#I could not keep any of them nor could I even keep a pretender for them.

[secriden]

One of my favourite things about the way Fadel's plan (to "make them [Style] fall in love with us [me]") plays out is that when he dials up his affection and goes all out on the sweet flirtation and tenderness, Style immediately finds it weird and strange and suspicious and off-putting. Fadel pretending to be #whipped actually makes Style pull away like none of Fadel's aggression and violence and outright rejection did -- because it wasn't sincere, and Style could sense that.

When Fadel first drags Style out and starts peppering kisses on his face, Style turns away from his kisses and pulls back/pushes Fadel away from him to start questioning why Fadel is acting so strange. This is the same person who later propositions Fadel in a public bathroom whilst knowing one of the stalls is currently occupied by a stranger, so whilst I fully acknowledge Style probably genuinely did not want his dad to see them necking in his place of work, I'm also convinced it wasn't the only reason.

Because when Fadel allows some honesty to slip out, when he says "Don't you ever think that I'm only like this because of you?", Style actually softens and turns into Fadel's kiss for the first time in the scene. His hands go from pushing upwards at Fadel's neck to clenching softly against his shoulder and upper arm, like he's finally able to relax and hold Fadel closer (you can actually see the difference in these screenshots compared to the ones above). Style stops resisting and sinks into the kiss, lets his eyes almost slip close because something in him recognises that Fadel spoke true.

The same thing happens in Style's bedroom when Fadel continues his charade: Style is smiling, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable and awkward air about it, and he actually pulls away when Fadel continues to sniff-kiss him while going on and on about loving the way Style smells like gasoline. Fadel tries to be clingy again and Style outright calls him out on how weird he's being, so Fadel is forced to backtrack into sincerity:

Suddenly, Style's wariness turns to excitement and interest; he happily agrees to come along and asks what he should get Bison as a gift. Fadel is literally torturing himself to keep up this excessive affection and tenderness (the away Fadel's softness and sweetness just drops once Style goes to take that shower. Ugh. T_T) and gets nothing from Style until he offers something genuine -- a request for time to celebrate someone Fadel truly loves.

In fact, it's the pieces of honesty (or at least I'm assuming that this is also true since he was honest about Bison's birthday), and only those, that Style responds positively to. We have seen Style flirting constantly in previous episodes but he literally has not said anything scandalous or suggestive so far, nor has he initiated any affection even once until this moment.

And the reason why I love all this SO MUCH is because it really shows the evidence of Style's words before he even says them. In the midst of all the secrets and lies between them, ever since he found out about Fadel's secret and decided he was going to keep pursing him anyway, Style has been chasing and chasing Fadel's sincerity. And each precious revelation that Fadel gave him -- his parents' murder, his inability to trust, his desire for something genuine from Style -- has been carefully stored away in Style's heart like nuggets of gold. Which is why Fadel's performance was doomed from the start; because Style was moved by the true things and not the lies, and Fadel's pretensions can have no effect when Style's heart now has the ability to recognise that which he has already grown to love.

[purple-space-aliens]

this is a long post (hence why it’s under a cut), but i want to preface this by saying i am not downplaying the experiences of anyone who has been in a p-shifter cult. that is a real experience and i can understand that. however it is mot a reason nor a weapon to use for reality checking random stranger on the internet whom you have never met. i am sick of seeing posts that reality check us and other for existing, so i’d like to talk about why to not do that

trigger warnings for talk of delusions and reality checking

very very blunt reminder that it is never your business to reality check anyone, ever. for starters, not all delusions are harmful, and it’s closed minded to think that way. not everything is just good or just bad. for some, these delusions can improve their lives, even if its not the common reality. would reality checking this do any positive things for the individual with said non harmful delusions? no. it would only tell them that you don’t care enough about their life or perspective to respect it

on the other paw, while there are bad and harmful delusions, you should not reality check these individuals either, especially if you don’t know them (reality checking should only be done if you have the consent of the one with delusions. that is the only circumstance in which it is okay). you are not “saving” anyone by doing so, and it can do more harm than good. by reality checking someone with harmful delusions, you are essentially telling them that you do not believe their cause of distress and you are effectively putting down problems that are very real to them for no reason. it is better to help them while still acknowledging their delusion as something that is very real for them, rather than pretending they can’t be hurt by it

lastly, reality checking fucking hurts. it confuses the mind a lot. being told that something very real to you isn’t real does not fix the problem, it only makes it more complex. it is difficult and confusing to keep up with both the very real feelings of your own beliefs and the fact that it isn’t real for anyone else. its distressing to know you’re surrounded by people who want to tell you its not real, but won’t raise a finger to actually help you with it

so think of it this way. how you would feel if someone told you that a core part of your reality isn’t real and that its hurting you, and before you know it they’re you behind in the dust to pick up the pieces and put them where they’re supposed to go for any ordinary individual without any sort of instructions whatsoever. you wouldn’t like it, so don’t do it to someone else. we’ve had experience with this before, so i’m speaking from past experiences. reality checking can ruin someone, so don’t do it

side note of yes you can reblog this if you’d like, and it would be nice if you could, but of course never feel obligated to reblog anything /gen

[wreckitredglare]

I wanted to ask him about children. If he'd ever have them. It's much too soon to consider them, very seriously, but I just. I want to know. I want to know what our future might look like. I saw myself reflected in a bright young mother, expecting so very soon, and I wondered if I might ever have that opportunity again.

I think that is a dream that should be put to rest, but I will hold it for just a little longer.

[bootleg-nessie]

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

[ichorai]

wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 

Control. That was all he needed. 

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

[jinxificada]

reserved affection

jinx x fem!reader

summary: while jinx deemed to be careless and independent, your devotion breaks down the walls.

notes: nsfw, mdni, wc 1,4k. SO apparently alot of u are pathetic needy losers like me since u liked that blurb sm i thought of writing it a bit more extensive heh. enjoy.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

her heavy steps echoed through the dark hallway, leading you to her hideout. you carry a big box of mechanical tools and pieces for her work as she grunts and complains under her breath.

she just left a meeting with silco and sevika, you weren’t allowed to be present but you still could hear the commotion from the outside. apparently, jinx made the tiny mistake of leaving a door unlocked in one of the shimmer factories, permitting a couple of addicts to get in there and steal very few rations. it could’ve been worse, that’s why she was scolded.

jinx was reckless, impulsive and a bit messy. but it wasn’t usual for her to make big mistakes, and if she did, she can take care of them just fine. you prefer not making a big deal out of them, specially because she got very sensitive after these situations.

she almost slammed the door closed on your face, well, she did, but your own feet stopped it. struggling, you followed her inside and rushed to leave her stuff. jinx was talking to herself, to the voices. you sighed and carefully approached her.

“jinx…” you called, your voice soft as well as your touch, though she still flinched when your hands reached for her shoulders from behind. “don’t worry about it, nothing major happened.”

“still—“ she huffed, not pulling away but neither reciprocating your affection as her own hands were busy gripping her own hair. “it was a mistake, the door— i forgot the lock and— shut it! he talked to me with that tone, sevika was there!”

“she dealt with it, forget it, it’s in the past now.” you tried again, walking to stand in front of her and gently take her hands, making her frown at you.

“you don’t get it, you never will.” she harshly said, “if i keep making mistakes he won’t let me go anywhere, i want to participate! i’m useful!”

“of course you are!”

she huffed again, skeptical. “you’re just saying that.”

that made you pout, even after years of devotion, she still doubted your words?

if someone knew jinx, it was you. having met her in the peak of y’all teenage years gave you the perfect panorama of her person. at first she was just a cool looking girl for you, someone who could bring a thrill to your depressing, boring life.

it was hard getting close to her, to convince her that you weren’t a threat and to break down her walls to know her story and see some vulnerability. in jinx’s defense it was an accident, you caught her guard down. and then, when you didn’t leave nor use any information against her or her father’s business, she kept you around.

in the end you were just a puppy following her around, you were just happy to be there for her. even though she treated you, well, like shit. but sometimes, you noticed she grew fond of you. she started to need you, your reassurance and your desinterested affection.

you showed a loyalty rare to find in zaun, and she appreciated it deeply.

“i’m serious,” you whined, fixing her disheveled hair and rubbing her cheeks. “you’re super smart, the cause will be lost if you don’t participate. silco needs you.”

your words combined with the soft caresses only fluttered her heart. warmth creeped up her chest and she pushed you away before you could notice her blush, walking to her work table to pretend being busy with something.

you don’t hesitate to follow, sticking to her back to hug her by the waist. “you’re perfect~” you hum, moving her braid to hide your face on her neck.

“you’re annoying…” she muttered back. jinx found it hard to push you away, she got scared the first time she felt comforted in your arms, breaking any chance of intimacy with sudden attitude towards you. but that was long ago, now she couldn’t help herself. she turned around with another murmur, “don’t leave a mark.” she warned, tangling her fingers in your hair to keep you close and try to guide your kisses. you were successful to distract her today.

“i won’t, i promise.” you shamelessly lie as you keep savoring her neck.

you wanted it to last forever. forcing your weight against her as soon as she lets you touch her. you gripped her waist, eagerly kissing and biting her pale skin.

“mhm, you taste so good…” you groan in delight, listening to her breath quickening and the quiet gasps.

“s-shut up.” she let you push her against her work table behind her, leaning her head back to give me even more space. “you’re smitten, hm—“

“f’course i am.”

there’s no shame in your voice, just pure devotion. you wanted her, you needed her. like air to breathe, you wanted to consume her.

her little puffs of breath only encouraged you to keep going. your lips smooched her neck and clavicle, urgently pulling at her top in an attempt to take it off.

“fuck—!” she huffed, obviously feigning annoyance again as she eagerly maneuvered to pull it off, exposing her chest for you. you moaned in unison when you took her nipple between your lips, you don’t lose a second to dig into her small breasts and worship every inch.

“lemme taste you, please,” you begged, “please please let me.”

“d’you deserve it, though?” she smirked, trying to control her quiet pants. you could only whine, rubbing your nose on her neck again as you hug her tightly, maybe this way she’ll soften up. “please, please, please.” you muffled pathetically.

you gasp when she pulled your head back from your hair, taking your lips in a deep, wet kiss. her tongue took control and you felt like melting.

you’ve kissed her many times, always needy and softly. she usually kisses back lazily, letting you have your way with her as if in obligation when in reality she craved the contact. but this was different, from the second she initiated it, she moved her lips fervently against your, forcing her tongue into your mouth.

and you easily submit, humming softly while you squeeze her bare waist in your hands. jinx surprised you again when she takes you to the old couch, pushing the couple of plushies and pillows to the floor to lead your back on the surface.

“oh— jinx?” you sighed, both eager and expectant to see what was she doing. you were about to look away when she stripped of her bottoms, but you found yourself hypnotized by her naked body.

“you wanted to taste me, baby?”

you sighed again, gazing at her with wide eyes as she accommodated herself on top of your stomach, “yeah.” you nodded, biting your lower lip in anticipation when she moved again to straddle your head, promptly about to sit on your face.

she doesn’t have to say anything else because you’re already sticking your tongue out, even raising your neck a little to finally reach her pussy. she was already wet, her silk folds opened easily as you mouth started to work for her pleasure. what a treat, you thought.

it wasn’t long before jinx squirmed on top of you, trembling and breathless moans echoed in the room as she rode your face with a neediness you’ve never seen from her. your hands tried to grip on her thighs to try and maintain a pace, but she was impatient and controlling. she looked down at you with a scrunched face, ready to complain, but the sight of your mesmerized eyes and the feeling of you tongue lapping and circling on her clit greedily…

her thighs trembled against your head, squeezing you tightly but you didn’t mind, doing your best to hold her to keep her from falling off, you kept working on her pussy as she lazily grinds down on you until it felt too much.

you almost whine when she pulled away, making space for her to drop on the couch next to you. you reached for her own underwear to clean the mess in between her legs, wishing she let you do it with your mouth again.

