, but you’re too far in it to care anymore.

The blinds are drawn, an attempt to dissuade any disruptions. You know she wants to get back to Noah, how she likes to spend her nights, and how she gets unruly when things go unexpectedly even though she’s been within the claws of unpredictability for decades. You know her skin is stained with blood from its sharp unforgiving grasp over the years, and you can only think of how it’s probably slickening with more as the unpredictable crimes of New York City keep her tethered to her desk like she’s the criminal. You want to go in. Every muscle aches to be caressed beneath her fingers. You want to sit with her, share the lemonade you just pulled out of the vending machine, but you couldn’t possibly pull her away. Not when you’re the reason she’s here.

You swallow thickly, not sure if you want the lemonade anymore. You feel queasy, hot and cold. The belt around your waist had been noticeable when you’d gotten dressed this morning, and it’s outright insufferable now. You know your skin is rubbed raw, red and probably irritated. The marks on your thighs had been just as raw days ago, but bearing those had been different, consensual and somewhat dizzying. There’s no room for arousal at the memory of Olivia between your thighs when you so violently remember how you’d frozen during a chase. How you could’ve detained the suspect before he’d shot himself if you’d just moved faster when he turned the gun on himself after shooting at your feet. Your heart hammers now. You can hear the gunshot. Feel the reverberations through the bones in your feet even though there’s no bullet mark on these tiles. You shake your head. You told 1PP you were okay. You’d been cleared by psych. Everything that should’ve been broken was intact, but everything that could be broken and allow you to still function was shattered into a million pieces.

You’d never been shot at before.

Not like that. Not with the wind in your face, the blush in your cheeks, the clip already half empty. It was a messy fight. He shot back behind him. You shot head of yourself, only ever missing him by an inch as he weaved and zipped. You fired your gun twice. He fired nine. Seven shots had missed. Bouncing off windows, cars, bricks. One had so nearly grazed your toe for a second you wondered if it was gone. The second after that he had shot himself, and you thought it was you. Olivia had run past you, you only know because her fingers brushed your side as she made sure the suspect was dead and you’d never mistake the tingles she provoked, and that was the only confirmation that you hadn’t been shot before you’d been thrown around by medics and officers all questioning you, only some concerned about your health.

Your fingers pass across the cold metal of a broach pinned to your right pocket. It’s important to note that it wasn’t a necklace. Not one that would tangle on your hair when you ran. Not a bracelet that could catch on the safety of your gun or the brackets of the taser holstered to your belt. It’s a thoughtful sentiment. A meaningful one. A small mouse head sits sparkly against the dark thread of your slacks. Sterling silver. A notable addition. One that keeps you pushing toward one day having a metal to decorate you as a detective instead of a pin that represents a stupid nickname in the department. Mousey. Benson’s creation.

You live up to that name as you continue past her office, the only evidence of your prolonged presence in the precinct the scrape of the rolling chairs wheels on the floor. Your body feels heavy as you fall into the cushions. You set the lemonade down, sure it’ll stay there to die until Olivia inevitably grabs it off your desk and throws it away. The paperwork is standard follow-up, something that can certainly wait until the end of the week when everyone else stays late to overcompensate for the things they pushed off, but you can’t leave. Something tethers you to the precinct the same way it chains Benson to her desk. If you leave, you’re out there again, and the streets of Manhattan have never felt so unsafe; so changed. You’d been in SVU six months, but every day was opening your eyes to fears you’d ignorantly thought out of reach.

It could’ve been minutes, but it might’ve been hours before something shifted in the quiet building. The buzz of every device in the room quieted, letting you hear the creek of hinges behind your back. Olivia. You want to fall into her, to crash against her, but you failed today. You didn’t step up despite her laying the stepping stones for it to be possible. It wasn’t the end of the world. In the end, a criminal got taken down, but this wasn’t just about karma coming around. For six months Olivia had gone to bat for you. She’s taken you beneath her wing and you let her down. That’s never felt good, and it certainly doesn’t now.

“Sweetheart,” Olivia’s voice calls for you, sweet, soft, dripping with velvet affection. “Come see me, hm?” She attempts to draw you in, even opens her arms and nods her head toward her off in just the oddly specific way she knows makes your heart soar, but you don’t look up from the black ink stained page to realize she’s putting this much into comforting you.

She should’ve comforted you before — you’d wanted her to comfort you before. When you’d thought you’d been shot twice. When your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands were trembling and you could see the way all of your wrong doings piled up on her shoulders in an instant. It was too late now. You felt submerged in the weight of your guilt and anxiety. You were drowning in your feelings, beneath the crushing knowledge that you’d disappointed her; the one person who’d ever seen you.

