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snoopy of the day

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just boohoo sobbed btw

Visits <3

grandma Diana on a good day🥺 Said paper is infact a drawing with a little sun in the corner but its good paperwork!!

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He nips at your shoulder as you let out a yelp, “Such dirty language, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE 🫵🫵🫵🫵

(aou steve rogers mention im sorry these little moments are my niche) (this is so odd im sorry 😭)

i understood that reference!!!! literally not odd at all actually entirely how my brain works majority of time and probably why that line materialized like it already existed. very exciting time to be a superhero fan!!!!!!

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i just watched 15x06 where spencer makes out with both cat and max and tell me why when spotify started to play in my headphones that should be me was playing deadass i was so confused like what

HELPPP ur headphones knew what to do im crying incredibly real for that bc when he starts stomping his feet cuz he’s getting so into it it’s soooooooo oh my god

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People on twitter have been saying this website is extremely white and tbh its making me very curious what the demographics of this site are (of my own reach anyway) so

DISCLAIMER: Race is a non scientific concept with no exact definitions. It is a social construct primarily characterized by how society treats you and thus this is an imperfect poll. If you feel none of the options here reflect you and your experience I implore you to reblog this with your experience as I am curious about that and want to hear about it.

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fantastic four first steps is peak marvel you guys. i am so dead fucking serious we are so astronomically back in ways we haven’t been back before it’s not even funny please go watch it god bless the only family to ever exist!!!!:!:!:$2&:&:

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amazing day to be a harrie with an overactive smutty imagination

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happy 15th one direction anniversary to all who celebrate, 11 year old arya will be crying to clouds specifically along with their entire discography in my car today in their honor 🫡

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watching zugzwang 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 send help 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

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hiii arya hope you are well💌 are we going to see bucky x reader anytime soon? i’m begging on my knees pretty please?

hiii bff hope u are well too!! i’m hoping to yeah i have like an idea or two for him just wasn’t sure if the demand was there for it 🫣

my current wips in case anyone cares:

- spencer x reader at tarbecca wedding series (multiple parts)

- doctor!reader in a cm episode rewrite

- bucky x reader talking about what they saw in the void

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finally fantastic four week and if you thought i was insufferable now you got another thing coming when i finally see pedro pascal in the mcu

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you can let it go

note: user reidrum's hurt/comfort demons are back but like don't read into it

summary: in which you feel yourself slipping away but not if spencer can help it

cw: hurt/comfort, reader is depressed, hairwashing, pet names, spencer loves you very much

wc: 1.7k

The soft glow of the television is the only source of light in your apartment, a marathon of sitcom reruns has been burning into the screen for the unknown amount of hours you’ve been laying on the couch.

When the door opens you don’t even notice it, your phone has been dead for the past few hours and so if Spencer or anyone else texted you about their arrival you were none the wiser. You’d feel bad about being unreachable if you knew Spencer wasn’t expecting it—you’ve played this role before, too well actually—and so Spencer knows better than to think otherwise until he’s checked home.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out softly, aware of the vague shape on the couch.

You hide it well, you think. Spencer being gone on cases most of the time makes it easier for you to slip through the cracks undetected, where the weight of the fall needs only to be beared on you and no one else. Spencer loves you, and you know this to be fact. You love Spencer too, so much that it would be the opposite of showing him love if you let him worry about you—so you don’t give him the opportunity to do so.

It’s not that you weren’t cause for worry, people worry for a reason. But the vicious cycle you’ve stuck yourself in means creating a set up for them to leave you. They can only worry about you for so long until they realize you’re not making tangible progress to get better; they’ll never know you don’t have a choice but they’ll know it’s enough for them to abandon you.

But Spencer, he has enough to worry about. His job requires him to see the worst of what humanity has to offer, not to mention he’s already dealing with navigating his own gnarly demons like addiction and incarceration. To add upon that would be selfish and irresponsible, you love him too much to do that to him.

He approaches closer and his heart clenches at how quickly you try to mask whatever emotion you had on your face to a stone cold front.

“I’m fine.” you mumble, “just tired.”

He frowns, because of course he knows. It’s the only thing you don’t like about Spencer—his ability to read you better than anyone.

Spencer finds your achilles heel and lets his arrow aim with accuracy as it disarms and exposes you. To Spencer, he’s just looking for a way in. If that’s through your most vulnerable spot then that’s a trek he’s willing to brave for you.

