#a cup of tea made him cry

[mayukicrystalqueen]

Heads Up, Seven Up!

Make a new post, throw in the last seven(ish) sentences on your Wip, tag me and others!!

Din sobbed harder. What had he done to deserve him? To deserve someone so patient and understanding?

“Is he gonna be ok?” Ollie asked.

“He’ll be fine Ollie.” Luke said. “Just, don’t get anymore dead things, that’s the last thing that’ll help.’

Din choked out a laugh as he continued to cry. He wouldn’t have the same attachment to some random lizard, but he appreciated what Luke was saying.

“Then how can I help?” Ollie asked.

“Just give him space, okay?” Luke asked. “If he asks for anything specific from you, you can help that way, okay?”

Admittedly this is more than seven, but at least two of those sentences were two words and it said Seven-ish so yeah :P

Tagging @veradragonjedi and literally no one else because I don’t know anyone on here yet who writes yet.

[crystallizsch]

idia’s simultaneous call-out and self-reflection while also still being directed at rollo hits really hard man 😭

like he's not just talking to rollo, he is also acknowledging his own feelings especially with the whole book 6 debacle

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Ze is in Kryvyi Rih

[saturnniidae]

I'm rewatching trollhunters and just got to 3x7, and it never fails to make me emotional. Like, the opening flashback of Merlin making the amulet (especially the scene of Morgan's hand sinking into the cauldron. it's amazing, actually),

And all the parallels!

Angor Rot convincing Gunmar to let Draal live because what he said reminded him of his time obeying Strickler, Draal saying "don't make it weird" when he offered Jim a hand up just like when Jim first spared Draal after their fight,

AND MY FAVORITE ONE: the parallel to Kanjagar's death, with his son dying in the same pose as his father as he falls off a ledge, presumably smashing into pieces on the ground. It's just so ajdjsjsnfi

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

[wwriothesley]

A person who gets a bit too close ( or they perceive to be close to him ) to Wriothesley will have the impression that he won in life. 

People would genuinely use this manner of speaking to flatter him, and he'd thank them politely and tell the one(s) that used this expression that he hasn't won- he fought hard for everything that he has now, and will keep fighting to help what he considers to be his home. He answers politely because he understands how this must look from the outside, and that the person is genuinely happy for him and thinks they're paying him a great compliment.

In their eyes, he went from a prisoner to royalty, from a nobody who has committed a nefarious crime into an atoned, functional member of society who has contributed the most to Fontaine's growth. In their eyes, the Duke has reformed fully, and is not feared from those who don't have a reason to fear him. To those who have met him, once they got over his intimidating looks, they'll admit to find him a polite and charming fellow with a bit of a dry humor.

Wriothesley's feelings can be summed up by this Game of Thrones quote:

I've lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war.

( Though, translated in italian, Jaime rather says ''They keep telling me House Lannister won this war. But then, why do I feel so cold inside?'', which I find it more fitting for this purpose. )

Wriothesley doesn't know his biological parents, and can't remember them, thus forgetting a part of his past. He has gone through hell on Earth, endured abuse and humiliating conditions of living, and the biggest realization of his life came when he understood that he had to murder his adoptive parents himself, as the law and authorities couldn't do anything to stop their crimes.

Despite all of his efforts to heal himself, there are the bad days; where he wakes up in cold sweat and has to pry the sheets that feel like an hanging noose from around his neck.

He dreamed, and sometimes still does, of the monster that was his adoptive mother screaming and begging him to stop as he drives the hunting knife in her chest, multiple times. How her nails dug long, by now healed scars in his arms. For some reason, he can't stop thinking about her last, incredulous words, ''you're hurting me.'' as if she never believed that retribution would come, one day, in the form of her oldest livestock specimen turning against her.

How his adoptive father simply crumpled to the floor as the livestock inched closer to him, step after step, no mercy in his eyes as the man in front of him turned from a cruel abuser to a whimpering mess of a man urinating on himself and begging Wriothesley to spare him. How he asked him why?, as if he didn't knew his crimes.

It's their disbelief and incredulity that left the biggest impact on Wriothesley. Both abusers turned into confused, terrified people begging him to stop and asking him why he was doing this to them- the human mind is truly something amazing, sometimes.

He still dreams about none of his siblings stopping to wave back at him, afraid of this blood-covered demon bleeding from the scratches on his arms and with ice cold, empty eyes staring at them. He knows that he had frightened them- but, some days, it weights on him.

There are bad days, when he'll be brought tea from the kitchen, a thoughtful gentleness from Wolsei- and he'd stir sugar and cream in with a silver spoon, a part of him afraid that it would reveal a poisoned drink under his touch. In the worst days, no matter if the silver doesn't darken and crack, signaling no poison in his tea, he'd pour it down the drain and, instead, choose to make up for his unseen slight by inviting the Fortress cook for an handmade brewed cup of tea, complete with snacks and tea cakes. Wolsei feels blessed, Wriothesley feels less guilty- and all is well.

There are days that not even Sigewinne's improised therapy sessions can help him- but then, he compromises by smiling in front of one of her Desolation Shakes, as he names them, and downs one down without a protest. Despite the taste, it does work and gives him a boost of energy for the day. He's also able to down a Mysterious Meal made by her without batting a lash, as long as she caters to him a bit and puts some roasted potatoes into it. He'll clean the box without a protest then.

Wriothesley hasn't won in life. The price he paid for later ''successes'' in life was not a cheap one by any means, and he had to fight for every single thing of his. He had to fight to survive and access the position that he's in now- he is now considered royalty, a title appointed to him by Neuvillette, who knows of these struggles, and that makes him feel better about it.

Sometimes, he still think that he has to fight- but he learned that this is just a thing about life: to fight is to feel alive.