When she realized you were purposefully ignoring her, your muscles flexing in unconscious acknowledgment of her presence, her jaw set, and her eyes narrowed. She hadn’t seen it before. You’d put up a mask of indifference and she’d let herself accept it, but just the simple fact that you’re still here says enough. She doesn’t think you realize that you do it, that you gravitate to her like an affection craving kitten seeking attention, but you do, and that need for closeness only strengthens when you’re distressed.

Olivia’s heart hammers with guilt. She knows that you can handle so much. You’ve proven that fact and yourself time and time again — in ways you weren’t even aware of — but so often you fell short recognized your own personal needs and feelings. As she’d learned you, memorized your every emotion beneath her fingertips, your heartbeats pulsing as close as they possibly could, she’d learned that certain events and feelings could leave you fuzzy, uncomfortable in your own skin, grappling for structure that gives way at the slightest touch. Your misstep had caused quite the commotion within 1PP and the precinct, it had pulled her away because it was job, but she can’t let that keep happening. You’re hers. She loves her job, honors her duty and serves it fully, but you’re worth more. At that moment, Olivia decides she’s done with paperwork for the night.

“Detective.” Paperwork may be done, but the badge hasn’t yet been unclasped from her waistband, and she can’t help but take advantage of that — of you. “My office. Now.” Her voice is thin, leaving no room for arguments of failure to comply. Your insides bristle. Prickly and uncomfortable. Her tone sent shockwaves through your bone marrow.

You need her.

When you still remain stationary, heavy in the rolling chair clutching your favorite black clicky pen that Olivia steals to sign rushed documents, she clicks her tongue demandingly, rolling out the kinks in her neck. “Detective, that was not a suggestion.”

You bristle again, but you swallow that sharp sting of stubbornness to finally give into the yearning in your bones. Your body moves towards her automatically, and when you blink up at her, swayed by the authority in her hard stare, she knows it’ll only take a moment before you’re in the palm of your hand, the way you should’ve been hours ago.

She lets the office door close behind her body before she draws you into her chest in a manner that convinces you to sink against her. “Hi, sweetheart.” Her ribcage rattles beneath your cheek, her fingers twisting into your hair and pulling down, gently tugging the roots behind your ear — your weak spot, one of the quickest ways to get you to crumble that Olivia has found. You preen, knees buckling, and Olivia smiles tenderly. “Look at you.” She cooed, her fingers trailing across your cheekbone now, so high that your eyes flutter closed on instinct. The darkness that consumes you paired with the heat of her touch only draws you into that fuzziness further. “You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?”

You nod, just slightly, your eyes still closed even though her hands have wandered down to your waist, unbuttoning your pants that she knows are driving you crazy. You sigh when the pressure is released, and her fingers do wonders to ease the string where material had rubbed soft skin raw.

“I need words, my love.” She encourages, tilting your chin upward until your eyes meet hers. They're so soft. The love she holds for you makes your eyes sting, and your lip quivers at the release of all the emotions you’ve been keeping inside.

“Yes.” You whisper, the words hoarse as they cut through the air, slice your throat. Your lips downturn, something Olivja anticipated. You never were a fan of her religious checks for consent and understanding, and when you found yourself in this state, drunk beneath her affection and overworked from life, you don’t exactly have a way with words.

“And I wasn’t very attentive, was I?” She frowns sympathetically, letting you know that she’s aware of her shortcoming in your relationship, even if you never expected her to guide your flight through life at every new gust of wind. You shook your head tentatively, because you know she wants an answer, and she accepts it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I’m here now. I’m here now. Just let me have you, okay? That’s all I need you to do for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper, because the prospect of falling into your roles, your discussed dynamic, it just sounds too tempting after thinking your life had met an untimely end. Maybe some would call that dramatic, but some things couldn’t be explained. Something changed today, your perspective had been more fragile than you’d realized.

“Okay.” She nodded, patting your cheeks before she let you go, “Come on, we’re just gonna sit down for a little while, okay?” Olivia asked softly, guiding your languished body toward her couch. It wasn’t as comfortable as the King sized bed in her bedroom, but it made for a decent spot to steal five minutes of affection throughout the day. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

Olivia sat down first, and the look that crossed your face was one she wished she could memorize. Your lips downturned, your eyes glassy and wide in betrayal. A short whine slipped out, but before you could stamp your foot into the ground, though it would’ve been a welcomed sight, Olivia clicked her tongue disapprovingly at your impatience and guided you into her lap by the belt loops on your pants — and action that always made you feel small.