He kneels in front of the couch to be level with your face, his hand reaching out gently carding through your hair.

“Angel,”

Your eyes squeeze tighter, like if you try hard enough you’ll be engulfed in the darkness it brings you.

“Don’t.”

He sighs, he knows it’s a futile effort to ask you what’s wrong. His fingers don’t stop combing through your hair, and you’re thankful that your dismissiveness wasn’t a deterrent this time. You’re never sure when it’ll be the last time.

“What happened baby?” he whispers softly.

You let out a whine, unsure yourself when or how it got to this point. It just…happened.

His hand holds pressure on your head, “Did you eat anything?”

“Wasn’t hungry.” you claim but your stomach betrays you as you speak.

He’d laugh if he wasn’t as overly concerned as he was, “I’m gonna order food and then we’re going to take a shower, okay?”

You open your mouth to protest, “But—“

“No buts,” he chides, “Just…wait here.” he stands up and walks into the kitchen dialing the restaurant number.

Great, you’ve upset him now. He just came home from a trip after solving what was probably a very exhausting case, and now you’ve selfishly added more to his plate of things to worry about. You should have sorted yourself out before he got home, before you burdened him some more.

Spencer places the order and walks back out into the living room, “Food’s on the way, do you want to walk to the bathroom or I can carry you?”

Your reply is immediate, “I can walk, don’t worry.”

The ghost of a smile teases his face, “You sure? Morgan thinks I gained some muscle since the last case, won’t even strain a thing if I tried.”

You make a poor attempt at matching his joke, “It’s okay, my legs still work I think.”

“Alright baby, come on.” he holds a hand out to help you up and leads you to the bathroom.

You stand in the middle of the bathroom while Spencer turns on the shower making sure it’s in the right temperature setting as it heats up. He returns to you and gestures for you to lift your arms as he gently undresses you, before quickly removing his own clothes to join you. You both get in the shower with your back facing the water stream and Spencer in front of you. The warmth of the water is soothing on you, but the concern rises before you can counter it.

“You’re cold,” you note, as your body takes up all of the water.

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.” he whispers gingerly, his hands coming up to frame your face to gently guide you, “Lean your head back, sweet girl.”

You listen and let the pressure consume you as the warmth surrounds you like a halo, his fingers threading through your hair to massage your scalp. It’s almost painful at how tender he’s being with you, you’re not sure what you even did to deserve this treatment.

Spencer removes his hands and pumps shampoo onto them, rubbing and lathering them together before returning to your head. His fingers rethread themselves again but he brings your head slightly closer to him to press a long kiss to your forehead. The familiar sting returns to your eyes and you know it’s not from the shampoo dripping down.

He leans your head back again to the water stream to wash out all the shampoo, before repeating the same process with the conditioner. His fingers spend extra time applying pressure to your scalp in hopes of it relaxing and calming you further. When your eyes flutter shut he smiles to himself softly before kissing your nose.

The intimacy of the moment is not lost on either of you. There’s a version of you that wouldn’t even believe someone cared about you this much to do things like wash your hair for you. Spencer can’t imagine a version of himself where he does otherwise.

Once all the conditioner is lathered out he makes quick to wash your body and his before rinsing you both down and shutting the shower off. He reaches for the hair towel and wraps your hair up, to which you can’t help but smile in amusement at the fact that he even knows how to do that. Spencer must sense your astonishment and chuckles, “I told you I’m a man of many talents.”

You reach for the bigger towel and hand one to Spencer as you both dry off and step out of the bathroom. He perches you on the edge of the bed while he goes to the dresser to grab clothes for you both, coming back to tug one of his sweatshirts over you and a pair of his boxers to slip into. 

Spencer puts his own clothes on and grabs your wet hairbrush, cause for another amusing smile because how the hell does he know the difference. He notices a lot more about you than you think, and for him sometimes it’s fun to keep those cards hidden until certain times. Like now, when he props himself against the headboard of your bed and calls for you to sit in between his legs.

Once you situate yourself he leans you forward slightly so he can brush all your hair to your back, and gently brushes out the tangles in your wet hair. The soft stroke of the bristles grounds you back to reality—back to him, and suddenly you don’t feel as heavy anymore.