[abearthatwrites]

A Brief Rundown of the IRL Ithaca Saga (to the best of my memory, in probably not chronological order)

jorge (creator, odysseus) decided it'll be cool to celebrate the ithaca saga with the epic cast via a trip to ithaca, greece

surely nothing can go wrong

mico (telemachus) seemingly found out about the trip with the rest of the fandom. he proceeded to plot a trip to ithaca

the epic cast dealt with multiple broken vans and missed a ferry by one minute. they had to cancel a stream because they were too exhausted

mico made it onto a plane

ithaca got hit by a typhoon, forcing them to move another stream indoors

mico got banned from tiktok. it was reversed

mason (tireseas) asked luke (zeus) to stop the rain. luke refused

the crew hiked up to odysseus' palace. they ran into a roadblock. mason looked into the future and did not see a way around it. (they found a way around it)

the crew found a well and sang their epic songs into it. except jp (crew) who just sang happy birthday

janani (aphrodite) also sang "royal we" into the well

anna (penelope) made it onto the plane to fly out to ithaca

hermes (troy) decided to take a plane to ithaca like a normal human instead of teleporting. he got side-eyed by a woman at the airport as he slept sprawled out in a chair. this quickly became a meme

hermes arrived in ithaca to the delight of everyone except jorge. mico also appeared in his videos. mico still had not updated anything after getting on the plane

anna's connecting flight got cancelled, leaving her stranded in a fancy hotel. she struggled to find the toilet in her hotel room

mico finally updated, claiming he was stuck in munich. mason appears in the video and gives him a water bottle, proving he is lying

the fandom believes mico anyway

mico is forced to post another video revealing he had been gaslighting us basically the entire time and was just delayed in getting to ithaca, that was all

troy and talya (circe), in character, talk about tea. troy says the tea tastes like her father's approval. earle (ares) then asks for 1000 cups and breaks down crying as luke cuts the camera

jorge posts a video apologizing for mico's absence, encouraging him to fly to ithaca, new york. mico appears in the background of this video

mico posts a video saying that he's finally in ithaca, but the crew is in ithaca, new york. jorge appears in the background of this video

jp films a behind the scenes video, calling out "some random guy" who just showed up asking if anyone knows jorge. it's mico

janani sings "royal we" again, but after she says "troy was breached" troy comes out screaming in pain. mico appears in the background of this, filming the video from two points above

it's time for the ithaca saga livestream... except it gets cancelled because the connection is bad and jorge's devices are dying

TL;DR: the gods saw the epic crew in ithaca and went "do you guys think it'll be really funny if we just. recreated the odyssey"

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤHER ANGELㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Genderbend au – Cassian Cain x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts with stillness.

You didn’t notice him at first—because he didn’t want to be noticed. Cassian doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound. But he watches.

You were kind. Not loud. Not a threat. That’s what first made him pause. People are noise to him, always broadcasting their intent with every heartbeat and twitch. But you? You didn’t broadcast danger. You didn’t make yourself bigger. You were quiet in a way that didn’t mean violence.

So, he lingered.

He’s not supposed to get attached.

Batman said so. Oracle said so. They all said so. Cassian nods when they speak, but he doesn’t follow unless it feels right in his bones.

And you feel right.

He starts following you when he’s off patrol. Silently. No footsteps. He memorizes your routine like it’s a mission. When you laugh, he flinches. When you cry, his hands clench. He doesn’t understand either, but he feels it. He doesn’t know if it’s protectiveness or something else. But it burns.

He watches more than he should.

Through windows. Across rooftops. In your shadow like he belongs there. You never feel unsafe—because he never lets you. Any time danger comes close, it’s gone before you even notice. A man following you home? He disappears. A mugger across the street? Out cold in the alley.

You start to joke with your friends. “It’s like I’ve got a guardian angel.”

Cassian hears that. He feels that. His heart does something strange and awful and warm.

He starts leaving things for you. A lost scarf. A fixed bike chain. A cup of tea from your favorite shop on a cold morning. He watches your eyes light up. You smile. You whisper, “Thank you.”

He mouths it back, even though you can’t see him.

“...Welcome.”

He doesn’t know what to call it.

He doesn’t understand what this is. But every move you make is written on your body, and he reads it like scripture. You’re beautiful, but not in the way people usually mean. You’re good. You’re real. You walk like someone who carries her own pain and doesn’t let it harden her.

Cassian is soft around you in a way he’s never been. He wants to be near. Wants to be allowed to be near. He doesn’t know how to ask.

So he stares.

You catch him one day. Rooftop. Rain. His black suit blending into the night like he’s part of it. But he doesn’t leave. He lets you see him. For the first time. You stare at each other for a long time. You don’t run. You don’t scream. You step forward.

And Cassian... he doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. You speak—soft, confused, kind.

“Are you the one watching me?”

He nods. Once. Like a silent prayer.

You should be scared. But you aren’t.

After that, he’s around more.

Not close. Not yet. But close enough that you could talk if you wanted. And you do. You start talking to him, even when he doesn’t answer. You tell him about your day. About your cat. Your classes. Your fears. Your hopes. He listens like it’s sacred.

And slowly... very slowly... he starts to answer. With signs. With the barest movements. A tilt of the head. A hand lifted in answer. One night, he writes something in the dust on your windowsill.

“SAFE?”

You nod.

He taps his chest. Then yours. Then nods.

“Safe.”

Cassian doesn’t sleep. Not really.

But when he does, he dreams of you. Not in a twisted way. Not violent. Just with you. Holding your hand. Sitting beside you. He dreams about what it might be like to speak—to tell you what you mean.

He wants to be close, but he doesn’t understand how. You smell sweet. Like flowers. But he’s scared he’ll ruin that. That the same hands that kill could never touch you without staining you.

He loves you. But he doesn’t know that’s what it is. It feels like need. Like obsession. But tender. Careful.

He’s learning.

Eventually, he touches your hand.

It takes months. Maybe a year. But one day, after you patch up a cut on his arm in silence, he just... touches your hand. Light. Hesitant. And you don’t pull away.

You say, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes are glassy. His lip trembles.

He doesn’t talk. But if he could, he’d scream I miss you even when I’m right here. I want to be near you forever. I want to be your shadow. I want to be enough for you to love me back.

Instead, he leans his forehead against your shoulder.