“feeling okay?” you softly murmured, seeing her twitch every once in a while in aftershock, jinx was extremely sensitive after the intensity of her orgasm.

“m’fine.” she whispered, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. she leaned her body to your chest and you don’t hesitate to cuddle her, moving her body to half sit on you for comfort. lovingly, you pepper her face with kisses, “dumbass,” she tried to keep up the cold façade, but it was useless. her soft smile gave her away, she enjoyed your affection and she craved it.

good thing you had tones to offer her.

[luveline]

oh my, oh my. I adored your fics where reader is smitten over reid with his glasses and then where reid is smitten with reader in her glasses! can I request something similar with hotch, where he's the one flustered - or, at least, his reaction lol - by reader wearing her glasses for the first time? <3

thank you for your request <3 fem

“Hotch, can I ask you something?” 

He hadn’t heard you knock, lost in thought behind his desk, and he knows you won’t begrudge him for failing to look up. “Of course,” he says. 

“I went to the eye doctor a few days ago and everything was fine, but she said my contacts are gonna keep degrading my eye health, apparently, if I keep wearing them. Do you think I could wear my glasses in the field?” 

Hotch takes a moment for your asking to catch up with him, desperately printing the last of his thoughts into a consult note. He makes a spelling mistake in his rush. Frowning, he crosses it out and corrects it neatly. “Uh, you want to start wearing glasses in the field?” 

“Yeah. Do you think that would work?” 

“I don’t see why not.” He stops himself firmly, before he can call you honey. Hotch doesn’t want to patronise or condescend you even in his thoughts, but he has to remark to himself that you sound adorably over-concerned. “Reid picks and chooses when he wears his own glasses, and he’s never…” 

He’d finally managed to tear his gaze from his desk and found you standing further away than he’d thought, in a black pencil skirt that flares out gently at the end like a flower bulb, a neat shirt with a triangular collar showcasing just a slip of your chest and the small silver necklace you wear. None of this is unusual, Hotch is used to finding you charming and lovely by now, it’s the glasses that shock him. He hadn’t realised you’d actually be wearing them. 

They’re not thick nor too thin, simple black frames made of a translucent plastic. They’re glasses like any other, and Hotch can’t diagnose his own reaction to it. Perhaps it’s how they sit on your nose, or the cutesying effect they give your expression. They make your eyes look a little darker than usual. They’re everything. 

“Hotch?” you ask. 

“He’s never had any problems,” Hotch finishes, ever so slightly breathless, his hands falling to his thighs. 

“They look stupid.” 

“What?” 

You raise the back of your hand to your cheek and press it there with fingers curled loosely inward, “I know they look silly, I haven’t worn them in a while, but my eyes hurt everyday with those contacts, no matter how much saline I use–”

“No,” he says. He stands, and he swallows against nothing. It’s embarrassing for his age. “They don’t look silly. You should wear whatever makes you most comfortable.”  

“I knew they looked silly,” you say again, turning toward the door. “Sir, you just stared at me. I never should’ve let Spencer tell me they looked cute.” 

“They do look cute,” Hotch says, rounding his desk. He stands in front of it rather than crowd you at the door. 

He isn’t unaware of his own influence. His moving has stopped you from leaving. His compliment, especially one far from his usual professionalism, sticks you like a flytrap. 

“You look just as nice with them as you do without them,” he furthers. “I’ve never seen you wear them before.”

“Well, I was always underwhelming, growing up. I didn’t think glasses helped.” 

“Underwhelming?” he asks. 

You smile like you’ve caught him. He doesn’t like to be caught, and he turns away to pretend to look for something, but he’s saved by another presence on the landing. 

“Oh my god,” Morgan says, looking you up and down with an affirmative, sweet appreciation. Morgan might make a show of it sometimes, but he’s genuine as he continues, “Sweetheart, what am I gonna do with you?” 

“They’re not strange?” you ask.

“Is that what the boss man said?” 

You look back at Hotch bashfully, and that look alone catches him all over again. Morgan watches through the doorway and he knows he’s doomed —Hotch’s feelings are, for that split-second, plain as day. 

“He didn’t say they were strange, no,” you say gently. 

Hotch wonders if he should insist on contacts after all. “They’re suitable for every day.” 

“Suitable,” Morgan says. 

Hotch gives him a you’re-pushing-it squint and everyone decides they have things to be doing, leaving him alone to panic. (He doesn’t panic, he’s not the type, he just remembers your new look and feels his heart give irregular pangs a few times an hour for the rest of the afternoon.) 

[thesecondhandwoman]

BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Another night, another time that Sevika returns home drunken off of cheap booze from The Last Drop. But this time, it was the last night that you could take it any longer.

A/N: I had to start this year off with a Sevika fanfic. I just had to.

The creak of the apartment door tore through the quiet night like a blade. You’d been waiting, pacing, and stewing in the dim glow of a single lantern. Sevika was late tonight, again. But you didn’t expect the heavy thud of her boots to hit the floor this late, nor the unmistakable tang of Last Drop whiskey that followed her like a storm cloud.

“Sevika,” you said, stepping into view. “God, you’re drunk, aren’t you?”

She didn’t bother taking off her coat. Instead, she slumped against the doorframe, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across her sharp, exhausted features. Her metal arm whirred faintly as she ran a hand through her disheveled hair.

“Nice observation,” she drawled, her voice thick with liquor and something darker���Anger? Frustration? She kicked the door shut with her heel, the sound reverberating in your chest.

You crossed your arms. “Where were you? I waited, again.”

“Don’t start, you already know damn well where I was” she muttered, brushing past you. “Plus, I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood?” You followed her into the small kitchen as she reached for the half-empty bottle she’d left on the counter earlier that week. “Sevika, we were supposed to talk tonight, about us, about this.”

“This?” She turned, bottle in hand, and gestured between the two of you with a bitter laugh. “What is this, huh? Me coming back to you nagging? You waiting around like some—some Undercity housewife? Is that what you want?”

Her words stung like a slap. “What I want is for you to actually care about this relationship. About me! But you’re too busy drinking and fighting Jinx’s battles to even—”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” Sevika snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, the air between you felt suffocating. “You don’t get it. You don’t get what it takes to survive out there.”

“I don’t get it?” Your voice rose, trembling with the weight of held-back tears. “You think I don’t know what survival looks like? I’ve been surviving my whole damn life! But surviving isn’t enough anymore, Sevika. I need more. I need you—sober, present, not drowning yourself at the Last Drop every night!”

She scoffed, turning away from you to take a swig from the bottle. The sight was infuriating, her indifference like salt in a wound.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “For once, just face this and have an actual conversation!”

“Why?” she barked, spinning back to you with a fire in her eyes that you hadn’t seen in weeks. “So you can tell me how I’m failing you? How I’m not enough? Guess what? I’ve never been enough—for Silco, for Zaun, for anyone. Why the hell would you be any different?”

The raw vulnerability in her words made your breath hitch, but the alcohol twisted them into something cruel. You stepped back, crossing your arms defensively.

“You know what?,” you muttered quietly, voice trembling but firm. “You’re right. You’re not enough—not like this. And I can’t keep pretending it’s okay.”

Her expression faltered, the weight of your words landing like a punch. She staggered back a step, bottle still in hand, before the anger flared again. “So what? You’re just gonna leave, huh? Walk away like everyone else?”

“Maybe I should,” you shot back, hating the way your voice shook. “You’re the one pushing me away, Sevika. Not the other way around.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of her breathing—heavy, uneven. She looked at you like you’d just struck her, but the tension between you was unbearable.

Finally, she set the bottle down on the counter with a loud clink. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice low and venomous. “Do what you want. I won’t stop you.”

You blinked, your chest tightening as the tears you’d been holding back spilled over. “Is that all you have to say?”

She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on the floor as if looking at you would shatter her completely.

“Sevika, are you serious?” Your voice cracked, softer now, pleading. But she didn’t move, didn’t respond.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turned and headed for the bedroom, leaving her standing there in the room, alone with only the soft flicker of the light. The weight of her words, and your own, pressed heavily against your chest.

You wanted to believe this wasn’t the end, that the Sevika you loved was still somewhere beneath the alcohol and anger. But as you closed the door behind you, the sound of her lighting another cigarette echoed in your ears, and you weren’t sure if she’d ever let you reach her again.

The first thing Sevika noticed when she woke was the ache in her head—a dull, relentless pounding that made her groan and press her flesh hand against her temple. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt like sandpaper. The faint stench of whiskey clung to her clothes, and the stale taste of regret lingered on her lips.

Her eyes cracked open, adjusting slowly to the dim light filtering through the curtains. She was still on the couch where she had lit her cigarette, her body slumped awkwardly across the cushions. Memories of the night before hit her like a freight train—stumbling through the door, the sharp edge of your voice, the argument that escalated too quickly.

“Shit,” she muttered, dragging herself upright. Her metal arm whirred faintly as she stretched, her muscles stiff from a night spent in an uncomfortable position. She rubbed her face, trying to shake off the fog in her head, but the memory of your last words cut through the haze like a blade.

“You’re the one pushing me away, Sevika. Not the other way around.”

She groaned again, this time not from the hangover but from the guilt gnawing at her chest. She’d passed out before she could even think about apologizing. Her pride, fueled by whiskey and frustration, had kept her from chasing after you when you’d stormed off.

Now, she needed to find you, to fix this—if it wasn’t too late.

Sevika pushed herself off the couch, her heavy boots thudding against the floor as she made her way toward the bedroom. Her heart sank as she approached the partially open door. She hesitated for a moment, gripping the doorframe for support.

She called out softly, “Hey, babe, are you awake?”

No response.

She stepped into the room, her gaze immediately sweeping across the bed where she’d last seen you. It was empty. The sheets were rumpled, as if you’d sat there for a while before leaving, but there was no sign of you now.

“Y/N?” she called again, louder this time, her voice cracking slightly.

The silence was deafening.

Her heart began to pound in her chest as her eyes darted around the room. Your jacket was missing from the hook near the door. The pair of boots you always wore to work was gone from their usual spot by the dresser. She opened the closet, her stomach twisting when she noticed the gap where some of your clothes had been.

“No,” she whispered, stepping back, her head shaking in disbelief. “No, no, no…”

Her eyes landed on the nightstand. A folded piece of paper sat there, your handwriting scrawled across the front: Sevika.

She froze, her chest tightening. It took her a moment to move, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the note. Her fingers hesitated at the edge of the fold, almost as if opening it would confirm the reality she was desperate to deny.

Finally, she unfolded the paper and began to read:

Sevika,

I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with “I’m sorry.” Sorry for yelling, for making this harder than it already is. But I think the truth is, we’ve both been making it hard.

I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you, even when you make it so damn difficult. I love the woman you are when the walls come down, when it’s just the two of us and the world doesn’t matter. But lately, it feels like I’m the only one fighting for that version of you.

I know you’re hurting. I know life hasn’t been kind to you, and you think drowning yourself in alcohol and shutting everyone out is the only way to cope. But Sevika, it’s killing us.