You sighed in content when she allowed you to sink into her chest, moving your hair and hers away from her chest so you could feel the soft pulse of her skin beneath yours directly. She didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t needed. Her fingers thrumming against your back, her breath against the shell of your ear, her perfume surrounding you… it was enchanting.

“Your strong, sweetheart, but you don’t always have to be.” She reminded you, and even though she’d been speaking those words to you for months, they only just settled in now, and your blissful state amplified.

Olivia chuckled warmly when you nuzzled your face up into her neck, blocking out the office light until that comfortable darkness got to you again. Olivia didn’t let you get too comfortable, she never let you get too comfortable. The unpredictability of her love was adventurous and addictive, another dilemma to conquer whenever distance forced your heart to grieve what wasn’t dead, just suspended. Before you could fall asleep, your breathing enough indication to say that was coming, Olivia tapped your thigh, shifting with the motivation to stand.

You whined, shaking your head, grabbing a fistful of her blazer to assert your claim over her even if she was in charge. You didn’t want her to leave, to be any farther away then she already was right now. “None of that, come on, let’s go, sweetheart. We can get you home and all comfy.”

When you remained unmoving, she tried another approach, trailing her fingers up your thigh until the tickle of her touch became prickles of arousal you weren’t at liberty to shove aside at this time. Your breath caught and Olivia smirked knowing you were in the palm of her hand. “The sooner we get home, the sooner we can work out some of these knots, baby girl.” She coed, her fingers curling around the fleshy part of your thigh until your breath trembled and your eyelashes fluttered tellingly.

“Good girl.” Olivia cooed, and guided you up when your persistence gave way. She didn’t bother buttoning your pants again, just fixed your shirt to cover the bulge where metal stuck out, and nodded her satisfaction. “Alright, home now, little Mouse.”

[bensonnstabler]

[hiamabbass]

Dead people are dead. Danvers... No, there’s no heaven, there’s no hell, there’s no ghosts fucking beyond. There’s nobody out there just waiting for us, watching us.

TRUE DETECTIVE: NIGHT COUNTRY (2024) Dir. Issa López

[abysshydra]

Glitch managed to gather a Polycule and adopted into his Wardship two members, like, collecting boyfriends. The funniest thing is when Ram got a skin associated heavily with a character Glitch despises so much. They're dating for the record.

Me and my brother also call each other The DNI Siblings, which I find hilarious.

I don't know what is happening between Leviathan and Online, and I prefer not to know.

Otherwise everyone is kinda normal.

#One-Hundred-Twelve

[pt: #One-Hundred-Twelve]

What are some of the zaniest, wackiest, funniest in-sys relationships in your system? What are some of the calmest, most domestic?

Question was suggested by anon!

[thirstbxtch]

Steno

Pairing: John Munch x Reader

Rating: E

John's curious as to why you would break things off with a seemingly great guy.

Started watching SVU from the beginning for the first time as an adult.

Became unexpectedly feral for Detective Munch.

Lack of content has brought me out of retirement.

You're in one of the courthouse break rooms grabbing a coffee when Detective John Munch comes in.

"Hey, haven't seen you in awhile," he says, also pouring a coffee. You lean back against the counter sipping yours.

You run into each other sometimes, being a stenographer. You like it when you're assigned to a trial he's called to testify on, like today. The sound of his voice. His sometimes dryly sarcastic responses given during cross examination. You both have the same sense of humor. He likes you because you never ask him to spell anything, including psychological terminology.

John gives an "ah" of understanding.

You sigh.

"Got tied up on a double homicide. Mistrial. It's on hold while they find a new jury."

"How you've been? How's Eric?" He teases pleasantly.

Eric was an up-and-coming attorney you'd started dating about two months ago.

"Over that fast? Did it even have time to get started?" John jokes.

You make a face.

"Mmm, just went ahead and ended it. Wasn't going anywhere."

You shrug nonchalant.

"Well, when you know, you know."

He nods, deciding not to push.

"You?"

"This case has been a bitch, I'm expecting the trial will be as well."

"Seems to be headed that way."

You check your watch.

"Better get back to it, recess is almost up. You know how Judge Schneider is when it comes to punctuality."

"Oh believe me, I know."

The jury reaches a verdict after three days of deliberation. Now the end of the third day, Munch is there to hear it, sitting in the gallery.

Your fingers hover over the stenotype in anticipation as they stand to deliver.