And you hold him.

Cassian is obsessed.

Not in a way that hurts you. In a way that worships. In a way that learns. He doesn’t know what a boyfriend is. What a partner is. What love is. But he learns for you. Slowly. Clumsily. Lovingly.

Because even though he’s been trained to kill, to move in silence, to never ask for anything—he wants you.

And when you kiss his forehead for the first time?

He cries.

Silent. Still.

But he cries.

It begins, as always, in silence.

He is on your balcony again—half in shadow, half soaked in moonlight. The wind plays with the hem of his black cloak, but his body is still. That same tilt of the head when he watches you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

You never flinch anymore.

You don’t look surprised.

You open the window like it’s the most normal thing in the world and smile.

“Hey, angel,” you whisper.

And God—if he had a heart that worked like anyone else’s, it might stop.

He doesn’t understand why you call him that.

He doesn’t look like an angel. He’s bloodied most nights. His knuckles are bruised, dried cuts line his jaw. His hands, no matter how much he washes them, remember violence. Remember pain.

But when you say it—“angel”—your eyes go soft. Your smile goes tender.

“Mine,” you sometimes say, brushing back a strand of his hair. “My shadow. My angel.”

And he leans into your touch like it’s air, like it’s light, like it’s grace.

He still doesn’t talk. You’ve stopped expecting him to. You’ve learned his silence has weight, has texture. It’s how he tells you things.

Sometimes, he brings gifts. Not flowers or chocolates—he wouldn’t even know where to buy them. No, he brings you buttons. Trinkets. A ribbon from someone who bothered you. A feather from a rare bird. A kitten once, curled in his coat, half-dead. You cried when you held it. He just stared at you the whole time.

The kitten sleeps in your bed now. You named her Moon.

You whispered, “She’s like you. Quiet. Soft when she wants to be. But deadly.”

Cassian tilted his head. Then nodded.

He doesn’t know what school is.

You were talking once—rambling about your day while cleaning his cuts, your voice low and casual.

“Class was boring today,” you said, wiping at the gash on his shoulder. “Professor wouldn't stop talking about stupid wars—like, who cares how Napoleon died?”

You expected the usual blank silence.

Instead, he looked at you. Blinked.

Then lifted one hand. Tilted it side to side. Question.

“What?” you asked, laughing. “You don’t know who Napoleon is?”

He tilted his head again. Shrugged.

“Wait… Do you know what school is?”

Nothing. No reaction.

You stopped everything. Looked him in the eyes. “…do you know how to read?”

He looked down. Then slowly, pulled something from his belt. A folded, dirty slip of paper. It had a single word written in his jagged, childlike handwriting.

SAFE.

Your chest ached. You looked at him and saw not a vigilante, not a ghost in the night, not even a weapon.

You saw a boy.

Someone who’d never been given a childhood.

Someone who knew how to kill but not how to write his name.

You touched his hand, gentle. Like always.

“Do you want me to teach you?”

He blinked. Then nodded. Not once. Not sharp.

Slow. Like the word mattered. Like you mattered.

You start with his palm.

You don’t use pens or paper at first. No pressure. No rules. Just touch.

You trace letters into his skin with your fingertip. His hand twitches every time. He’s not used to gentleness lasting this long.

“This is A,” you whisper, dragging your finger down, then across. “Now B…”

He watches your lips when you speak. Like they hold truth.

Like he can taste knowledge just by watching you.

You guide his hand next. Hold his finger. Drag it across your open palm to form shaky letters.

He frowns when he messes up. You kiss his brow and say, “It’s okay. Try again.”

You’ve never seen him so focused. Not even in a fight.

You make flashcards next.

Simple words. Safe. Home. Name. Yours. Mine.

He stares at “Mine” for a long time.

He taps it. Then points at himself. Then at you. Then signs you with the softest hand against his heart.

Your breath catches.

He mouths something. It’s silent. You can’t hear it. But you know.

Mine.

You don’t correct him.

Your balcony becomes a classroom.

Every night, you sit with your legs crossed, flashcards in hand, and he crouches next to you like a child soaking up your light. You tell him stories—your childhood, your friends, what your teachers are like, how you used to be scared of the dark until now.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, glancing at him. “Because now I have you.”

He doesn’t smile. But he closes his eyes like your words are warmth.

One night, you wake up and find something under your pillow. A folded paper. On it, in shaky writing:

“You = Safe”

“Me = Angel”

“Mine”

You keep it in your diary.

You still haven’t kissed him. You don’t touch him unless he touches you first. You don’t ask him to stay, but you never ask him to leave. He’s not your boyfriend. He wouldn’t understand the word. But you’ve never felt more seen.

He’s learning. And every time he writes something new, he brings it to you like a child bringing a drawing to their favorite person in the world. And every time, you say the same thing:

“Perfect.”

Because to you, he is.

Cassian doesn’t understand the world.

But he understands you.

And that’s all he’s ever needed.

To watch you, to learn you, to protect you like something sacred.

He may never say it aloud.

But every step he takes, every breath he draws near you, every clumsy letter he writes in your palm—

Whispers it.

I am yours.

It happens slowly. Like dusk bleeding into night.

No lightning moment. No dramatic turning point.

Just quiet devotion blooming into something deeper.

Cassian is still silent. Still follows you in the shadows like your personal moon. Still crouches on your balcony, waiting for a look, a touch, a word from you to exist again.

But something’s shifted. You feel it.

Maybe it’s in the way he lingers longer now. Or how he watches your lips not just to learn—but to memorize. Maybe it’s in the way he holds onto every scrap of paper you write on, like holy relics, like prayers.

He started sleeping curled up by your window once. You found him there at 3AM, arm wrapped around the kitten. Shirt torn. Blood dried on his cheek.

You ran to him. He didn’t flinch.

He opened his eyes—and smiled.

Just barely. Just for you.

He starts practicing. Alone.

You don’t know this. He never tells you. But when you sleep, he stays near your fire escape. He stares at the flashcards you gave him, mouthing the letters, the words, again and again. His lips shape your name in the dark—like a secret prayer, like the answer to every question he’s never asked.