I need you to understand something: I can’t keep breaking myself to pull you out of the dark. I want to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t meet me halfway.

I’m leaving. Not because I don’t love you, but because I do. If you ever decide you’re ready to let me in—to let yourself heal—you know where to find me.

~I’m sorry, Y/N.

Her grip on the letter tightened as she read, the words blurring slightly as her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall. The raw honesty in your words cut deeper than any blade ever could. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the letter trembling in her hand.

She’d always thought she was protecting you by keeping her pain to herself, by drowning it in whiskey and fights. But all she’d done was push you away, the one person who had ever truly cared for her.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw clenching. She wanted to scream, to punch something, to make this crushing guilt and regret go away, but none of that would bring you back.

Sevika folded the letter carefully, setting it back on the nightstand. For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the empty space where you should’ve been.

Finally, she stood, her resolve hardening. She wouldn’t let this be the end. If you’d left her a chance, any chance, she would take it. She didn’t know where you’d gone, but she’d find you, especially since she had the smallest idea of where.

And when she did, she would prove that she could be better, that she could be the woman you deserved.

Grabbing her coat, she slipped the letter into her pocket and headed for the door, determination etched into her every step.

The streets of the Undercity were as unforgiving as ever, the air thick with smoke and desperation. Sevika walked with purpose, her boots crunching against the damp cobblestones. Her mind was a storm of emotions—fear, guilt, and determination blending into a volatile mix.

Her destination loomed ahead: Babette’s brothel. The flickering neon sign bathed the surrounding alley in a crimson glow, casting shadows that seemed to taunt her as she approached. She hated this place—not because of what it was, but because it was where you always ran when things got too heavy between the two of you. It was a place you’d told her once made you feel safe, even if Sevika could never understand why.

Sevika pushed open the heavy wooden door, the warm scent of perfume and alcohol hitting her immediately. Inside, the brothel was alive with laughter, soft music, and low murmurs. Velvet drapes hung from the walls, and the dim lighting painted the room in hues of red and gold.

A few of the women lounging near the entrance glanced her way, their smiles faltering when they recognized her. Sevika had a reputation, and it wasn’t one that made people feel comfortable.

She ignored their stares, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Babette. The Madame of the house was seated at her usual spot near the bar, her dark pinkish hair and sharp smile as disarming as ever.

Babette’s gaze flicked to Sevika, and her smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, well, if it isn’t Zaun’s favorite enforcer. What brings you here, Sevika? Looking for company tonight?”

Sevika didn’t bother with pleasantries. She crossed the room in long, purposeful strides, stopping just short of Babette’s table. “Where is she?”

Babette raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “You’ll have to be more specific. I have a lot of girls here, darling.”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Sevika growled, her voice low and dangerous. “Where’s Y/N?”

Babette’s playful demeanor faltered for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied Sevika. “You’ve always got some nerve, barging in here like this after what she’s been through.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for this. Just tell me where she is.”

Babette leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs elegantly. “And why should I? Do you have any idea what you’ve put her through? She came here last night, Sevika, crying, shaking, looking for somewhere to feel like she wasn’t drowning. Do you really think I’m just going to send you after her so you can make things worse?”

The words hit Sevika like a punch to the gut, but she refused to let it show. She clenched her metal fist at her side, the faint whirring noise barely audible over the music. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt her. But I need to make this right.”

Babette studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed, leaning forward. “You’re lucky she still cares about you, or I wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Sevika’s heart skipped a beat. “So, where is she?”

“She’s upstairs,” Babette said, her voice softer now, though still tinged with warning. “Room six. But Sevika…”

Sevika paused, looking back at her.

“If you go up there and hurt her again, I won’t let you walk out of here in one piece. Do you understand me?” Babette’s eyes were cold and sharp, her voice like steel.

Sevika nodded, her throat tight. “I understand.”

Without another word, she turned and headed for the staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Room six.

She stopped in front of the door, her hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, she hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She couldn’t afford to let her fear control her now. Finally, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your head resting in your hands. The soft glow of a single lamp bathed the room in golden light, highlighting the tear stains on your cheeks. At the sound of the door opening, you looked up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw her.

“Sevika?” Your voice was a mixture of surprise and exhaustion.

She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice rough but sincere. “We need to talk.”

You stared at Sevika, your body tense, unsure whether to let her stay or tell her to leave. The raw vulnerability in her expression—the regret etched into the lines of her face—wasn’t something you saw often. It caught you off guard, softening the sharp edges of your anger.

“What are you doing here, Sevika?” you asked, your voice quiet but strained. “You said everything you needed to say last night.”

She stepped closer, hesitant, her boots barely making a sound on the worn carpet. Her metal hand flexed at her side, the faint whirring a reflection of her nerves. “I was drunk,” she admitted, her tone rough. “But that doesn’t excuse it. None of it does.”

You blinked, unsure if you were hearing her correctly. Sevika wasn’t one to apologize easily, or at all.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “I… I messed up. I’ve been messing up for a while now, and I know I’ve hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” you said, your voice trembling as the tears you thought you’d run out of threatened to return. “I didn’t.”

Her gaze dropped, shame washing over her features. “You’re right. I’ve been pushing you away. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit—my anger, my pride, my damn drinking—that I didn’t see what it was doing to you. To us.”

You swallowed hard, your hands curling into fists in your lap. “Do you even understand how much that hurt? Watching you destroy yourself while I sat there, trying to hold us together? Do you know what it’s like to love someone who won’t let you in?”

“I do,” she said quietly, her voice cracking just enough to make your breath hitch. “Because I’ve been watching you do the same. You’ve been trying to save me, and I’ve been too damn scared to let you.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling between you like a fragile thread. She stepped closer, kneeling in front of you, her metal hand resting on her thigh while her flesh one reached out hesitantly.

“I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “But I want to try. I want to be better, for you, for us. I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I don’t want to lose you. Please, Y/N.”

Your heart ached at the sight of her, this powerful, stubborn woman kneeling before you, baring her soul in a way she’d never done before. The anger and hurt inside you hadn’t disappeared, but they softened under the weight of her sincerity.

“You hurt me, Sevika,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “And I don’t know if I can keep doing this if you won’t fight for us.”

She nodded, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I will. I swear I will. Just give me one more chance. Let me prove it to you.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then you saw it—the fear in her eyes, the desperation. Sevika, who rarely showed weakness, was letting herself be vulnerable for you.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against hers. Her breath hitched at the contact, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

“I need you to mean it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tears. “I need to know you’ll try, Sevika. Not just for me, but for yourself.”

She nodded again, her grip tightening around your hand. “I will. I promise.”

The sincerity in her voice broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her neck. She stiffened for a moment, then melted into the embrace, her arms encircling your waist as she held you tightly.

The tears came for both of you, quiet sobs that filled the room as the tension and pain of the last few weeks spilled out. She buried her face in your shoulder, her body trembling slightly as she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against your skin, her voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“I know,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in her hair. “I know.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, content to stay wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, Sevika pulled back just enough to look at you, her face inches from yours. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing away the lingering tears.

“I love you,” she said softly, the words raw and honest.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into her touch. “I love you too.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours for permission. When you nodded, she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. It wasn’t like the desperate, heated kisses you’d shared in the past. This one was different—softer, filled with unspoken promises and a tentative hope for something better.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “I’ll do better,” she murmured. “I swear.”

“I know, I believe you.” You whispered, and for once, you truly did believe it.

A/N: And now I go back to all the requests I’ve got (a lot of them are on domestic Caitvi)

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ sugar never tasted so good

synopsis. ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ you know that xiao has a soft spot for you, even when you show up to the wangshu inn uninvited // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

cw. oral (fem! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, xiao is a tease <3 fem! reader ♡

it was supposed to be a quick stop to the wangshu inn, to see if xiao was doing alright, no more and no less— after all, you haven't seen nor heard of him for a couple of weeks and had began to worry to the point where you had to consciously tell yourself to stop overthinking that something terrible happened.

not unexpectedly, the yaksha didn't necessarily harbor a strong liking towards your (secretly precious) habit of showing up uninvited to his place, and in any other case he would debate wether or not to show himself whenever you do come to visit him.

you do not know of it, but xiao tends to hope you show up, yet he pretends to dislike it in order to sewer any form of attachment towards your person.

although tonight, well, such was a different story because the mere sight of you had xiao weak in the knees— he could never admit it to you, but you've got him utterly captivated, not to mention, it has been a while since you both were able to get close to one another.

so to say he was frustrated was undermining the severity of his current emotions.

"oh, fuck, xiao..." your head drops into the silky pillows as his hands return safe and soundly to your writhing skin, he instantly places his palms under your knees in order to lift them just enough to slide your panties down, leaving them to lazily dangle around your ankle.

xiao rasps at the look of your damp pussy as he grunts your name under his ragged breathing, his solid erection twitching quicker as he settles between your legs. his eyes curiously glance along your glistening folds as he laps at his lips to turn them all soused and soft for you.

your muscles tense with liquid lust, your teeth clenched and fists balled into the disheveled sheets as xiao experimentally kisses over the little hood of your clit— one kiss, then a second, before parting his mouth to wrap himself around your precious pearl, shamelessly sucking and slurping the sensitive bundles inside his warmth.

like a magnet, you keep your gaze on his own and moan feverishly as you involuntarily buck your hips into his mouth.

"relax—" xiao mumbles into your cunt as his tongue trails over the plush of your folds, "is this why you came here? you wanted me to do this again?" the yaksha hums wetly against your aching core, his demeanor overly confident, "didn't know you were so filthy, hmm, so impatient too," he tilts his head to the side and flips one finger across your sloppy folds, smirking when your body twitches away.

to coax out one syllable after the other, the yaksha continues to use his hand and prances one digit over your folds before inserting one into you slowly, expertly pressing it through your tightness as you gasp at a fullness embracing your walls.

you fuse into him instantly, your pussy quivering around one digit as his eyes wander up to your chest, watching how you squeeze and play with your soft breasts.

you whimper when he slides in knuckles deep but alas, helplessly sob at the lack of tempo entangled in his thrusts, as to signalize you his urgent need of taking his time with you.

why hurry up your pleasure when xiao can tease you all night until you're begging for it? begging for him?

"enjoying yourself?" xiao watches your ever-changing faces, "i can tell you know, you're so wet here," he shamelessly slurps at your clit, a dark shadow casted over his eyes as he focuses on how your lips purse together when he flicks his tip between your folds and back to your clit, right with your clenching hole being stuffed by now, two slender fingers.

"n-need more, you feel so good xiao," you praise him on purpose— knowing it turns him on while having a desperate whine in your voice, your mouth falling open when he brazenly smirks into your cunt.

xiao breathes, hisses and holds your hips still by roughly pressing them into the mattress, "don't you stop showing me how you feel, don't you fucking dare,"

your tits jiggle as you abruptly arch your back the second he nudges the tip of his tongue against your clit and flicks it up and down, your hips swaying as he lets you use his wet muscle as you please.

in secret, xiao liked, no, loved when you were rough with him, almost territorial, it makes him feel like he's doing a good job in stimulating his darling.

with your lips bitten raw and eyes criss crossed, you hold his head and weave your fingers into his hair as you filthily grind your pussy across his mouth, up and down, up and down, smearing your slick over his cheeks and chin as your mind coasts to the feeling of his tongue stimulating you.

every warm lap of tongue makes your body feel like it's breaking beneath xiao's strong hold, his digits scissoring your hole as the other holds you close to his face before you move your hips to draw circles against his mouth, secretly admitting to yourself that;

yes, you got caught, you might've really visited him for this specific reason.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[randomshyperson]

Heart Drawing - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Dinner with Mr. Heart takes a different turn. Or, what anyone who wasn't a synthezoid would have done at the sight of Wanda in that dress.