"The jury has found the defendant Not Guilty, your honor."

There's a stunned kind of silence throughout the court room. It takes you a second to process before you can transcribe it.

You glance over at Munch. Stony expression says it all.

He approaches you once it's all over, the courtroom clearing, you're gathering your things.

John's standing there tall and slender, black suit, dark grey shirt, dark salt and pepper hair brushed back. Blue tie with his signature silver tie clip.

"I could use a drink after that, care to join?"

He's not really expecting you to agree, but what the hell right.

Handsome in an academic sort of way.

"You drive?"

"Yeah, actually, same."

Can't be any harm in commiserating with someone in essentially the same field. Your friends only put up with so much of your work talk.

"No, not today, took the subway."

He looks at you, skeptical.

"What?"

He shakes his head, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Alright, come on."

He takes you to a quiet, little bar, where you'll actually be able to hear each other talk. Soft piano music playing in the background.

John orders a Scotch, neat, and you order a Manhattan.

After about an hour and two drinks of lamenting the outcome of the trial, debating the downfalls of the legal system, and generally catching up --John decides he's curious.

"So--wanna tell me what actually happened with Erick?" Tone only half serious.

"Is this why you brought me out? To get the details of my romantic life?" You reply, teasing.

"Well I'd tell you the details of mine, but it's non-existent," he replies in that signature deadpan way.

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Believe it."

You finish your drink and signal for another. He waits, expectantly. Sometimes half of getting people to talk is just being quiet.

"I did tell you, just wasn't going anywhere, no point in wasting time when you know it's not going to work," you explain.

John finishes his drink and leans forward, elbows resting on the bar, also signaling for another.

"Ok, but why wasn't it going anywhere? Come on, the guy is practically prince charming-- attractive, good job, promising career, nice car, apartment on the nice side of town from what I hear-- If that's not considered 'going anywhere' for women, what possible hope can there be for me?"

You smile and roll your eyes, playful, as the bartender places new drinks in front of you.

"Yeah, he sounds great on paper, but we just weren't compatible."

John studies you now, trying to read beneath the smiles and guarded responses.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks frankly.

You give him a pointed look.

"No, nothing like that Detective," you place a hand on his upper arm, attempting to placate him, "trust me, it's not that serious."

John glances down at your hand on his arm. The light touch somehow burning through his suit jacket and shirt. Brings his eyes back to yours. A moment. Another smile before you withdraw.

You each sip your drinks.

"If I tell you, it stays between us ok?"

"Hey, loose lips sink ships," John says casually, not wanting to appear over-eager.

You drink again.

"Like I said, Erik sounds great on paper, he's nice, but the sex was-- less so," You finish wryly.

"Less so?" John prompts, pleased to be making progress, but this is only piquing his interest, not satisfying it.

John processes the information, annoyed now on your behalf, but checks his composure.

You hum, thinking.

"Let's just say I never saw any sparks." You give him another pointed look, before drinking again.

"You mean, never? Not once?" He asks, casual.

"Not once," you reply simply.

The brief silence however, encourages you to continue, unable to suppress the impulse overshare while under the influence.

"Ah --well, that'll do it."

He drinks.

"He always wanted me to blow him but wouldn't eat me out--" you roll your eyes, decidedly less playful now and drink "hate that, so annoying."

John clears his throat, caught off guard by your sudden bluntness, and certain illicit images they conjure.

"Did you tell him that?" He asks, matter of fact, once he's able to form words.

"I mean, I think he tried once or twice, but it was just--disappointing."

You make a face.

"No, no need to be cruel, it's not like he did me wrong or anything, just easier to tell him it wasn't going to work."

"Sounds like he was doing you wrong." The comment is out of John's mouth before he can think. He panics momentarily, hoping he hasn't been too crude.

John cracks a smile.

But instead you're actually laughing.

"Got me there."

"Maybe he's insecure, maybe he knows he's not good at giving head so that's why he doesn't like to do it." He's playing devil's advocate now. "I mean the poor bastard can't do any better if someone doesn't teach him."

John raises a brow.

You make another face.

"He's 30-something. Not 19. If he doesn't know by now," you shrug, finishing your drink, "I'm sure he'll be fine, he'll meet someone nice."

"Someone nicer than me." You add, not sure when you and the detective had gotten so close. You're practically elbow to elbow. You can smell his aftershave -- clean and inviting. You press your thighs together. Just so.

"I don't mind driving you home," he offers, "would rather make sure you get home alive."

You check your watch, sighing.