You = Safe.

You = Light.

You = Home.

One day, you catch him trying to write a sentence.

You don’t laugh. You don’t mock the messy letters or the misspelled words. You sit down next to him, and smile softly, like you always do.

You help him fix it. Guide his hand, one slow letter at a time.

By the end, it says:

“You are my safe.”

He stares at the page like it’s magic. Like he made something beautiful and didn’t know he could.

Your hands cradle his face. Your thumbs brush his cheeks.

“You’re learning so fast,” you whisper. “I’m so proud of you.”

His breath catches.

He wants to say something.

It rises in his throat like a scream he’s buried for years.

But nothing comes.

Not yet.

It happens on a rainy evening.

You were pacing, talking fast about something that upset you. School stress, maybe. A rude stranger. The weight of being alive that day.

Cassian stood by your window, watching. Silent. Still. But tense.

He didn’t know how to help. He only knew how to fight.

You noticed. You stopped.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, walking up to him. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you have to fix it. Just you being here… It helps.”

You reached up, brushing back his hair with your fingers.

“My angel.”

That word again. Yours, not his.

But he wanted it.

He wanted it to be his word, too.

You turned away. He didn’t move.

Then—quietly—barely a whisper:

“…Y/N.”

You froze.

The word was broken. Heavy. Like glass under bare feet.

But it was real.

You turned.

He looked terrified. Like he’d done something wrong.

You smiled. Your eyes filled with tears.

You walked back to him slowly, hands trembling as you reached up and cupped his cheeks.

“Say it again,” you breathed.

His lips parted.

He hesitated.

Then—

“…Y/N.”

And this time, it wasn’t about the word.

It was about you.

You kissed him.

Soft. Gentle. Like a secret between only you and the night.

His hands hovered in the air before settling on your waist. He didn’t press. Didn’t move.

He just held you.

Like that was the miracle.

That night, you taught him a new word.

"Love."

He traced it in your palm again and again.

And when you fell asleep curled in his arms, he whispered it once. Into your hair. Into the quiet.

“…Love.”

He may not understand the world.

But he understands you.

And now—

He’s learning how to say it.

You still don’t know his name.

You never ask.

Not because you’re not curious—

But because you know he doesn’t know how to give it.

He doesn’t know what names are supposed to mean. He wasn’t given one with love. His name was forged in fists, shaped in silence, beaten into bone. It's not a name he wears—it’s a weight.

And yet—

He says your name like it’s sacred.

Like it’s the only sound in the universe he wants in his mouth.

Sometimes whispered into your pillow when you’re not looking.

Sometimes scrawled onto paper over and over again in shaky letters.

You find them.

Little scraps folded in your books, tucked in your drawers:

Just your name.

Written with devotion.

Childlike. Obsessive. Sweet.

You call him angel, still.

Sometimes shadow. Sometimes pretty boy in a half-teasing tone that always makes his ears pink.

One day, you ask him softly, brushing your lips across his cheek:

“…What do I call you?”

He tilts his head. Blinks slowly. Thinks hard. Like the question is in another language.

You try again.

“Do you have a name?”

His brows furrow. He shrinks a little—just a little.

You cup his cheek and whisper, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

But then, one night, wrapped in your sheets, skin pressed to yours, after you taught him how to touch—

He gives it to you.

Not because you asked.

Because he wanted to.

Because for the first time in his life, it felt safe.

“…Cassian.”

Your breath catches.

“Cassian,” you repeat, voice warm. “That’s beautiful.”

He looks away.

“Just like everything else about you.”

And he doesn’t say anything—but his fingers curl around your wrist and his lips press to your neck, and you know he’s trying to say thank you without words.

He doesn’t know how to kiss properly.

The first time he tried to kiss you, he just pressed his forehead to yours, trembling, lost. You smiled, took his face in your hands, and showed him. Patient. Gentle. Lips brushing lips like butterfly wings. Again. And again.

He’s a fast learner.

And he’s hungry.

Not lustful—devoted. Starving to worship. To memorize every sound you make. He touches like you're a secret language he was born to learn.

Teaching him gets intimate.

You write words on his chest with your finger.

Safe. Love. You.

He trembles when your nails drag down his ribs.

You take his hand and guide it along your thigh, your collarbone, whispering body parts like vocabulary.

He mouths them in return—quietly, obediently.

“Shoulder.”

“Neck.”

“Hip.”

“…Y/N.”

“No, Cassian,” you giggle softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That’s me, not a body part.”

He just stares, wide-eyed. Then kisses your shoulder in apology.

He worships you.

It’s in how he kneels between your thighs like you’re holy.

How he tugs your shirt up just to rest his cheek on your stomach.

How he breathes you in. Touches you like you’ll disappear.

He never wants to go further unless you guide him.

You do.

Slowly.

You teach him how to make love like you taught him how to speak—

With your hands. Your eyes. Your patience.

He follows every breath. Every arch. Every sound.

He writes love on your back in kisses.

One night, after, he lays there in silence, watching your fingers trace letters onto his palm again.

He mouths them carefully:

“B-e-l-o-n-g.”

And then, looking straight into your eyes—

He spells the last word:

“T-o Y-o-u.”

And you smile, pulling him close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper:

“Yes, Angel. Always.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[cherrybr4t]

DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

[jeonginsleftcheek]

You're my comfort person

pairing: felix x afab!reader

warnings: period sex, lix is just sweet and gentle, soft lovemaking, pls i will cry

genre: fluffy smut

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i'm dying in pain so i needed this (this is disgustingly cute)

"Hey, is it any better?" Felix appeared next to the bed where you were currently clutching at your stomach with all sorts of blankets wrapped up around you.

"Just a little bit." you answered weakly, he had brought you some tea and painkillers earlier in hopes of helping alleviate your pain.

Felix looked at you with big sad puppy eyes, frustrated that you were in so much pain.

"We can cuddle?" he suggested and you nodded quickly, wanting to feel him close to you. Felix crawled under the blankets, wrapping his arms around you as he spooned you, his palms gently caressing where it hurt.