Warnings: (+18), purely smut, bottom!Wanda (bratty), rough smut, creampie, strap-on, fingering and oral (w rec),  Westview setting, established relationship, kinda semi-public (?), almost getting caught but Wanda keeps doing magic tricks | Words: 1.169k

A/N-> I can't believe I finally wrote this, it's a fixing of the scene from WandaVision because I always thought it was unbelievable. If Wanda prepared a romantic dinner for me, especially wearing that, there would be no dinner at all. A good Wandavision anniversary for all of us btw <3

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

-&-

Although it was one of the skills she developed first, mental control could be very difficult. Especially if Wanda was experiencing some other strong emotion, such as stress, anger, or sadness. 

Or physical exertion, like a fight with an alien or lifting machines or the like. 

Or just being so close to cumming in the middle of the kitchen.

And you, well, you weren't making it any easier for her. Your hips never faltered in their brutal rhythm against her and every time the fake cock attached to your waist slid between her tight walls, Wanda had the impression that even the magic around the house was failing. 

Her eyes were still red, though - Wanda is still surprised that she has any control when you slide your fingers down to tug at her neglected clit and she's forced to muffle her whimper with a bite on your shoulder.

She's sure she won't be able to keep the two guests static in the kitchen if you keep this up. But the soft protest is little more than a choke; "S-slow down, detka" she gasps directly into your ear.

You adjust the angle, and your hips slow down, but god, you thrust hard enough for the kitchen counter to crack. The dress she called a surprise barely hanging on her body is pushed down even further with the rough motions and Wanda won't be surprised if the the magic fails her once and for all with the reach of her orgasm.

She wasn't complaining, after all, this was the whole point of the night. A misunderstanding about a heart drawn on the calendar had led her to believe that tonight would be an anniversary (of which, she and Agnes came to no conclusion, and Wanda preferred to pretend it was supposed to be a wedding one). She got chocolate fruit and a dress that made you ignore your boss in the other room and force her against the counter as soon as you caught the first glimpse of her cleavage.

Wanda tried to be the voice of reason, even if her voice was hoarse and not very determined. She asked you; "What about them?" but all you did was give her a dirty little smile as you unbuttoned your pants.

"Play your tricks, my lovely little witch." That's what you whispered before sliding into her in probably the only gentle thrust of the night, and well, we're back to the beginning.

Wanda being fucked roughly on the counter in the kitchen while trying to keep the two guests in the living room.

She doesn't know, or think she doesn't know, at least not consciously about how that toy ended up inside your pants. She doesn't think about it, nor about when your hips start to buck and how when you come first, she can feel something hot squirting inside her. She can only mew in arousal, feeling your weight fall on her as you return your movements, faster than before making it impossible for her to hold back any longer. Your mouth finds hers again, and you swallow every dirty moan she lets out as she finally reaches her climax a moment later.

The kitchen, perhaps the whole city, shakes with the force of this orgasm. Wanda doesn't notice, but you're kind of mesmerized by the whole thing. She doesn't even realize she has lost control, still panting and soft under your body but you hear footsteps approaching.

It's your powers that keep the kitchen door tightly shut, and Wanda blinks exhaustedly at the knocks.

"I'll tell them dinner's canceled." You murmur, kissing her cheek before pulling out, the act drawing a gasp from the other. Wanda forces her body to react when you make mention of moving away, her legs hooking behind your knees while she gestures in the air with her fingers glowing red.

"They'll find their way on their own." That's what she says before pressing her mouth to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, saving a mental note to comment that you'd probably lose your job for this. But those were problems for later; right now, you were focused on your darling wife moaning on your tongue.

Your kisses descended to her collarbone, marking the skin gently as Wanda struggled to breathe. Your body soon followed the lead, and you ended up on your knees on the kitchen floor with your face between her legs, taking a moment just to admire the image of Wanda's pussy leaking your mixed cum. 

Your breathing against her was driving her crazy, she moved her hips forward, one of her hands grabbing a handful of your hair and trying to pull you in, but you fought back. Wanda meowed in protest.

"Please." It didn't sound much like begging, and you raised your eyes to her. Wanda blushed heavily at the image but tried to bait you by moving her free fingers to her own pussy, spreading the wetness before sinking a finger in. She whimpered before teasing; "Come on baby, I know you want a taste."

You bite your tongue, but you can't contain the shuddering of your body and Wanda smiles at you, a finger teasing its way in. You try not to fall for it but she mewls as she pushes her finger further inside and you curse quietly before you take action. Your hand pushes hers away, and you sink your face into her pussy before Wanda can complain; she chokes on a moan, her back arching on the counter as you eat her out in hungry determination. Your hands grip her thighs wide open and Wanda struggles to control the sounds, trying to find some ground as she clutches your hair, but all it serves for is to keep your head in place as she grinds harshly against your face.

She is almost robbed of her orgasm the next moment when there is a knock at the back door. It's she who is startled, failing in her movements towards your face, but you groan in frustration at the interruption and instead of stopping the whole thing, the vibration takes Wanda over the edge, and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid the sound that escapes her as the climax washes over her.

She's still trembling on the counter when you stand up, a mess of cum running down your chin that you wipe off with the back of your hand, which Wanda watches with exhausted eyes as you lick it clean a moment later.

"I'll send her away." You mutter, evidently against your will to get off her. When Wanda mentions protesting, you offer her a wink, your hands busy hiding the toy back in your pants. " We'll carry on upstairs."

She tries to stand up on shaky legs while you answer the back door to the nosy neighbor. By now, Wanda's mind is so dizzy from a good fuck that she doesn't even care if Agnes was able to hear anything.

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[amphitriteswife]

Loyalty for royalty

Pairing: Emperor Geta x general reader

Summary: There had been an emergency meeting, made by you for Emperor Geta. He had lost his favor with the roman citizens and asked for advice.

Warnings: misogyny and sexism.

Note: i have too much concepts istg.

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Geta leaned back against the back of his sofa. His concubines touching his arms and chest lovingly and gently. Next to him was Emperor Caracalla with his own set of concubines, Geta seemed more desperate and serious to start the meeting while Caracalla just wanted some action and entertainment. The other generals and members of the counsel all sat opposite of them. There hadn’t been said any words. Not by the emperors nor the members yet it was clear who felt what about the meeting. Some of the counselors held their head high in hopes of new efficient information. Some others found it a waste of time but attended out of duty. The elites of the counsel especially found it a waste of time as the meeting wasn’t even called by the emperors but the a general, a woman who was a general. You, A position given to you by emperor Geta himself. Most of the members of the counsel were against it. After all what could you do? Serve them wine? The members of the counsel had made jokes about you at first, yet they all got shot down by you, countering them with either personal information or proving their points to be hypocritical. Geta had found you…admirable to put it bluntly. You had a strong head on your shoulders and you weren’t afraid to speak your mind even if it was against the Emperor of Rome himself. At first he found you quite despicable and wanted to cut your tongue out. But in hesitation and after trusting Acacius’ words, he had given in and allowed you to be a general.

The sound of your name being called could be heard all across the building until your footsteps took over. Your stride was confident, there was bo hint of nervousness of hesitation. You seemed so sure, your eyes straight to it’s target, your eyes held a strong sense of determination that even Geta could see from where he sat. Your head held high, even now when some members of counsel murmured their Insults about you at each other, the whispers didn’t seem to get at you. As if they never had any chance of reaching you. You weren’t deaf, No, you just pretended you didn’t hear them. After all, seeing them try to insult you only to get no answer back is humiliating for them. Emperor Caracalla whispered to his brother who then cleared his throat and asked you to speak. Acknowledging his request you spoke in a quite flat but matter of factly tone:

‘The emperor made a mistake by killing off general Acacius.’

Both emperors were stunned by your words and even the members of the counsel were silent for a while. You hit a sore and fresh spot, it made Geta turn to his younger brother to see if he wouldn’t have an outburst for what had happened. He can’t risk more people knowing about his brother’s disease. Yet apart from making sure his brother was still keeping it together, Emperor Geta doesn’t appreciate you commenting on his actions so bluntly and openly, especially if its a ‘mistake’. How dare you even imply such a thing? He’s the emperor! And Acacius betrayed him? Did you expect him to sit back and let it happen? It’s not like he killed him with his own hands, he let him participate in the games. Geta narrowed his eyes at you and scowled a little. What’s the point of even bringing that up? It already happend, you’re here to give solutions. Not create more tension and bring up fresh wounds.

‘Because of this fact Emperor Geta has also fallen out of favor. We need to find common ground with the commoners. After all, the games and general Acacius kept them happy, we need to please them more.’

‘And what exactly do you suggest, general? The only thing you have said until now won’t help me nor the empire.’

‘Right, we should lower the taxes for commoners and put more taxes onto the higher class.’

The members counsel flickered their gazes between you and emperor Geta. They made their distaste known by scoffing at the information. Higher taxes for the elites? Hah! Like hell they’re going to accept it. Besides the taxes go to the empire. The counsel is full of elites from noble status, wealth or just high ranking positions in the military. None of them want to pay more taxes because why would they? No one wants to pay more than they have to, the commoners would be happy yes but the elites wont, which can cause a great sense of trouble too. But…looking at it from the bright side; he will win favor with the commoners who are the majority and they will be satisfied and not protest. Hmm…Geta can’t help but contemplate your advice. It was a good plan yet it does mean that the elites may risk betraying him. He already has experienced it and doesn’t want to risk it happening once again. But he can’t discuss that in front of them, it will make him seem as if he doesn’t trust them and he doesn’t need any more people turning against him.

‘I see. I suppose you may be right. Meeting is called off. We’ll discuss it later. You’re all dismissed.’

Geta watched the men and concubines leave the room. Only leaving you and Caracalla in the big spacious hall. His eyes lingering on the door for a little longer before he turned to you. He doesn’t want the elites to hear his discussion with you.

‘If we do higher the taxes, we might risk having the elites on my bad side instead of the peasants.’

Caracalla seemed bored and turned to his brother. He didn’t see the need to appeal to the peasants. They’re only there to fund his lifestyle! Why should they pay lower taxes?

‘Brother! I disagree! Wouldn’t that mean that we’re losing on the national taxes and make losses?’

‘Yes, but we will be in more favor brother. The people of Rome will love us again, but then we also higher the risk of getting betrayed by the elites or have them conspire against us.’

‘How do we fix that then?’

Both of the brothers turned to you for an answer. Yes your idea was great but it did lack some parts. It was quite easy to fix, but ofcourse the real question is if they trust you enough for it. The recent betrayal of the general made the both of them wary of a lot of the people close to him. Which might make them question you too. At least Caracalla did, Geta seemed to at least try to trust you since he was the one who made you a general. He wouldn’t have made you one if you weren’t trustable

‘Well i simply won’t let them. You have nothing to worry about Emperor. If something like that happens i will have your back and take care for it. You won’t need to lift a finger.’