"It's getting late. I should call a cab."

You guess you can't really argue, both knowing the hundreds of horrible possibilities that can happen at any given time in this city.

He calls the bartender over for the tab, and you both straighten up.

"I can--" you start, only for John to wave you off.

"Wouldn't dream of it, one tab please," he tells the bartender mildly.

The drive home is quiet, but comfortable. You don't want to give him the wrong directions.

"Just up here on the right, that's my building."

He pulls up to the sidewalk, eyeing the building.

"I know, it's not much, but it's decent, for New York at least."

John turns off the car.

"You know I'm walking you to your door."

You could live in the Upper East Side and he would walk you to your door. Doesn't trust anyone or anywhere at this point in his career.

"Came all this way," you tease putting in the key, "might as well come in for a night cap."

There's no doorman, which he scolds you for.

You hit the keypad for entrance, take the elevator up to the 5th floor, and walk all the way down to the end of the hall.

Thinking all the while about how you're not ready for your time with the detective to be over.

This old song and dance, John thinks, regarding you. You're looking at him with something, dare he say, dangerously akin to want.

"Twist my arm why don't you," he replies easily.

You turn on a light and slip out of your blazer, tossing it lazily over the back of the couch.

John takes the opportunity to shamelessly admire the line your body while you're not paying attention.

Formal t-shirt tucked into your modest knee length pencil skirt, lingering on the curve of your ass, then down your legs to your simple, black pumps.

You make your way over to the bar cart in your so-called dining room.

Whiskey and two glasses, setting them on the table, pouring generously.

A silent toast.

"This was nice," you hum, leaning back against the table.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs, allowing his gaze to drop to your mouth.

John smoothly downs his in one go.

He steps forward, setting his now empty glass on the table but doesn't move away.

You're not moving away or re-directing the conversation. Just standing there looking back at him through long lashes.

He closes the small distance between you, slotting his mouth over yours. You return the kiss, lips pressed for long moments to his, before separating.

You set your unfinished drink on the table, pushing it off to the side, and returning your mouth to his. An exchange of kisses that quickly grows hungry. Your hands slipping beneath his suit jacket, palming his chest, he shrugs out of the offending item, lips still half connected to yours.

Then he's lifting you effortlessly onto the table, tongue running along your lower lip when you gasp. Dizzy from the way he licks into your mouth.

"John," you breathe. He's kissing your neck now, pushing up your skirt.

"Yeah, yes," you say pulling gently at his tie, and he's kissing you senseless again, running a hand up your thigh to the edge of your panties, lingering momentarily before long fingers are stroking your folds.

He pauses.

"You good?" He asks, looking to you for reassurance. He's not sure really if his pride can handle hearing that this was just a drunken mistaken the morning after.

He groans.

You whimper in agreement.

"Sweetheart, you're so fucking wet."

Breath hot against your skin, savoring the easy way his fingers slide over you.

He withdraws, eager now to act on what he's been thinking about half the night since you brought it up. Rolling up his sleeves and taking off his glasses. Dropping to his knees. He'll probably feel this later.

He pushes apart your thighs as you look down at him in half-lidded anticipation, lifting your hips as he slides off your underwear.

Then he's licking into you like a half-starved man, because well he is, dragging the flat of his tongue against you and moaning, pleased with the high-pitched little sigh you make, needy.

"Taste good too, baby," he says looking up at you, "so fucking good, sweet little pussy."

Returns his mouth to you, easy, taking his time, you card a hand through his hair. It isn't long before you're pushing your hips against his tongue, trying to press your thighs together. Only then does he slip two long fingers into you, stroking you deep and curling them, sure you were vocal before but now you're loud.

He hums low in his throat, pleased, tonguing your clit in a gentle, steady rhythm with his fingers.

"Fuckkk, John --"

Hand tightening in his hair, one leg thrown over his shoulder.

It's been a long time since it's been this good and suddenly it's too much, you're coming apart, John's name the only thing you're capable of saying between pants and high moans, and John just keeps going, dragging the wave all the way out, feeling you spasm on his fingers, leaking on his tongue, just when he thinks you can't get any wetter. He doesn't stop until your inner thighs start to tremble and you're oversensitive, weakly stroking his hair.

He rests his head on your thigh for a moment, gazing up at you, a few strands of dark hair falling in his face, appreciating your thoroughly fucked-out appearance.

Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before standing.

You kiss him softly before palming his pants where he's painfully hard.

He stills your hand, reluctantly, after a few moments.