You relaxed a little bit as his body warmed you up, your boyfriend's presence comforting like always.

"You know..." he trailed off after some time in that tone. You knew he was going to say something out of the pocket so you rolled your eyes playfully, turning to look at him as he grinned impishly at you.

"What?" you grinned back.

"I heard sex can help with period pain. Especially when you cum, 'cause you relax and all that. I also heard that period make you more sensitive so you like... enjoy it more." Felix rambled.

"And where did you hear all that?" you lifted your brow at him.

"Google. I read an article." he answered and you giggled, shaking your head.

"All for some pussy, huh?" you teased him.

He laughed, poking your side gently.

"Not just any pussy, only yours." he wiggled his eyebrows, diving into a kiss.

"I don't know..." you sighed after you parted. "You might be grossed out."

Felix shook his head at that, pulling you into his body as you faced him.

"I'd never be grossed out by you. And periods are natural, there is nothing gross about them."

You whined at his words, burying your face in his neck and inhaling.

"You can't be real." you said and he laughed, squeezing you a little. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I'm the lucky one." Felix put his hand on your face and made you look at him.

"If you don't feel comfortable, I won't bother you with it anymore. But I promise, I won't be grossed out."

"Fine, we can try it." you said after a moment of thinking.

"Are you sure?" he asked once more.

"Yeah, I'm sure." you nodded and he smiled, kissing your forehead before getting up.

"Okay, I'll bring a towel. Be right back."

-

"Feeling okay? Are you cold?" Felix asked a few moments later, as your naked body shivered underneath him.

He had placed the towel on the bed so it wouldn't be too messy.

"Just a little embarrassed is all." you said with a sheepish smile, your cheeks warming up while Felix observed your face for any sign of discomfort.

"Babe, you literally peed while I was brushing my teeth the other day. I think we're past being embarrassed with each other." he said and you smacked his arm, chuckling.

"Shut up, I really had to go then and you were taking so long!" you whined and he giggled.

"I don't mind." Felix shook his head before leaning down to kiss you gently. "Just relax, my love." he added quietly, his hands caressing your hips, gently travelling up to your stomach and sides.

You closed your eyes, relaxing as he started kissing your jaw, down to your neck, all the while his hands were slowly mapping out your body, mesmerized by your curves and dips even though he had you many times before, he was always amazed by the beauty of you.

Felix cupped your breasts and you let out a quiet whimper as he bit into your neck, sucking on the skin and claiming you as his.

"L-Lix." you breathed out and he smirked against you as he played with your sensitive nipples.

"J-Just be gentle." you stuttered as he squeezed your breasts, massaging them and leaning down to lick at your hardened bud.

"Of course, my love." he whispered, wrapping his plump lips around your nipple and sucking. A wave of arousal washed over your body and you felt it dripping down on the towel, feeling a little embarrassed as you wondered if it was blood.

But Felix was touching you and kissing you so sweetly, making your head spin and your body tingle so much that you almost forgot about the embarrassment. Almost.

After spending a good amount of time worshipping your breasts, Felix reached to grab a condom from the nightstand.

"You wanna continue?" he asked and you nodded.

You looked at him as he ripped it open and grabbed his cock, giving himself a few pumps. You licked your lips at the sight of him, his skin was flushed, his cock leaking with pre-cum, his brows furrowed as he bit on his lip and rolled the condom on.

"So sexy." you sighed dreamily and he looked up at you, face breaking into a smirk.

"Oh yeah?" he kneeled between your legs. "You want me, hm?"

"So much." you said, your body arching towards his. He grabbed his cock, pressing it against you as he looked down and touched your clit with his tip.

"Don't look." you whined and Felix chuckled.

"Why not?"

"It probably looks gross."

"No, it doesn't. Relax, baby." he caressed your face with his free hand as he slowly started to push in.

A whimper escaped your lips as he slid in easily, filling you up perfectly when he bottomed out.

"Fuck." Felix's body shook for a second as he propped himself on his hands, giving you both a moment to breathe.

"Felix..." you whimpered, grabbing at him.

"Does it hurt?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, you can move." you said as you wrapped your arms around him.

Felix nodded, his hands gentle on your hips as he started moving with slow and deliberate thrusts, making you feel every inch of his perfect cock, his tip hitting your g-spot every time he pushed in.

"You're so wet, baby." he groaned, keeping the pace as he rocked you gently.

"Mm." you moaned, playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

"Feels good?" Felix asked, his hands sliding back up to cup your breasts again as he fucked into you with languid thrusts.

"So good." you moaned out, feeling yourself relaxing more and more even though your pussy was clenching and gripping his cock.

"Yeah? Feels so good for me too." he groaned, leaning down to nip at your neck again.

"Lixie." you whimpered as he pressed himself against you and you wrapped your legs around him, allowing him to push in even deeper.

"Y/n." he moaned your name as he kept fucking you, a little harder now but still keeping the movement languid and slow.

"I'm gonna cum." you whimpered, feeling sensitive and overwhelmed as his happy trail kept brushing against your clit and the tip of his hard cock kept pressing into your sweet spot.

"Mm. Me too." Felix moaned out, squeezing your breasts, fingertips pinching your nipples lightly.

It crashed over you like a tidal wave as you clenched around him, moaning his name loudly as you came around his cock.

"Ugh, fuck. I love you." Felix grunted, his hips stuttering as he fucked into you a bit harder before he came inside the condom.

"I love you too, Lixie." you gripped at his back, digging your nails into his skin as he rode his high.

Both of you breathed hard as you held each other and he buried his face in your neck.

After a few moments he looked up at you with a smile.

"So? Is your pain gone?" Felix asked.

"It is. I feel more relaxed." you said.

"Really? I was gonna say if it's not, we can go for round 2." he winked at you and you laughed.

"Don't push it."

"I tried." he pouted jokingly before pulling out.

"Is it gross?" you asked, covering your eyes.

"No, it's okay baby, don't worry about it." you heard him shuffling around, his footsteps leading towards the bathroom and then the sound of water.