Geta seemed quite pleased with your answer and extended his hand. All of his fingers had thick, golden rings on them. It did make you wonder if he ever found them heavy enough to not wear them. You accepted his hand and placed a kiss on the back of his hand. A soft chuckle escaping Geta’s lips. You were a woman with the ambition of a man in this time, yet a woman’s body. You’re smart and he can’t deny your talent. The feeling of your soft lips on the back of his hand made him smirk a little. It’s different. Usually he feels thin, masculine and rough lips against his hand….but now it’s the pair of your own…it makes him wonder what if would feel like on his own lips…wait…what is he thinking? He can’t think of you like that. You’re his general…but he can’t deny that the fact you have the position of a man, yet you are a woman makes you insanely attractive.

Caracalla found himself sulking, even though the kiss was just a sign of respect for the emperor…still! His brother just got kissed on the hand by a woman! What a womanizer? He feels jealous. His brother always gets everything he wants. Even the pretty and cool women! It’s so unfair! Geta, who senses his brother’s dismay and jealousy waves a hand dismissively in his face.

‘Get your mind out the gutter. It’s just as normal as it would be with a man. Don’t let it get to you Caracalla.’

Caracalla scoffed at his brother and sat back on the sofa while Geta remained standing, his eyes focused on you. He still can’t get over the fact you told him that you won’t allow anyone to betray him. He likes those words. He has your loyalty…hmph, that doesn’t sound so bad. Are you perhaps buttering him up to get into his pants? He took a glance at you, you were just snacking on the grapes on the table. Not even paying attention to the emperors in front of you. Perhaps you’re not trying to get into his pants but you’re just a loyal person. hmm…perhaps he can make you his personal guard? Would you like that? He certainly would. Perhaps he’ll keep you close to himself, he could just tell you that he feels threatened…and you’d be by his side all the time. It sounds very veryyy nice. But that does require lying and false claims. But he’s no saint…as an emperor he can be just a tad bit selfish don’t you think? His hand reached it way to your cheek which was full of grapes. You looked at him confused, but he looked you deep in the eyes. Yours being focused on the dark circle eye make up.’

‘You. Would you like an higher position my lady general?’

‘Uhm-’

[endearng]

Dearest Friend

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: Spencer feels overwhelmed after you confess something when you're tired. His solution is to, well, obviously, pretend it never happened and suffer in silence. That is, until the problem knocks on his door. Well, you, knock on his door. WC: 4.6k Warnings: Idiots in love, mentions of jemily (I love them), reader is bicurious, they don't know how to talk to each other, Spencer is obsessed with reader to the point of watching her (in a healthy way, I promise), he gets jealous, Garcia is a sweetheart but that's canon, I love the team, no use of 'y/n' A/N: I'm so frustrated! I was about to post this fic and then I lost the draft. Tumblr sometimes I hate you Masterlist

Spencer Reid often felt proud of being able to focus on his tasks. After all, that was also what had helped him through the years he spent dedicated to his education. He was quick on his feet to put his mind to whatever he had to do and today was not different; some reports needed to be done and he did it effortlessly. You, one of his coworkers, on the other hand, had a hard time focusing at some times. You felt like you always had to be moving, doing two or more things at a time. Sometimes, to him, even looking at you was overwhelming with the amount of things you tried to do at once — there was one time he saw you talking on the phone with your friend, while sketching something on your notebook and skimming through some details of the case you were working on then. Simultaneously.

One of your favorite objects to fidget with, though, was your necklace. It was a beautiful yet simple accessory: a silver necklace with a small pendant. Spencer noticed that you often had it between your fingers, rolling it, pulling a little to the side, simply holding it or adjusting to keep it out of the shirts you wore. You always had it on, no matter where you were, even if it didn't match your outfit — as he had heard you once tell Penelope. He figured that someone you love must have given it to you. And he felt so jealous.

He felt jealous because he could never give you such an amazing gift, because he felt like he could never be important enough for you to use something he had gifted you at all times. It ached. He was now being tortured for 7 months, 3 days and two hours with a small crush he had developed (or noticed he had) on his cute coworker and hadn't a single clue on how to act on it. Or how to get rid of it.

7 months, 3 days and two hours since you had given him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life. And the most sincere, romantic (but, sadly, fleeting) moment of his life:

The team had been working relentlessly on a case. You were nothing but a puddle of exhaustion, tiredness almost seeping out of you, having read and translated all the journals written by the unsub. Spencer was reading your translations at breakneck speed, as he always did, because at that point you didn't trust your tired mind to come up with any more interpretations. So, after helping the best you could, you busied yourself with staring at him. It was obvious that you'd get caught, of course, sooner or later, but you didn't have the courage nor the will to pull your gaze away from him. You also didn't feel like depriving yourself from the absolute view you had. The way his hair framed his face and the way his eyes (and his hands, oh, those hands were crafted by God himself, you were sure) ran through the pages was suffocating, to say the least. He also had his glasses on, so you'd hit the jackpot that day — had you weak in your knees and didn't even know it. Silly, ignorant, wonderful boy.

You only realized that you had gotten caught when you heard the soft thud of the book being closed. "Is everything okay?" He asked, a little nervous, eyes curiously meeting yours. "I'm halfway through, don't worry,” he said, noticing how tired you looked. “I can talk to Hotch and see if you can go home to get some rest.”

You shook your head, and, then, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth, you answered him in a heartbeat. "You're around." Then, you gave him the sincerest and sweetest smile of all times, which got his heartbeat going ballistic. He wasn't aware of what was going on within his ribcage, but decided it would be better to cover it by reading, even if he wasn't absorbing anything, really. Not the way he was paying attention to how he was feeling towards you at that moment, anyway.

He felt curious when you reached for his hand, but he didn't dare to look away from the notebooks. With your marker, you scribbled on his palm: You've become my dearest friend.

And that feeling never really got away in the first place, which made him feel uneasy around you. He got so lost whenever you were around that he never got so close to you again, scared that you might do something to him, scared that you might try to show him whatever that was again, that he failed to notice that he had grown a little distant from you. In the middle of his daydream, he didn't notice you approaching him. What he did notice, instead, was your face closer to his than it ever was. "Reid, um, Hotchner said he wanted to talk to you." You announced, voice almost a whisper. To make sure you would be heard by him, you leaned down after placing your hands on his desk. Strangely, he looked right at the pendant of your necklace.

You didn't mean to make him uncomfortable; you purely wanted to make sure he heard you, not disturbing anyone else in the process — there weren't many people in the bullpen, but it made sense in your head nevertheless. It wasn't in your nature to want people's attention solely on you, but something about his gaze made you think twice about it for a moment.

Not having other's attention, of course. Having his attention.

Sometimes, you would have long conversations with yourself to convince yourself to enjoy his company without letting your thoughts about him go a little further. Thoughts of being something else with him, to mean something else for him. You berated yourself over and over for the lack of self-control when you had that answer ready to roll out of your lips some time ago, but you were also blessed by his gentleness of not addressing the situation. Either that, or he was a really dense man whose self-esteem needed a little raising. You still tried to talk to him, of course, but he never seemed to let your conversations go far after that moment — you tried your best to ignore it, but sometimes it made you feel like your presence was unwanted by him.

"Okay. I, um... thank you for letting me know." He answered, glancing up at your pretty face. He almost felt embarrassed for being caught in the act of staring at your necklace (or bosom, if he overthinked it), but, mostly, people were too focused on their own tasks to notice your interaction. Despite trying with all his might not to care about what others thought, he strongly wanted, seeked, even, your opinions and approval. He didn't feel embarrassed because he knew you well enough to tell you wouldn't tease him like the others would.

"Anytime." You gave him a tight-lipped smile, going back to your desk, leaving him hopeful and flustered.

He desperately wished you wouldn't.

After an unusual quiet Friday mainly spent on boring reports, the BAU team decided to go out for drinks to let off some steam. You weren't the biggest enthusiast of drinking, but you enjoyed the company of your coworkers. Plus, it was fun to see them come out of their shell, you included. It was one of the few times you accepted the invitation, coming from Penelope. You had a sweet spot for her, because she was really kind to you and exceptionally welcoming towards having conversations with you. You appreciated her and made that clear whenever you could. And, deep down, you knew you had accepted the invitation because you had hopes of interacting with Spencer by having more time by his side.

Currently, what you didn't appreciate was your lack of filter. A couple drinks in, surrounded by your coworkers who thoroughly enjoyed that more honest version of you, and there goes your sense of embarrassment through the window. The current topic was... well...

"I mean, don't you ever think about it, Pen? Some women are just crazy attractive. Like, look at Emily." You gushed, looking at her. Right beside her, you saw Spencer, apparently gulping. "She is soooo hot. I'm gonna tell ya a secret,” you declared. “I spend some fair share of my time wondering if I want to be her or if I want to be under her." You revealed, sounding so candid that made everyone laugh. JJ glanced at Emily.

"Aw, thanks, baby. But I don't like them young." She chuckled, not meeting JJ's gaze. Huh.

"Your loss. We have very much to offer." You declared in a playful tone — it told everyone that it was all just friendly banter.

"We? You and boy-genius are the younglings of the team, princess." Derek took advantage of the topic to, of course, tease Spencer, who was now blushing. You looked at him, humored by Derek and waited to see his reaction.

Unlike most people, you didn't care about lack of experience in the dating field, let alone if it was Spencer. You thought it was almost sweet, how a grown-up man hadn't had the time to get used to all the sex talk between other grown-ups that happened casually. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was always far more concerned about his family and education and didn't have much time to go on many practices of said subject. You both were alike in that aspect, even if you've had your share of encounters.

Spencer didn't know how to react, so he chose to do what he does best: ramble. "Actually, younger individuals often report higher levels of sexual desire, influenced by higher testosterone levels and fewer health-related problems." He said, earning your attention. Looking at him, you giggled, because he was proving your point with scientifically accurate data. Adorable. "Older adults, though, may experience a decline in libido due to hormonal changes, medical conditions, or medication side effects. However, many older adults still have active and fulfilling sex lives, and some studies suggest that sexual satisfaction can remain stable or even improve with age, depending on emotional and relational factors. But, generally, sex drive can change with age due to various factors, including hormonal changes, health status, and psychological factors."

Even if his rambling often annoyed people, he was now glad for his ability to spill facts like an encyclopedia. If they knew about the thoughts running through his head after your playful banter with Emily, he would be dead. The thought of you having very much to offer was making him feel a little funny, to say the least.

"Thank you, Spencer," you breathed out, unable to speak anything, because your head was filled with thoughts of someone that wasn't Emily. Oh, definitely not Emily. Looking away from him, you gulped the rest of your drink, trying to disguise the obvious something by making another joke. "And, yeah, that's it. When you're done being prejudiced, Ems, you know where to find me," you gave her an exaggerated, ridiculous wink and she rolled her eyes playfully. "I'll be at the bar." And then, left, almost if someone was chasing you.

Maybe it was true.

"Wow. I didn't imagine princess over there to be so unrestrained," Derek said, laughing.

"She appeared to be shy when we first met." Spencer added, not wanting to be out of a conversation that involved you. "She still is, actually. Maybe it's the alcohol. It can make someone feel more relaxed and sociable due to its effects on the brain. It lowers inhibitions by impacting neurotransmitters, which promotes relaxation, and reduces the activity of the prefrontal cortex, the area responsible for self-control and decision-making." He said, unable to turn off his computer brain, still desperately trying to hide how he was actually feeling.

Garcia shook her head, laughing. "Yeah, boy-genius. She basically turns into someone else when she's a little tipsy."

"Okay, but we all know to whom she wants to offer something." JJ breathed out a laugh, looking right at Spencer. Derek promptly joined her banter, clinking their glasses in agreement.