"I'm not exactly in the habit of keeping protection on me sweetheart."

"Mmm, I don't care, I'm on the pill." You reply, hand going for his belt buckle.

"You can't expect me to last very long," he says looking at you with raised brows.

"I don't care, John--just wanna feel you."

He groans, giving in, not stopping you now as you make quick work of his belt and his fly, pulling out his shirt, slipping your hand into his boxers, running your hand experimentally over his long cock.

"Hey, none of that right now angel," he pants, grabbing your wrist, he finishes pulling himself out.

Then he's easing into you, biting off a moan, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Shit, you're tight, you're so fucking tight."

"Feels so good," you sigh, taking him with minimal effort, body thoroughly relaxed after the orgasm he just gave you.

He rolls his hips slowly into yours, setting an easy rhythm, enough to keep him just on edge, but he's still lightheaded after only a few minutes, muttering apologies and half curses under his breath that you silence by placing your lips on his.

You stay together for long moments when it's over, both still buzzed but no longer from the drinks. John thinks back to the conversation at the bar though.

"So would you say that was 'more so' than 'less so' ? See any sparks?"

[abysshydra]

I like thinking about how plurality changes and functions depending on the neurodivergencies a system has.

Not only CDD based plurality, mind you. We've seen countless of times how ADHD and Autistic hyperfixations and Sp/Ins can cause a lot of introjects to appear. Same goes for any obsessions. Our Autistic obsession caused a big introject explosion, raising our numbers to 100 in comparison to our usual 30-40.

We also came to a conclusion that several of our headmates appeared just due to a person being close to us. As if in search for attention like "Hey look I am your fav character, love us". NPD likes to do that.

Our BPD still comes with it's own share of identity disturbance and it forces on us a lot of completely random fragments used as "masks" for a short period of time or until we wear them again.

It's interesting, for us at the very least.

[chrxsprettygirl]

He’s so babygirl I can’t I wanna have all his kids

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles Book 4 Public Demo

Hello everyone! So we've had a few messages saying the demo link doesn't work and you guys are having trouble finding the link. So here it is :D

Book 4 Public Demo Enjoy your playthroughs! Can't wait for more of Book 4!

[ilumistar]

we're reading "romeo & juliet" in my english class and all i can think about is THEMMM

its okay tho cause it helps me focus on what we're reading >:]

[otissbluebearshirt]

Interrogation - [ Terry Bruno ] 18+

Summary: An interrogation with Terry turns out to be a whole lot better than you anticipated

Word Count: 2452

Warnings: female!reader, smut - [ unprotected sex, semi-public sex ]

Masterlist | Terry Masterlist

Your chair was uneven. You’d picked up on it the very second you first sat down upon the cold, metal seat and it wobbled beneath you. You had nearly slid right off when it did. Your heart leaping inside your chest when you thought you were about to topple right over and land atop the hard cement floor of the interrogation room.

You couldn’t count how many times you’d found yourself all but forced to sit in here. How many times you’d had to keep yourself occupied by tapping your fingers rhythmically on the tabletop in the tune of your favourite song, your mind growing inherently bored as you went through the same song and dance as every other time you’d ended up in this position.

“The quicker you tell me what I want to know,” Terry said, unfolding his arms and leaning forward, his palms splaying flat against the table top as he stood directly across from you. “The quicker you get to leave here.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingertips stilling in the middle of their tune as you finally glanced up at him, “I already told you, detective. I wasn’t there that night, I didn’t see anything.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Terry said, pushing himself off the table and slowly rounding it towards you. You crossed your legs as he did, drawing his eyes immediately to the bareness of them as you shuffled back in your seat, swallowing thickly when he reached his hand towards you and gripped the back of your chair, leaning down into you. “So why don’t you save us both the trouble, and tell me the truth.”

“Is this you being polite?” You said mockingly, your eyes flicking back up to meet the harrowing gaze of his own. Your breath shuddered the second you did, the mere intensity in which his eyes rained down upon you causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt over every inch of your skin that could still feel the air around you. “Or is this your attempt at intimidation?”

At the obvious breathlessness to your tone, Terry chuckled and shook his head, “No, this is me being patient.”

“Is it? Well…” You cleared your throat, trying your best to cool yourself down from the igniting heat that was swirling between you like a tornado. “Consider me surprised, detective, as this doesn’t quite feel like a path along the road to patience.”

He shrugged, “I walk a thin line.”

“You don’t say,” You muttered, with so much sarcasm oozing from your tone that it caused Terry’s jaw to clench.