He came back as you still had your eyes covered, a giggle escaping his lips before you felt the warm wet cloth pressed against you as he started cleaning you up.

You peeked at him through your fingers and almost melted as he stared at your face with a biggest smile.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing. You're just cute." Felix teased.

"Am not. That must be you." your voice was muffled as you hid yourself behind your palms again.

"You wanna cuddle again?" he asked.

"Yes, after a shower." you scrunched up your face, finally looking at him.

Felix laughed, extending his hand and helping you up, the two of you making your way to the bathroom.

When you laid next to your boyfriend that night, you nuzzled into him as he held you.

"Felix?"

"Yes?"

"You're my comfort person." you mumbled against his collarbone and he smiled, kissing your head.

"You're mine too." he whispered as you drifted off into blissful sleep.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world

[annievrse]

tea party

girl dad!sukuna —ᡣ𐭩 blurb a/n: this has taken over my life

you'd left for the grocery store an hour ago, and sukuna wondered what you could possibly be doing there for that long. nonetheless, he sat in the living room, surrounded by stuffed animals at his daughter's tiny round table. he shifted uncomfortably in the miniature chair he sat in for the 'tea party', and watched as layla shoved her tiara back on top of her head.

"daddy," she said. "tea?"

sukuna sighed but nodded. "yes, baby."

her little squeal made his heart do weird things, and she tilted the teapot in her hand into the cup in front of him.

"whoa, whoa!" sukuna yelled, earning a confused look from layla. "that's enough tea; it's gonna overflow."

his daughter slapped her hand over her mouth, something she learned from you, but loud giggles escaped. "sorry, daddy."

with a soft smile on his face, sukuna adjusted the crown of his head—it dug into his scalp. "now, give mr squishy a cookie; he's starting to eat my fingers."

layla continued her contagious giggles, aimlessly tossing a wooden cookie at the stuffed bear.

sukuna glanced at the clock again but paused when he heard his daughter whispering to her stuffed devil (courtesy of your husband). he was about to put on a character to make her laugh again, but when he heard her words, he tilted his head.

"...that's my daddy... he's big and strong... i love daddy."

now, sukuna didn't cry. sure, he'd teared up happily when layla was born, and on the night of your wedding when he realised he'd be spending the rest of his life with you. but he couldn't recall the last time tears actually fell from his eyes.

until now.

"kuna?" your voice rang through the room, and he jolted, wiping the wetness from his cheeks haphazardly. he didn't even hear you come in.

sukuna scrunched his face up in confusion because what the fuck? he doesn't even remember starting to cry.

"what happened?" the worry in your voice was what brought him back to the moment, and he laughed deeply, shaking his head.

"nothing," he grumbled, looking at layla, who sat there, eyes wide with fear. "the tea was too hot."

and when his daughter fell back into a fit of giggles, squealing about 'daddy being funny', sukuna knew he'd changed; the phenomenon of having a child had officially broken his cold, cold heart.

[luveline]

Just re-watched the prison Reid arc and whew! Can I request post prison Reid getting to meet his new baby for the first time with a civilian reader? Like he was arrested while reader was still pregnant and she gave birth right before he got out? Maybe have a Diana cameo cause I just love her🤭

ty for requesting! fem, 1.6k

“Do you want me to take him?” 

You give Diana a grateful smile. “Is that okay?” 

Diana is reedy like Spencer, tall and skinny, but strong, too. She treads the carpet in her moccasins and holds out her arms for the baby, shushing him softly as you pass him over. You’ve had to look after her these last few weeks in a way you weren’t prepared for, but she’s looked after you in turn.

She’s almost completely lucid today. The good news has its hooks in her. 

You look out of the window again. The baby coughs in Diana’s arms, a clearing sound after feeding. If she’s gentle with him he’ll fall asleep before Spencer gets home. You aren’t sure what to do, let him sleep or wake him. What would Spencer want? 

I want to come home, he’d said, choked up over the phone, so badly. I’m so sorry. 

“Are you sure you won’t call him Walter?” Diana asks. “Spencer likes that one.” 

“I’m sure, Diana. He liked Jasper, so…” You bite the tip of your tongue until it aches, refusing to cry again. “So I went with Jasper. I hope he doesn’t mind.” 

That morning when Emily told you he was coming home, you cried like you’ve never, ever cried. So hard that the baby woke up in his cot across the room and cried with you. 

You’d cried a lot after Spencer was arrested, and worse when he was imprisoned. You cried like a baby the day you went into labour because you knew you’d have to do it alone, when Spencer promised he’d be there with you, that you wouldn’t have to do any of the scary parts alone. 

It didn’t take long to stop. You’d grabbed Jasper with your cheeks soaked in tears and rubbed his back, that small stretch of warmth under your hand like a lifeline. In a way, Jasper being Spencer’s has made this easier. You’ve had a part of him. It just wasn’t enough to get over missing him. Every bit of joy —you have a baby now, your beautiful boy— has been swiftly followed with an aching sort of grief. Spencer missed his first cry, first bath, the very first time he opened his eyes. You can’t go back. 

“They said three.” 

Diana doesn’t seem concerned. She’s missed Spencer as much as you have, and you know her worry for him has made her more poorly than she’d otherwise be most days, but the baby helps. “I’m gonna find his bear,” she says. 

You bend down, trying to see the corner of the street through the window. Then you remember the last time you left her alone in the kitchen and flinch. “Hey, Diana?” you call. 

She’s checking the drawers for the bear. You’re not sure why she thinks the bear would be there, but perhaps that’s where she put it. “Can I make you a cup of tea or something?” you ask her. 

“You’re spying on me.” 

“Spying implies you don’t know what I’m doing.” 

She pats the baby’s back. “I can see why you and Spencer get along.” 

It’s a little more than getting along. 

She finds Jasper’s bear atop the bread bin, sitting at the kitchen table with him, the bear sat across from him, though Jasper’s already sleeping again. 