Spencer quickly dismissed them, worried about you instead of being upset that he was, once again, the butt of the joke. Well, one of the parts. "Hey! You can't say things like that about her." He stuttered, tone a little high-pitched, but willing to get his point across. He could tolerate the jokes and the suggestive looks he got from his coworkers, but not disrespect, especially towards you.

"Come on, kid, take it easy. It's just a joke." Emily replied, looking at him once again.

"And, to be fair, it's pretty clear that she has another target." Emily said, grinning. She leaned towards JJ, who only watched the interaction and laughed every now and then.

Spencer tried not to let his thoughts wander too far. From where he was sitting, he could see you waiting for your drink, leaning a bit into the bar counter. Seemingly out of nowhere, a man approached you and you turned to him with a big and surprised smile, quickly engulfed by his arms. Oh. His mind started to go on a spiral of negative, self-conscious thoughts.

Did you know him? How? What if he was your boyfriend that no one knew about? Was he good to you? What did you see in him? If you were in a relationship, he now had a reason to avoid thinking of you altogether, because even if you were out of his league, it never stopped him from thinking about you in a different way, but if you actually had someone, it changed a lot. If it wasn't the case, he was still as hopeless as ever, a million scenarios playing in his head: you talking to that man, liking him enough to keep in touch, going on dates, eventually becoming something more. Not one of the scenarios involved him.

Well, if watching from the sidelines as you kept your life going as he longed for you involved him, then, yes, sure.

Deciding that torture was not getting him anywhere, he quickly drew his eyes away from that direction, not even realizing you had left the bar. When he came back to his senses, you were back. A gleeful glint in your eyes. "Who was that, sugar?" Penelope asked. Thank goodness for her. Or curse her. Spencer didn't know which one to think yet.

"Just a friend from college. We were both TAs during the same time, so, you know... Office hours were also bonding hours." You said, sitting back down, next to Spencer, fiddling with the straw on your drink.

"Just friends?" Emily teased you. Spencer was looking at his glass like it was something much more interesting than finding out about you.

It most certainly wasn't, but he was afraid of the way he would feel, or react, to the answers you'd provide.

Maybe that was the whole reason why he's been avoiding talking to you after his sudden realization. What if he actually let you in and this crush (that already felt a little too overwhelming at times) developed into something much more?

"Yes," you answered. She sent you a questioning look. You laughed. "Yeah, okay. I kinda... liked him," you chuckled. Spencer's stomach dropped and he looked right at you. You looked back at him, but quickly looked down, bashful. "But I had no idea of how to talk to him, so I mostly talked about school in general. We'd also walk home together when it got too late, sometimes. Oh, and he was also in a relationship with another girl, so there was that." You finished. You were trying to look at everyone while you spoke, but you found it incredibly hard from how intensely Spencer was looking at you. You had your fidget toy of a pendant in your hands. He sighed quietly.

"His loss, princess." Derek chimed in, looking at a girl that was checking him out earlier. You chuckled.

Spencer didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, oh, well. It happens to the best of us. "Yeah, he gave me his number. I'm really glad because I remember that I genuinely enjoyed spending time with him," you said, sounding sincere. He instantly thought of the guy from the bar.

"Ooh, that's nice, princess!" Penelope answered. "Are you planning on calling him?"

You looked down at your coffee, thinking. "I might, yes." And that was enough to fill his brain with images of you having a good time with someone that wasn't him. And he didn't like it one bit, but it wasn't a option to tell you how he felt. He felt delusional for reading so much into that single moment that you shared a few weeks ago.

He couldn't focus on anything else that day. Hotch had to check on him.

After working the courage needed to call your friend, you ended up being invited over to his apartment to catch up with him and what he was up to lately. You didn't have hard feelings (or any, by the way) over what had happened in the past, but you were scared that he might still see you as a lovesick college girl, so that's why you took a little longer than necessary to reach out for him. He didn't, though. And you were so grateful for that.

"Good morning, princess! You seem happy today," Garcia commented after seeing you enter the bullpen with a bright ‘good morning, guys’ rolling off your tongue. You smiled at her. She was leaning on Spencer's desk, right next to the genius, while they shared a conversation with Derek.

Spencer was getting ready to say something when you appeared, so he shut his mouth. You looked exceptionally good that morning. Shit. "Oh, yes! I had good company yesterday," you answered genuinely, but your face fell after their expressions changed, suggesting you were doing something else.

"Oh, did our lovergirl finally get some action?" Derek laughed as you finally reached them.

Your cheeks reddened, embarrassed. "No, Derek," you pushed him playfully with a shy chuckle, "I called my friend, the one from that night at that bar. I went to his apartment to catch up. I was really happy to see an old friend."

"I like seeing old friends," Spencer blurted out, catching everyone's attention, including yours. To be honest, he didn't even think through what he was going to say, but he couldn't deal with the nagging feeling of you talking about spending your night with somebody else. "I, uh, it's great to see old friends who truly know you, that must have made you feel really comfortable. It's nice to see them."

You gave him another sincere smile and his heart nearly stopped beating. He was so thrilled by your reaction that he didn't even have the time to feel embarrassed for butting in your conversation. "Yeah, it is, Spencer," you agreed. "To be honest, I mostly spoke about you guys, since we basically live together now," you chuckled, "and he said that he was happy to know that I found another family." You finished, rolling the pendant of your necklace between your fingers.

"Aw, you're a cutie." Garcia gushed.

"Don't go all soft on me, lovergirl." Derek teased.

"Well, it's true." You simply answered, now standing next to Garcia, basically sitting on Spencer's desk. He desperately wished you'd stay there all day long for him to watch you. In a totally healthy way, of course.

The next week came to an end sooner than you expected, plently of work to do and you were exhausted. You were tidying up your desk when you heard Morgan. "Hey, princess, you're leavin'?” He asked you. Sometimes he gave you a ride to your apartment, but you were going over to your friend's apartment again to watch some movies.

"Sorry, Derek, I already have plans." You declined, politely as ever.

"Alright. Have a fun time with your college boyfriend!" Before you could answer, he dashed out to the elevator, where Garcia was probably waiting for him. You rolled your eyes at his antics, but smiled to yourself either way.

What you failed to notice was that Spencer was there with you. "Oh, hi, Spencer. Didn't know you were still here," you gave him a small smile.

"Hi! I was just leaving," he answered, quietly.

Truth was, he felt undeniably defeated by the thoughts of you and said 'boyfriend' plaguing his head; Morgan's comment only rubbed salt in the wound. Sensing that something might be wrong judging by his tone, you stretched your hand out to him. "Come on. It was one of those weeks." He took your hand in his like it was second nature.

Neither of you seemed to remember — or care — about his germophobia. Holding his hand, you both walked to the elevator. His mind got a little quieter with your touch, like nothing else mattered. "So, um, how's your relationship going?" He asked, out of the blue. He instantly regretted it; knowing about it would make his skin crawl, but he asked in hopes that it wasn't like that and that you actually meant what you told them about the guy being just a friend.

You shoulders shook with laughter. His heart felt warm. "So you heard and believed in Morgan," you mocked him a little. "It's not a relationship. We're just friends finding comfort in each other because we knew ourselves in times when things were a lot simpler. It's kinda nostalgic." You stated. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were in a relationship.

Even if you felt like he was out of your league, you'd still leave all your doors open.

Spencer felt like he was taking a gulp of fresh air for the first time in forever. To hear you, the person who unknowingly (and probably unwillingly) held his heart in her hands, was not dedicating her own to someone else, was exhilarating. He tried to bite back a smile, ultimately failing. "Oh, I see." He answered, voice nearly cracking. "I'm glad you have that." He couldn't say anything else because the comfort he felt wasn't enough to pour his heart out to you.

As you entered the elevator, it felt like it was the first time your profiling skills worked on him, your judgment no longer clouded by your feelings for him. The moments you shared lately, the comfort of holding his hand (he had not let go of yours yet), the satisfied expression never leaving his face once you revealed the nature of your relationship with your friend... It all clicked. But you were terrified of rejection, so you swallowed down your feelings for him, like you've been doing for what it seemed like forever.

If only eyes could speak.

"Did you know that I had feelings for you back then?" You saw the color leave your friend's face, so you laughed a little. "No, I don't see you like that anymore! I just, well... Do you think you could help me? I'd, uh, I'd like some advice." You saw him relax and take a sip of his tea.

"About Spencer?"

"How did you know?"

"When you talk about him, you're always a little too passionate," he revealed.

"So...?"

"You didn't change much, you know? You're still the same nerd from all those years ago — not that is a bad thing, don't get me wrong," he grinned when you scoffed, "but you need to be a little more obvious. More explicit. To the point.”

"We're friends. I'd hate to lose him," you confessed. "But it all got so weird after I said something little, but stupid,” you sighed. A pause. A sip of wine. “It was the kind of thing that's meaningful if you dig into it, you know? He didn't talk about it, but it feels like he shut me out for a moment. I keep thinking about it and I miss him so much, even as a friend.”

"Have you actually talked about it with him? You know, to him?" He asked. You froze. “People can't read each other's minds. You are friends, of course, but the environment you usually share suggests otherwise,” he argued, “So, is it better to speak or to die?”

Then, it clicked. Again. The moments you two shared, despite not being blatantly explicit, told you that he had, that he must have, a spot on his heart for you. When you held his hand and he not only allowed you to, he didn't let go of you either. Those longing, stolen glances that you pretended not to notice when you were doing the most ordinary things. The willingness to listen to your rambles about mundane topics — you were sure the genius wasn't even interested in pop culture or whatever happened to a random celebrity that week.

"Sorry, I… I have somewhere to be."

Out of breath, disheveled form, messy hair and feeling like all the oxygen on Earth couldn't possibly be enough for you from running the five blocks to your friend's apartment, to Spencer's, you knocked on his door — soft thuds, a rhythm that you often performed as you tapped your fingers on your desk, for example. He knew immediately that it was you.

Spencer opened the door, surprised, confused and, most of all, happy to see you. “Hi. Are you okay?” He inquired.

That question was all it took to make the barrel holding your tongue go to hell. “I'm in love with you. Oh, God. I-I didn't mean to be so unrestrained and I know that I look insane right now, but... Um. You have no idea, Spence,” you breathed out. “You have no idea what it's like to wake up and immediately think of you. What it's like to leave work and be sad over it because it means that I no longer get to see you on that day. Do you know how insane it is to feel sad because you're leaving work?” You laughed, sounding like a maniac. “There's so much I want to say to you and I feel that I'm always running out of time when it comes to you, because you're always a step ahead of me, hell, you're always a step ahead of everyone,” you joked, trying to make the situation lighter. He looked dumbfounded, only looking at your face, incapable of saying anything else. You took it as your opportunity to get everything off your chest. “And it makes me crazy because I want to know all about you and what you're thinking about because that's how love works, I guess. At least I think it's like that because I think about you all the time and I worry about you and I want you to like me as much as I do you. You have no idea, Spencer.”

He stood there, speechless. The elevator door opened and a couple walked out of it. His apartment complex only had two apartments per floor, door to door. You totally forgot how to function after rambling about your love for the doctor (with, perhaps, an audience), but you had a mind of not occupying the space they needed to get to their door. So you scooted over to the nearest wall, adjacent to Spencer's door — it was so awkward. The couple greeted you both with small smiles and then entered their own apartment. Looking back at Spencer, he was glancing straight ahead, at the couples’ apartment door. You sighed, defeated, beggining to feel uncomfortable with his silence.