“I suggest you start talking… Before that line wears itself out,” Terry said, nothing but a genuine laugh leaving the back of your throat as he did. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head as he increased his grip on the back of your chair, growing closer to you, “Something funny, darlin?”

“You,” You answered without hesitation, holding his hardening stare as you raised your hand, drawing your fingertip lightly across the curves and ridges of the badge that hung loose around his neck. “You think just because you wear this badge it gives you the right to boss me around?”

“Something like that,” Terry replied, unphased by your sudden attitude and if anything, it made him twitch between his legs.

“You cops are all the same,” You muttered, curling your fingers around the entirety of his badge and keeping his eye as you did. “You take…” Your grip tightened and you tugged him even closer to you, your lips barely an inch or two away from his. “And you take…but what do you give, huh? What do those of us who chose to help you get in return other than an empty thanks?”

“Stand up,” Terry whispered, his face still so dangerously close to your own that you could feel his husk-filled order ghost over your skin in a wave of intense, rippling heat.

It travelled right down the length of your body, fluttering through your stomach and pooling between your legs as you refused to move so much as an inch. You even dropped your head, finding yourself unable to keep looking at him should you melt into a puddle beneath him. That appeared to annoy Terry more than your words had and, like a switch had suddenly been flipped inside him, his eyes clouded over with a raging darkness. He lifted his hand from the back of the chair, threading his fingers through your hair and gripping it tightly as he directed you to look back up at him.

“I said… Stand up.” As the words left his lips, Terry gave you no chance to respond willingly and instead pulled on your hair, bringing you roughly to your feet and only adding to the raging fire that burned deep in the pit of your stomach. He then kicked away your chair, the harsh scrape of the legs against the floor making you flinch as he shifted you slightly, pushing your back up against the table and using his body to keep you there. “You want me to give you something?”

You nodded, dragging your bottom lip through your teeth as your body quivered beneath you, “I want you to give me something… Want you to give me something real bad.”

Terry’s mouth quirked upwards at the obvious, yet shameless desperation that seemed to soak your flirtatious tone. But before you could so much as react to the softness that smile seemed to carry, let alone try and mirror it, he was already kissing you so vigorously that his teeth knocked hard against your own. His tongue then slipped easily between them, taking control as it delved so deep into your mouth that you could practically taste the remnants of the coffee he’d drunk not too long before.

You hummed faintly into his mouth at the rough sensation of his beard against the softness of your skin, your hands trailing up the length of his muscular back and making their way into his hair. You gripped it tightly, the shorts strands curling easily around your fingers as you used the hold to keep him close, only deepening the raging kiss that was slowly, but surely, draining every drop of the air from within your lungs.

When you eventually struggled to breath you had to pull back, gasping for air and all but disoriented from the mere way in which your head was swimming. It may have only been a kiss, but it so easily left you in such a state of euphoria that when the tickle of Terry’s beard drifted down your chin and you felt the first brush of his hot tongue against your skin, your knees all but buckled beneath you.

As your palms splayed out flat against the table to keep you steady, Terry’s own began their exploration of your body. They made their way slowly, sensually, down the curve of your waist and around your back, the pressure in which he held increasing as he guided them over the supple shape of your ass and to the back of your thighs. He then gripped them tightly — almost possessively, drawing them forward before directing his touch upwards and relishing in the breathy gasps that left your lips as he slowly hiked up your skirt.

The higher he got, and the less the grey fabric covered you, the more you could feel the cool air wash over your hot and flushing skin. Terry could feel it too: the small bumps that rose from beneath the surface of your skin at the contrast in temperatures, and it only encouraged him to explore further. To discover just how different the heat from the outside of your thighs was compared to the heat he could already feel raging on the inside.

“What’s this?” Terry mused, the husk to his voice paired with the partial smirk that tugged at his lips sending you even further into overdrive as he slowly ghosted his fingertips further along your inner thigh. “No panties? Darlin’ if I were to guess, I’d say you came here in search of a little something.”

“Would you think less of me if I did?” You whispered, tugging at his hair to draw his face back up to yours.

You kissed him the second his nose brushed alongside yours, not even giving him a chance to answer your question as you honestly didn’t need him to — not when the hardness beneath his jeans told you everything you needed to know and more, soft whimpers leaving the back of your throat each time it would brush so perfectly over you.