You put the stovetop kettle on to boil and realise with a start that you can make Spencer a cup of tea at the same time. Your smile is unfailing, then. He really is coming home. The kettle begins whining while you recover his favourite mug from the cabinet, untouched the entire time he was gone. 

“How many sugars today?” you ask. 

“Was that the door?” 

“What?” You’re putting the mug down before you can compute. 

“Angel?” 

You feel a rush of emotion all over at the sound of his voice. You try to call back to him, but you don’t manage anything more than a catching gasp as you push out of the kitchen and find him at the door. Right there at the end of the hall. 

Pale, tall. Arms already opening, half a step as you run at him. He doesn’t complain when your chest knocks against his. He doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Hi,” you breathe, pressing your nose to his shoulder. Your eyes stay open —it’s like panic without the fear. He’s really here in your arms. 

He squeezes you tightly. So tight you can’t breathe for a second. Then he gentles, his hands rubbing up and down your back out of sync, face falling into yours. 

In the kitchen, Jasper makes a croaky crying sound, a stirring Diana calms immediately. 

You attempt to pull away. Spencer will want to see Jasper, of course. He hadn’t met his own son. It was all he could talk about for weeks before he went away, and yet—

Spencer just rubs your back. After another half a minute like that, he asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat.

“Yeah? No one would tell me anything specific, I was worried you might not be alright.” 

“Everything went fine.” He holds you to his chest. He smells like cheap soap. “I didn’t– it was really okay. He was easy, like he knew I couldn’t handle any complications.” 

“And he–?”

You recognise the undercurrent in his voice. It’s the same thing you felt when they put Jasper on your chest for the first time. “He’s perfect.”

“All ten fingers?” 

You pull away. Immediately, Spencer’s taking your face into two hands, his eyes pouring into yours with an intensity that worries you. “He has all his fingers and toes,” you say quietly, “how about you? How’s your leg?” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to answer. Jasper makes another noise and Diana’s chair creaks. You turn with Spencer’s hand on your side, watching as she brings Jasper to the door. 

“Spencer,” Diane says, like she just saw him yesterday, “you’re late.” 

“Sorry, mom.” 

He always sounds younger when he talks to her. 

“Will you take the baby? I was just making some tea,” she says. 

Spencer nods but doesn’t move. 

“I’ll take him.” You kiss Spencer on the cheek. Remember you haven’t for weeks and kiss him again. “It’s okay.” 

You hold your arms out and take Jasper against your chest. Spencer takes a step forward, stops, hesitating, but when you turn to him with a comforting smile the band holding him back snaps. He crosses the room, breath pulled like he’d stopped as he cranes his head to see his baby. 

“Three weeks old today,” you say softly, tipping Jasper back so Spencer can see his face. “He missed his daddy, you know.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“Of course I can. I’m his mom, Spencer… And who wouldn’t miss you?”

Spencer shakes his head gently, reaching out to caress Jasper’s full cheek. 

“Jasper,” Spencer says. 

“He’s been a great baby so far. Doesn’t give me much trouble. He cries all night, of course… but all babies do. He goes down after a while. I’ve–” You swallow the heat of missing Spencer like a barb dragging against the inside of your throat. “Told him you’re coming home. I told him every day, I promise.” 

“M’sorry,” he says, pained. 

“I know, Spence.” You nudge him. “Time to hold him, honey.” 

He’s more eager than you thought. It’s almost like he’s worried you won’t let him have the baby, but it’s like you told him on the phone: Spencer made a stupid mistake, and you still love him. He never should’ve been going back and forth like that, but you get why he did. Wouldn’t you want Jasper, one day, to care about you in the same way Spencer loves his mother? You forgave him the moment he apologised. 

“It’s alright,” you say, slotting Jasper from your arms to his, guiding his hand behind Jasper’s delicate neck. “Just hold him. He missed you.” 

Spencer sniffles. “I missed him too,” he says. 

“I know.” 

Diana realises eventually that Spencer being home is a big deal. It’s not her fault, not understanding, but the new baby, her relocation again, her nurse barely gone, and Spencer’s sudden homecoming, it’s probably too much to deal with. She finds you, Spencer, and Jasper on the couch in the living room and frowns at him heartily. “You won’t hug your own mother?” she asks.

“You’ll have to hug me around the baby,” he says, sorry. 

She agrees to this without fuss. She caresses his cheek as he’d done for Jasper as she pulls away. 

“Thank you for helping out, mom,” he says. 

“It was all Y/N, Spencer. You know mothers. We’re strong.” 

Spencer looks at Jasper, still sleeping, and then to you, a shade of adoring in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “I know,” he says. 

You curl into his side and take a breath. For the first time in weeks, you let your body relax, finding it sorer and angrier than you’d left it the last time you had the chance to check in. 

Spencer brings the side of your face to his lips to kiss your weary cheek. 

[beloveds-embrace]

I’m such a crybaby because I’d be sobbing my eyes out if the angst dukedom!ah shit happened to me

Kyle hearing the duchess crying in her room so he lingers near the door but doesn’t know how to even approach her :(((((

Same honestly 😔

Dukedom au masterlist

Kyle hearing you cry in your room, aware that you must be so… alone. Alone and cold because he knows none of the maids had bothered to prepare your room for winter and you couldn’t even ask any of them to even tell you where the thicker linens and softer pillows are.

His guilt festers like an open wound, each muffled sob from behind your door a twist of the knife. He’s supposed to be the head butler, the one who ensures every guest’s comfort- yours included regardless of his own feelings- but he’s failed you. The other servants followed his lead, and his silent disdain for you has been their permission to mistreat you. He knows better now, but knowing doesn’t ease the shame that burns his throat when he finally orders the maids to prepare your room properly. He doesn’t tell them why. He can’t admit he’s started to care.

Simon just silently watching you struggle to pull a book out of the library shelves because your dress was not made for climbing ladders, and the servants working there ignored you and pretended they had something else to do when you asked for their help. Something in him quietly aches when he sees your shoulders slump, giving up on getting that book.