“I came here because I took some stupid advice on telling you how I feel,” you said, voice quiet as an effort to make yourself so small that you'd disappear and never remember this situation ever again. Holding tight to the pendant. “I wanted you to know because you deserve it, Spencer. To have someone... who does know you and loves you the same.” You added, softly, having enough courage to look him in the eye, now that you had his attention back. “I know you, right here and right now. And if there's more, that's even better.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Almost owlishly. You stood there, not knowing where this was going. You opened your mouth and looked away from him, ready to apologize, to tell him to forget all about it and dash from the building. When you did so, he pulled you in for a kiss: it was messy, teeth clashing, because you weren't expecting it and he almost missed your lips. When you realized what you were both doing, you placed your hands tentatively on the back of his head while he found his on your waist.

“I have so much to tell you.” He said. Relief flooding his body, love crashing into him like a tidal wave, warmth spreading on his chest. Pulling away from you just to look you in the eye with the most serene and loving and sincere expression. Holding your pendant between your fingers, he finished, "I'd like to start by telling you that you are and always have been my dearest friend. And that I have given you a free hand to my heart from the day we met. I was already doomed then.”

His eyes held truth enough for you to know that he also loved you.

Aaaand... that's it! I hope you enjoy it, my darlings! Let me know if there are any mistakes, please.

Feedbacks are highly appreciated <3

Part 2

[gay-dorito-dust]

Deadpool with a teenager protege plsss, thank youuu!

Wade will always claim that he never wanted a side kick.

‘Protege’ you’d correct him on the fly.

‘That’s a way too big of a word to be in your vocabulary so suddenly little featus.’ He’d quickly say in response before going in to boop you on the noose, only for you to swat his hand away.

Wade as a mentor was so unserious it hurt.

He tried to shoo you away as though you were a stray fucking cat trying to follow him home or something!

There was no point in searching for any deep wisdom from him when anything he said was rude and rather crude for some people, you’re better off finding wisdom in a brick wall then wade, but still you were stuck with the human personification of intrusive thoughts.

He was the devil on your shoulder telling you to dropkick the elderly down a flight of stairs or send them floating down a river in a box (not blind Al tho) and or to kill/kidnap and torture the enemy in your love life.

Wade acts like he hates having you follow him like a lost puppy but the moment he losses sight of you he runs amok, claiming that his ‘mother’s adrenaline’ was kicking in and he had to find you while causing death and destruction in his path.

He wasn’t the ideal person you should be following in the footsteps of and he knew it too, but by this point he had grown an attachment to you and he knew in that moment he was fucked, royally, up the ass with no lube nor warning beforehand.

(He likes a pre-warning countdown before he gets royally fucked in the ass)

You bicker more often then not about how to handle things and it ends with the enemy often getting away, which then becomes even more unnecessary bickering!

‘He got away! Again!’ You’d cry.

‘I’m not the one who wanted to talk all peace and love with the guy in hopes it would change him, this isn’t booktok little fetus!’ Wade would shout back.

‘You were going to kill him without finding out where the rest of them were based at!’ You screamed incredulously, waving your hands towards the twin guns in his gloved hands as though it wasn’t obvious enough.

‘You’re in time out.’ Wade said. ‘Go and sit in the taxi with Dopinder and think about what you’ve done!’

‘Fuck you, you ain’t my dad!’ - you

‘That’s it! No Mac and cheese when we get home!’ -Wade, crossing his arms.

‘I hate you wrinkle dick!’ - you shouting over your shoulder as you walked towards the taxi.

To anyone else It looked more like siblings fighting rather than a mentor and protege going at one another for the second fuck up that day.

While it may look like Wade doesn’t take anything seriously, if you were to get seriously hurt however, it was a different side of him entirely. He’s doing things that you have never seen him do before and just how terrifying he could be with how effortlessly he moved through the goons as though they weren’t shit before making it to your side.

Whether you can heal like him is up to you, but regardless Wade will make sure that your wounds weren’t too deep or too serious for him to handle. He didn’t want to see his protege hurt, not on his watch, you had very much became his child over the course of your time as mentor and protege, so much that he was finally allowing himself to sit with the feeling he had been having for a long while.

He cared. He really cared and it kinda scared him as how was he suppose to look after someone else when he couldn’t even look after himself? He didn’t want you to end up like him as he knew you could be greater but was too selfish to let you wander too far away from him, not without feeling that tug within his chest that told him to keep an eye out.

You never knew what you were getting with deadpool/Wade Wilson, he was unpredictable and chaotic but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you were to do anything that was too ‘Wade’ he would pretend to wipe a tear as you looked back at him with a smile as though you didn’t have blood on your face, and fake a sniffle.

‘That’s my little featus, I birthed them from my womb and now they just began to run with their tinny, stumpy baby legs.’

Wolverine next to him like: 🤨what the fuck are you on about-

Wade: shhhh, I’m being proud of my tiny creation, don’t ruin this for me with your toxic macho man brooding.

Needless to say you need to be a little bit mental to have someone like Wade as your mentor.

[tangledinink]

Hello sorry for tagging. I am very sick, my asthma is at its maximum level, my nose freezes, I have no medicine or food. I am in bad shape financially, I am a black disabled, who uses multiple medications, I pay for my food and lodging

Unfortunately I do not have all the resources to keep me safe, that is why I need your help, whatever you can contribute to me will be of great help.

Okay kids, are you ready for a lesson in SPOTTING ONLINE SCAMS????

*please don't message this person or harass them-- i do recommend that you report and block them, however.

right now it's incredibly important to give time, attention, and money to online fundraisers. but it's also incredibly important not to let scammers take advantage of that and steal money that could actually save lives right now.

firstly-- if we go to this person's blog, and navigate to "archive--"

this person's blog has only existed for a few days, only has a handful of generic posts (many reblogged multiple times,) and made their first reblog the same day that they posted their "fundraiser" post. this is a MASSIVE red flag.

please also note that neither their ask nor post actually mention palestine or gaza at all, but it's still tagged with "free palestine" and "gaza."

though this one should obviously be taken with a grain of salt, it is also worth noting the poor grammar here, because this can be (but isn't always!!!) another red flag. Note also that all the details are really vague and don't quite make sense... user describes "enduring cold" and their "nose freezing" though it's the middle of the summer. This user says that they're "sick," but doesn't really offer any further details about this. This user says that they need money for "resources," but don't elaborate on what exactly they need. They vaguely elude to a need for lodging, caretakers, and medicine, but don't actually give us any details-- despite this they have a "$1200" goal. What is this specific goal of $1200 for? Is that the cost of their medication? Overdue medical bills? Cost for rent this month?... They also apologize in their ask for "tagging" me... but they didn't tag me. They sent me an ask.

Another red flag is that their link labeled "Fundraiser link" leads directly to a Paypal donation page rather than a gofundme or anything else. If someone chooses to collect aid through paypal, venmo, etc. instead of through a gofundme, that's not a huge issue in and of itself... but it is fishy that it's mislabeled like this.

And if we GOOGLE this user's tumblr name or paypal name, we can find results like this:

This also led me to find them on @/kyra45's blog on their list of current scam accounts.

Despite all this, they have close to 100 reblogs from well-meaning people trying to signal boost and ask for donations on their behalf.

With the current situation in Palestine and the amount of actual, legitimate fundraisers and donations being circulated right now, for Palestine, Sudan, the Congo, or otherwise, it is more important than ever to be aware of people who are trying to take advantage of the situation for their own personal gain. Whenever possible, please take the time to do some due diligence when you receive messages like this and check to see if a fundraiser is legitimate! It always sucks for someone to be the victim of a scam and lose money to someone playing pretend on the internet... but it sucks even more when that money could have gone to people in actual, acute, dire need.

Here's some more information about spotting scams on tumblr! Shoutout to tumblr user kyra45 for compiling this, and for all the other hard work they do-- thanks.

Here's an actual, vetted, and legitimate campaign that could use your support. After receiving this ask, I went and donated. If you have the means to do so, it would be amazing if you did so, too.

[ see ALL gaza funds campaigns here ]

[nathaslosthershit]

Tensions Fall (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(part 2 to Tensions rise, also apart of this AU although these two fics can be read separately)

A/N: 7 weeks since the once happy couple have actually talked. 7 weeks since they shared a bed, but with their two toddlers starting camp for the first time, maybe they can try and mend their problems.

Warnings: Parental separation, a super mean mom like the ones I have to deal with at work, angst WITH A HAPPY ENDING

May 28, 2024

It had been 7 weeks since the fight in Suzuka that effectively ended Oscar and Honey’s relationship. It had been 7 weeks since Oscar had taken a leave of absence from racing in order to try and make amends with his family. He still trained everyday, he still worked with McLaren and did Sim Racing, he just never attended any of the Grand Prixs. 

It had also been 7 weeks since Honey and Oscar had shared a bed. 

Since that night she left their room, she had stayed in her kids’ hotel room till they got home. She then packed her things and moved into the guest bedroom. Things had been far from amicable between the two parents. In the beginning, Oscar had done all he could to try and make up with Honey but when she continued to give him the cold shoulder, he had given up and reciprocated her attitude. The children, about to turn 4 years old, didn’t know the full extent of what was happening at home. They knew that when they would go to their parents’ room in the morning, only Dad would be there, but this was easily explained away when Honey told them that Oscar snored too loudly and it kept her up at night.

They had of course also noticed how different their parents had acted towards each other, and how often their father was home now, but they just didn’t question it because at the end of the day, they were too young to begin to understand, and they still had two parents who loved them as much as they could.

Since the fight though, it was clear Oscar was making much more of an effort to take his kids out to do activities. At first it was nice, Honey got some time alone, something she rarely got anymore, but the more Oscar took over planning activities, the more she began to hate being alone. After three, almost four, years of being around her kids almost 24/7, the silence started to eat away at her. And in turn, her kids started to miss their mom more. 

Finally though, Honey had put her foot down, after a long conversation, ending in a fight, Oscar had agreed to more full family activities, even if it meant having to pretend with Honey that they were still the happy and perfect family. 

While their kids loved going to the park as a family, any parent around could see that the two parents watching their twins on the bench were fighting but trying so hard to conceal their whispered harsh words behind smiles. 

With the twins' fourth birthday coming up on June 8th, Oscar and Honey had been stressing on how they were going to plan their birthday while they couldn’t get through a conversation without being at each other's throats. They also had the kids’ first day of camp coming up May 29, a day that may seem insignificant to most parents, but as the kids had never been to preschool, nor a daycare, camp was their first introduction into that whole system. It was a big step for everyone.

Honey had been trying to prepare the kids the best she could for their first day at camp. She knew they didn't fully grasp the concept and she was nervous about leaving them alone, scared they would feel abandoned as child-care with non-familial adults wasn’t something they had experienced with their mother being a stay at home mom, only ever enlisting help from grandparents, cousins, and even ‘honorary uncles’ such as Logan and Lando. She had to keep telling herself that in the end, they will at least have each other. 

Oscar and Honey decided to make a day of it. Camp wasn’t until 9, so the pair took the very excited Hudson and Frances out to breakfast where the 3 year olds managed to cover themselves head to toe in maple syrup and chocolate from their pancakes, causing them to have to rush home to change, thus leading the family to a late arrival to the preschool building that the camp was held in. 

“We are so sorry, oh my goodness!” Honey said to one of the two teachers who were clearly waiting for them outside the door to the classroom.