“Fuck…” You gasped, keeping his forehead pressed firmly against yours as you pecked another short, albeit lopsided, kiss to his lips. “Fuck, I want you…”

The mere pleading that rolled of your tongue was all Terry needed to really get himself going, the lust burning so deep into his eyes that he was all but fucking you with them already. His hands dropped to his belt and he very quickly unfastened it, popping open the button on his jeans and dragging the zip down so fast you could barely hear it. He grabbed hold of the back of your thighs again, using the leverage to help lift you from the ground and set you gently atop the table, parting your legs as he did and nestling himself snuggly between them as he pushed down his boxers.

The split second he felt the heat of your pussy radiate over his length he began to push into you, at a pace so painstakingly slow you could feel every inch of his thick cock as it spread you as wide open as you’d ever been before. Your hands shot up to grip his shoulders tight, your fingernails digging deep into his clothes covered muscles as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, allowing him to feel the tingling sensation of your soft whimpering gasps as they cascaded over his skin with every inch that disappeared inside you.

“Fuck…” Terry groaned into your ear as he dragged himself back out of you, until nothing but the tip remained inside. “You’re so perfect, darlin’.”

An unintelligible drabble of swear words then left his lips as Terry sunk back into you, lingering for a simple moment to feel you entirely before he drew back and slowly began to thrust himself into you. And whilst it felt incredible. Whilst the mere pleasure in which it sent coursing through your veins had you clench around him already, you wanted more. You needed to still feel this in the morning and so, having forced your head to lift from his chest, you pressed a few sloppy kisses to his lips and cheek before directing yourself to his ear.

“Come on, detective…” You teased, your stomach fluttering when Terry’s grasp on your hips tightened. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Just like that Terry’s eyes glazed over and he picked up the pace, thrusting so mercilessly into the tightness of your pussy that the table beneath you began to shake in place — thank God for the bolts holding it in place otherwise you’d have both ended up through the wall. You gripped his shoulders tighter, the speed at which he was moving was unlike anything you’d ever felt before as his hips slammed against your thighs, making damn good on his word of fucking you like he meant it.

You already couldn't see straight and it hadn’t even been a minute yet. But you loved every damn second of it. The slight hint of pain only added to that intense pleasure coursing even fiercer through your veins. Your lower abdomen was on fire, tightening faster than ever with each thrust of his cock, reaching deeper inside you than it ever had before and sending you to heights you never thought you’d reach.

And when your orgasm finally hit, it was as though you’d ascended to heaven. Like you were floating from your body and for a good thirty seconds, you saw nothing but white as Terry carried you through it, prolonging it to the point where you almost had to tell him to stop before it started to hurt.

Luckily though, it only took Terry two more deep thrusts to reach his own end, stilling inside you as he moaned your name in the most delectable way you’ve ever heard. He pulled out soon after, tucking himself back into his pants before all but collapsing on top of you, as though he’d just ran a marathon then chased a suspect through Central Park.

You were both sweating. Glistening, rather, and unable to fully breathe let alone speak. But that didn’t stop him from kissing you, pushing your hair back from your face as his lips worked lightly, gently, against yours. You pushed his body back a little, keeping your lips on his as you shuffled down the table and landed on your feet — barely. Terry had to catch you as your legs nearly buckled beneath you when you tugged down your skirt, but luckily, for you both, it didn't take you too long to find your sea legs.

“God that was incredible,” You whispered against his lips, planting another firm kiss against them before tilting your head and glancing up at him, adding curiously, "Are you sure you’ve never done that in here before?”

Drawing his thumb down your plump lips, Terry smiled, “You know I haven’t.”

“Just checking,” You said innocently, casually, hearing the brief chuckle Terry couldn’t help but let out as you ducked your eyes shyly away from him.

It didn’t last long though, it never did. Eventually you tilted your head back up to look at him and lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips softly, yet firmly, against his own. He kissed you back happily, relishing in the simple hum that left the back of your throat before you pulled away from him entirely. You fixed your skirt a little better now that you could, making your way towards the door as Terry returned the seat you once sat on to its rightful position.

“Terry,” You called back over your shoulder, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as he glanced affectionately up at you. “Promise me you won’t stay too late tonight… I hate sleeping when you’re not there.”

Terry’s face softened, “I know, darlin’ and I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“Good,” You nodded in satisfaction, about to turn and walk out the door before you stopped, “Oh and detective… I love you.”

Terry smiled, “And I love you too… counsellor.”

Like Terry? Apply to his tag list so you don’t miss out on his works!

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[wayhavenmemes]

They are just so proud of their baby (different definitions of baby but still) 🥰😂

[jenniferjareauprotector]

"I did."

LAW AND ORDER: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT :

2.17 - "Folly"