The last tangle is brushed out and he sweeps your hair to one side and gestures for you to lean back into his chest, his nose burying in the crook of your neck.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says into your neck, “I know you think I am, but I promise you I’m not.”

You swallow a sob, “It’s okay if you are, I don’t mean to be so high maintenance.”

He holds you tighter instinctively, “It is not high maintenance to feel emotions, baby. Or to need support. Taking care of you is a privilege, really.”

Since the day he met you he’s spent everyday cursing and thanking whoever made you feel like this was a normal state to be in. You don’t deserve to feel scared at showing your face to the people who love you in fear they’ll weaponize it against you. But in an odd and maybe slightly selfish way he’s thankful that he gets to be the one who shows you what it means to be loved, that your ability to grow and heal is not sacrificed as a causality of the circumstances you’ve faced.

What he does get upset about is when you hide from him like this—he can’t take care of you if he doesn’t even know something is wrong, and as smart as he is sometimes it’s just not that easy to tell how you’re feeling on calls with you when he’s away.

“I mean it, I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I’ll always be here for you. Just need you to tell me when, okay?”

You angle your head up towards him, “I’m sorry.” you strain.

“Nothing to apologize for, angel,” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, shutting his own eyes, “You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

Spencer knows you trust him, and that your reluctance to open up is not personal to him but to who you were before you met him. He hopes that by loving you as much as he does it will be enough to uncross the wires that led you astray, and back into his heart.

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a post will have 500 notes and only 48 of them will be reblogs. i promise you that reblogging something will not ruin your aesthetic on this utterly swagless website.

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the inspo in case anyone was wondering

countertops | c.k.

A/N: superman (2025) brainrot has consumed me so here is this. i love that silly nerd

summary: in which the kitchen counter is used for eating

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, prn no plot, munch!clark, fingering, praise kink, clark is down bad

wc: 1.3k *smacks the back* this baby only has smut

Clark breathes his entire body into you as his hands roam the spanse of your back, holding you steady against him while his lips take solace in every crevice of your face. He’s placed you on the kitchen counter—his favorite place to keep you to compensate for your differed heights, but also because it keeps you in one place. You could move if you wanted to, he’d let you instantly. But he knows you won’t, not when he drinks you in like a fine wine and handles you with the care of a glass necked bottle.

Your moans and breathless whines only spur him on to press against your body, rolling his hips in a dire effort to become one with yours. The length of him presses and goes in a single brush, with your own hips trailing desperately after to meet again.

“Clark,” you breathe, “need more.”

“Yeah? What more?” he mumbles, lips marking a path down your neck.”

“You know what.”

“Hm, gonna have to be more specific about that, honey.”

You whine, “Don’t be a little shit.”

He nips at your shoulder as you let out a yelp, “Such dirty language, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, I’d like to kiss you with this mouth. But I’d like your mouth to do other things. Amongst that.

“Very bold,” he teases, “didn’t know three months would make you this demanding.”

“Lotta things you don’t know about me, Kent.”

“Not yet, but I will.” he kisses you soundly on the lips, letting himself linger to you for as long as he can. Which arguably, is a long time, but for as long as he can really means for as long as you can. “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“Clark,”

“What? Communication is good, you can’t get all shy on me now. I have heat ray vision, I can’t read minds.”

You mumble something incoherent into his neck, you hope there’s some superpower of his that can pick up on it.

“What was that?”

Darn.

“I said, I want you to…” you trail off.

He sucks hard on a particular spot, “To…?”

You moan loudly, “Jesus, will you go down on me? Please?”

A shit eating grin splits his stupid face, you can feel every line against your skin. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it darling?”

You don’t get a chance to speak your witty comeback when you feel his fingers trace over the center outline of your trousers, silencing any and all thoughts that aren’t Clark Kent. He applies more pressure as he trails a heavy finger up and down your core.

A languish moan leaves you, “Clark, please.”

“Shh, i got ya,” he coos, “just relax.”

He deftly undoes your buttons and effortlessly lifts you with one hand while he helps you tug both your trousers and panties down. His lips find yours again and your hands snake around his shoulders to pull him even closer to you. Your fingers tangle in his hair and knot in the strands, pulling upwards in that way that you know really riles him up for you. Evidenced by immediately after said action as he detaches from the kiss and abruptly drags you to the ledge of the kitchen counter, only anchored to it by your ass that Clark is so sad he can’t handfully grab.