“We decided to take these two to breakfast and they got more food on their clothes than they did in their mouths. Which reminds me, I added two extra changes of clothes to their bag in case they need it.” Oscar added, causing Honey to shoot him a glare that was luckily not seen by the younger of the teachers, as the younger teacher was too busy ogling at Oscar to notice. It was her that added the clothes to their bag, it was also her idea, he was being petty by taking credit.

After a few moments of silence as they waited for the woman’s reply, she managed to snap herself out of whatever daydream she was concocting only minutes after meeting the young father in front of her to reply with a quick, “No problem! We know how these kids can be.”

The older woman next to her clearly could sense her coworker was a little two focused on one of the parents and pointedly urged her to take their bags to their cubbies while she sorted the family out, which Honey was grateful for. She may have not been with Oscar anymore but that lady didn’t know it and had no right to eye fuck him in front of her and her children of all people. 

“Why don’t you all say goodbye out here, we are just about to start morning meeting with the other kids.” The older woman said as she stepped to the side to give the family privacy, thought she was close enough to hear all they would say.

Oscar and Honey both felt tears begin to form as they squatted down in front of their kids. 

“Alright, Mommy and Daddy have to go now, but you both are going to stay here and make some new friends. I know this is new and might be a little scary but if you guys get through today, we can all go get ice cream later. How does that sound?” Honey asked, nervous one of her kids was going to break down in tears at any moment. 

“Okay! Bye Mommy, bye Daddy!” Frances yelled as she ran through the open door to the classroom, clearly ready to get started.

Oscar and Honey weren’t necessarily shocked at what their very clearly extroverted daughter had just done, but they still had expected a little bit of pushback from her. They could see the older woman by the door laughing softly to herself at that interaction. 

Their son, Hudson, was less enthusiastic. He didn’t cry, which they had fully expected him to, but he gave them crushingly tight hugs, or as crushing as he could manage, and a quick kiss on the cheek before following after his sister.

Wiping away tears, they both stood up and laughed once they looked at each other's faces, realizing they were both far more of a mess than their kids.

“Wow, maybe we should have been giving ourselves pep talks for weeks instead of them” Oscar joked. Honey laughed, it was the first normal interaction they had had in what felt like forever. 

The older woman, still by the door, quickly joined in, “Oh don’t worry, we find parents are usually the ones with the most trouble at dropoff, but that moment they find you both after a day of camp or school, you will feel just how much they missed and love you. Plus you two are young, you’ve got plenty of more time to make more of those babies. You have grown yourself a real sweet family by the looks of it. Relax for a few hours! Enjoy the time off, maybe even add to your family.” The woman said, laughing, as she closed the door.

“Did she really just suggest we go make more babies?” Honey asked in disbelief.

“I think she did, yeah.” Oscar answered, just as confused as she was. 

The air felt light as they both walked to their car, relishing in how nice it was that they weren’t arguing, realizing how miserable they had been.

But that didn’t last long. 

“Come on, Oscar, you can’t be that dense! She was so clearly eye fucking you!” Honey argued. The conversation in the car had been light for a few minutes until Honey made a comment about the younger teacher and unintentionally started an argument.

“She was not! And if she was, who cares? We aren’t together anymore, you can’t get jealous over something as trivial as someone who thinks I am attractive. Sometime in the future I will get a partner so you better learn to stop being jealous.” Oscar yelled. He didn’t mean it of course, he knew even if he and Honey never got back together, he would remain single. She was the only one for him.

But what he had said, wording it in a way that made Honey fully think about their situation really tore her apart. Yes, they were separated, but she never felt like they were fully broken up. And from what he said, it sounded like he planned on moving on much faster than she ever would.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she decided to not dignify his comments with a response. Once exiting the car, she swiftly went to the guest room she had been staying in since the separation and slammed the door.

After a few minutes in the car, Oscar had mustered up the courage to apologize, knowing what he did was uncouth. Hearing her cries as he walked up to her door made him stop just short of knocking, deciding maybe it was better to give her a bit of time for now and come up with a way to make it up later.

After two hours of contemplation, Oscar had decided to get a lunch reservation at her favorite restaurant that always had a live band playing. It was impossible to get a day of reservations but with a bit of bribing, he had managed to pull it off. What was also nice about the band was that they could sit and eat silently without any awkward silence. If they were going to fight, they didn’t need to speak. 

She wasn’t crying when he knocked on her door, having managed to seemingly get all her emotions out in the two hours by herself, then clean up to look presentable for pick up. But now she felt empty, like a shell of a person in a house with a man who once loved her to pieces but now seemed to despise her, and no kids because they were away at camp. 

“Come in.” Was all she said.

“I um, I got us a reservation to your favorite place. I understand if you aren’t up for going- or if you’d like to go alone, but I did kind of bribe them so one of us at least has to go, I fear.” Oscar muttered out fast, clearly sensing the awkward energy between them, not knowing whether they were going to ignore the fight or not.

But Honey’s heart burst at the idea of him trying so hard to get into her favorite place. She always urged him to use his name to get into places, like Lando loved to do, but he was always too humble to do it, so it meant even more that he had this time. 

“That… sounds wonderful. Thank you, Oscar.” Was all she said as she started to tear up again but quickly turned so he wouldn’t see. “Let me get my stuff and I can meet you in the car.”

The energy in the car wasn’t light like it was before, but it also wasn’t heavy. A comfortable silence stayed between the two until it got too much for Honey and she burst out into tears, seemingly unprompted. 

“Darling, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Oscar asked, openly concerned for her well being for the first time in what felt like years.

“I c-can’t take it, Oscar! We used to have so much love for each other, god, you used to look at me like I hung the stars in the sky, now you can’t seem to look at me for more than a second without realizing how much you hate me now. Then after saying you are going to move on to someone else- you do this really sweet thing and I am- I am so confused and hurt and don’t know what to think or do!” Honey rambled, everything truly coming to the surface. Everything she thought, everything she felt, everything she had tried too hard to push down and pretend wasn’t there.

“Honey, I have never hated you for even a second,” was all Oscar was able to reply as he registered everything she had just said.

“What?”

“I don’t think I am capable of it. Truly. I have tried so hard to be the best I could be for you after the fight. I stopped racing, I planned more activities with the kids, but I couldn’t do anything right. I let rumors continue about you making me stop racing, which I wanted to stop but was told to leave alone. I took the kids to do activities and left you out too much. When you continued giving me the cold shoulder, I gave up when I should have kept fighting. I then tried to love you less, to make it hurt less, but I couldn’t, even if I acted like a dickhead to you. I am so sorry, Honey, and I would never in a million years be with someone else, even if you had an entire other family and were happily married. You are it for me, always have been, always will be.”

With all finally being said, the two went to lunch happier than they had been in weeks, ready to work on their relationship. It was surely not going to be easy, but how they had been these past two months had broken them enough that they were certainly willing to try. 

Near the end of the meal though, things once again got tense. These two couldn’t catch a break it seemed.

Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren, called Oscsar out of the blue and as the phone rang, Honey’s heart sank, awaiting Oscar’s reaction.

“Shit, I should get thi-” 

“It's okay. I promise.” Honey said, already feeling doubt beginning to creep in.

She couldn’t hear much of the conversation as Oscar quickly walked out the door to talk to Zak. He was also turned away from her so any chances of learning information by reading his facial expressions went out the window.

Finally, he returned to Honey biting her nails waiting for what he would say to her. She already started to panic thinking he could have to go to work, race again, and this vicious cycle would never end, that nothing would ever be right between them.

“What did he want?” She asked.

“Asked when I would be ready to come back to race. I said I didn’t have a date in mind. He told me to come in next week for a meeting on it, but I said I wouldn’t make a decision without talking to my family. I am not going to lose you all over this.” He reassured her. 

Honey smiled, doubt leaving as quickly as it had come. Until she herself got a phone call, this time from the camp her kids were at. Stressing that they had missed pick up, she realized after checking the clock that they still had an hour and a half. Confused once more, she answered the call.

Being told on your kids' first day away from you that there was an issue you needed to go deal with immediately, that you needed to fill out both incident and accident report forms wasn’t something that the young parents had envisioned for themselves. 

Rushing to the classroom, Oscar and Honey saw both of their kids crying in the hallway with the older teacher when they arrived, accompanied by another mother and her upset son. Concern laced their features as they took in both their kids, looking for any hints of injury on the two, but they seemed fine, apart from the crying.

“God, don’t tell me these two kids are the parents, no wonder this happened.” The other mother muttered under her breath. Before Oscar could question her, the older teacher spoke up.

“It seems there was a problem between the kids today.” She began, clearly trying to mediate the situation before it got ugly between the parents. “Mattias here stole a toy Hudson was playing with and pushed him over when he tried to get it back. In turn, Fraces bit the Mattias. It didn’t even leave a mark so I know it wasn’t hard, and both kids got a talking to as well as exchanged apologies, but it seems that they might need to go home early for the day to recuperate. We will certainly work on sharing and using our words tomorrow.”

Both Honey and Oscar were shocked. While Hudson was quiet and they had been worried it would make him a target in the future, and they knew their daughter was fiercely protective of her twin, they didn’t think she would result to biting.

“Wow, alright. You two, let's discuss this in the car, yeah?” Oscar said, ready to leave the place as he felt the wrath of the other parent glaring at him. “Really? You are just going to walk away without so much as an apology to me and my son? Unbelievable.” The mother scoffed. “This is why young people shouldn’t be parents. Clearly you two need to grow up just as much. I pray your already terrible daughter grows out of this and doesn't end up like you, spreading her legs too young and becoming up a teen mom because of it.”

Both Honey and Oscar were stunned. They had faced backlash before, sure, but never to their face, and never from someone so clearly in the wrong.

“Excuse me?” Honey asked.

“Oh, you heard me.” The mother replied.

“No, I don’t think I did, because what it sounded like was you were asking for an apology for something your kid started, because I am sure as hell my kids do not have sharing problems. Then when my three year old daughter retaliates to seeing her sweet and vulnerable brother being so blatantly bullied, even though she apologized, you believe you and your snot nosed brat deserve anything else. Guess what, we don’t owe you shit. And while you are so worried about how our kids will end up, why don’t you worry about your own child, who clearly takes after his bully of a mother. Grow up, asshole.” Honey retaliated. She shouldn’t have sworn in front of the kids but damn was it wonderful to see the look on that lady’s face. 

Oscar had never been more turned on by Honey in his life.

After the fight, the family of four got out of there as soon as they could, stopping for ice cream on the way home. They hardly scolded Frances more than a “If someone does something mean, you can’t bite them, use your words” to which she replied “Like Momma did with that lady?” 

The kids were playing quietly in their room once Oscar got alone time with Honey. 

“That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen.” He said, arms circling her waist.

“When I went full bitch mode on that lady?” She asked, laughing at the desire so evident in his eyes.

“When you stood up for your family, and cursed that dickhead out.” He replied as he started kissing her neck.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, I liked it too but in a different way than you did.” She laughed.

Laying on the bed, cuddling as they basked in the love they still had for each other. Oscar managed to ask the question that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Honey, will you please move back in here and be with me again? I miss you too much.” Oscar pleaded.

“Fine, but you need to work on another proposal. It is only fair since this all kind of started because of you.”

“Deal, this time I will knock your socks off with my proposal, but first I intend on showing you just how much I missed you.” He said as he began to kiss her deeper and more passionately.

Life was starting to get much better.