Sloppy kisses trail down your neck and into your chest, making no efforts to stop anywhere but his intended destination. Clark’s large hands hold your hips down to the counter as he finally sinks to his knees before you, looking up between your parted legs with a face so wrecked you hope he puts himself out of misery soon for his sake. And yours.

His height even at his kneeled position puts him at the perfect angle at eye level with where he needs to be. Clark has always been grateful for his gifts, entirely more so for his heightened olfactory senses that allow him the divinity to indulge in the scent of you and how that much closer to the Gods he feels on his knees before you like a devoted follower.

And like a devoted follower, he will go wherever the divine tells him he is destined for. And right now, that is between your legs.

Clark leans in slowly, never breaking eye contact with you as he approaches your core. His tongue flattens against you in one swift and intentional movement, the warmth of it all flooding your senses and making your eyes roll back into your head.

“Fuck,” you whine.

His tongue licks a long stripe from bottom to top slowly, letting it circle around the bundle of nerves practically begging for his attention. He doesn’t speed up—only practiced, achingly teasing, strokes that have you seeing stars.

You tangle your fingers in his hair again, in hopes it’ll spur him on enough to move faster. But Clark is a patient man, a tempted one for sure by the way his hands grip down on the top of your ass where he’s holding you, but patient nonetheless.

He dips his tongue between your folds and travels down to your opening, prodding inside and then moving back up to your clit. Clark repeats that set of actions for too long of a time to count, long enough to send you into delirium, long enough to know that you would slide off the counter like jello at any moment if he were to let go, and long enough to have you teetering on the edge of bliss torturously.

You’re not sure when he decides to finally take mercy on you, but he speeds up his ministrations and graciously inserts a finger to your core. Two for good measure.

You tighten your grip on his head, “Clark, oh my god.”

He moans shamelessly into your core, like he’s enjoying this more for his own sake than yours—he is, in case there was any room for doubt. He drinks you in like a thirsted man who just discovered an oasis, his fingers rhythmically moving in and out of you. You clench down on his fingers hard when they hit a sensitive spot within you, his name rolling off your tongue in sacred mantras.

Clark releases from you momentarily, his fingers never stopping their pace. “Close, baby?”

And god, you wish you had some sort of photographic memory or way to immortalize this moment forever. Because the vision of Clark Kent on his knees for you—looking devastatingly wrecked at how even a second away from you is wounding him, covered in you—is one you truly wish you could keep for the rest of your life.

“Y—Yeah, I’m close.” you whimper.

He dives back into you with a mission, stopping at nothing to get you there. You writhe in his arms and he exerts little to no effort at holding you steady as he continues his attack (lovingly) on you. His fingers speed up ever so slightly, curling upwards to hit that spot in you that brings you right to the brink.

“Come for me, honey.” he mumbles into your cunt, burying his face in you as much as he possibly can.

Your peak hits you all at once, loud and crashing into every atom of your being and immediately ceasing into complete bliss and quiet as Clark gently works you through your high. His fingers finally slow their pace and he continues lapping at you until the overstimulation gets to you and you forcibly push his head away.

Clark sits on the floor while you’re still up on the counter, legs slightly bent while he rests an elbow on one knee. The other arm comes up and drags across his glistening mouth, effectively wiping away all traces of you onto his dress shirt sleeve.

You pant heavily, “Jesus,”

“What?”

“You’re really hot.” you blurt out, blame the post orgasmic endorphins for your lack of filter.

He smiles like an idiot, “Yeah? How hot?”

You hop off the counter and land straddling his lap, “I can show you?”

He rises to his feet and picks you up on the way up, “I think that’s a good idea.”

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so i’m watching cm for the first time and in on season 14 ep 12 and reid just slammed this pedo into a table and omfg it was so hot and sksnaksnaksns

CELL BLOCK D REIDDDDD RAHHHHHHH one of his hottest scenes i love that as the seasons go on he gets more pent up anger that he’s willing to let out on an unsub

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I knew I misspelled something bc I sent it too fast but cable instead of cmblr is diabolical

cable reminds me of cable car which reminds me of the fray which reminds me of how to save a life which reminds me of grey’s anatomy. because everything can be connected to greys i just need a minute.

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cmblr (i hope that means criminal minds tumblr) is still alive in my household

it does! and i’m glad, it is still very much alive in my household as well 🙂‍↕️