He watches you more often than he’d like to admit, truthfully. It’s not just the way your frustration lingers when no one helps you, or the resigned sigh you give when you’re ignored. It’s the quiet dignity with which you endure it all. He sees it in the way you straighten your back even as you, at last, leave the library empty-handed, and something in him twists painfully. He hates how much he’s beginning to admire your strength, And yet, he still says nothing. For now, all he can do is quietly place the book you wanted on your desk later that night, hoping you’ll understand what he can’t yet say.

Johnny just staring at the many mugs of tea and hot drinks he’d made, meant to soothe after such a cold day of hardworking for everyone. A treat from him, a little gift. He’s even made a cup for you and yet… he says nothing when a maid he knows already had hers takes it. Yet the regret he feels when he catches you later that night warming some water on the stove, thinner than is healthy, is something fierce and sharp. He still says nothing, words at the tip of his tongue yet unable to come out.

Still, Johnny can’t stop thinking about the cup of tea. It wasn’t just a drink- it was the smallest gesture of warmth he could have saved and offered you, and he’d let it slip through his fingers. He doesn’t even know why he made it for you in the first place, why he bothered when resentment was easier. But seeing you at the stove, cheeks hollow and shoulders hunched, a spark of defiance in the way you warmed your own water despite everything- it broke something in him. Later, he’ll leave a bowl of warm stew and a fresh loaf of bread outside your door, too ashamed to knock but desperate to ease the hunger he knows must gnaw at you.

John can’t even look at you. If he does, he will be reminded of the one night he allowed himself to see you. Not just as the intruder he once thought you were, but as a woman trying to survive in a world that seemed determined to keep you on your knees. He remembers the soft tremble in your voice when you thanked him for a kindness so small it was almost cruel- handing you a coat left in the drawing room after everyone had gone. You wore it like armor, though it was far too big, and he’d spent the rest of the night cursing himself for the way your gratitude had made his chest ache.

Now, he avoids your gaze because he doesn’t know what he’ll see. Pain? Loneliness? Or worse, the hope that hasn’t yet been extinguished, despite everything. He knows that hope will unravel him if he lets it.

[evilminji]

Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>

Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?

He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.

What're you? A cop?

Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.

Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.

But see, here's the THING.

The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...

Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.

There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)

He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!

Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.

That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.

Poisonous, though.

They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.

Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!

Who's Coffee Is This?

Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!

You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.

He's shouting.

People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.

Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!

He TACKLES the man of steel.

RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!

And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.

He'll move in a moment.

When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.

The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.

They never do.

And now he's nearly killed Superman.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles

[cosmicalily]

12:21am with kim seungmin - a @cosmicalily timestamp

"i just wanna touch you babe but i can't take my clothes off, guess it’s kinda funny, if i think too long, i’ll cry about it. i just wanna fuck you babe but i can't take my clothes off, guess i’ll keep on dancing around it, 'round it, ooh!” - ‘clothes off’ by aleksiah

author’s note: this little drabble is pretty personal to me, something i haven't explored on tumblr before. i have a lot of anxiety around sexual intimacy, which i feel like isn't discussed that much in mainstream media. when the song 'clothes off' by aleksiah was released, i literally cried. i'd never found a song that just summed up all my feelings so perfectly. wanting it but not. feeling guilty. feeling needy. i hope you understand what i'm trying to convey, i love you all xx

warnings: insecurities (around sex and sexual intimacy)

You didn’t quite know how you’d ended up making out with your best friend, Seungmin.

Maybe it had been the cup of tea he’d made you, humming softly to himself as he boiled the water, adding exactly a spoonful and a half of honey, just the way he knew you liked it.

Maybe it had been the fact that just yesterday, he’d silently restocked the second drawer in your vanity where you kept your stash of period products that he’d noticed were running low.

Maybe it had been the lyrics that you’d found when you were vacuuming the house, stashed under his bed with your name written in the title.

But you knew it wasn’t a singular event. You’d fallen for him ages ago.

The tea was now cold, sitting to the side of the coffee table, half drunken. You didn’t really feel the need to drink it anymore, not when you could spend hours, hours that you’d longed for since forever, kissing the plump lips that had whispered so many sweet secrets into your ears mere minutes ago.

“I love you.”

“You’re perfect.”

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted this?”

“You’re the prettiest girl, you know that, yeah?”

“Wait,” you blurted, pulling your face away from Seungmin’s, out of breath. “I don’t . . . I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to.”

Seungmin looked at you worriedly, moving his hands from your waist and sitting up straight. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you. I just . . .”

“It’s okay.”

He reached out for your hand, and you reluctantly gave it to him. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just rubbed soft circles into the back of your palm. Your breathing slowed. So did your heart rate.

“I don’t want you for sex,” he said eventually, staring out the window. The curtains were closed, but the moonlight melted through a little, casting a soft glow across his face. He was like the moon. Permanent and dependable and always there to watch over you.

Especially at night, when your thoughts became too much.

“Of course, if you wanted to have it, I wouldn’t be opposed,” he continued, turning to look at you. His hand shifted to gently brush a tear from your cheek. “But I want you because I want you. And if that means kissing and falling asleep, that’s what I want.”

“You’re not bored?” you mumbled, not quite meeting his eye.

“I could never be.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @heartsbyani @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing @urlocalmultigroupfan @shuuporanglinos @lezleeferguson-120 @r1nstaaa - dm, comment or send an ask to be added :)

[onlyquinns]

can i pls have a fic with jack hughes where he hurts his already injured shoulder while doing something around the house and is in pain; reader just taking such gentle care of him and jack realising she’s his future wife. that every failed relationship has led to her.

it happens so suddenly. one moment, he’s totally fine—moving grocery bags in from your car—then the brown bag is slipping from his fingers and he’s hunched over.

jack grabs at his arm, his fingers white-knuckled on his shirt sleeve. pain burns down from the scar in his skin, shooting sparks of fire and electricity into his bicep. he tries not to cry out in fear of worrying you, but you’re already racing through the apartment, alerted by the sound of groceries falling to the floor.

“i’m okay,” jack says immediately even though he’s still hunched over, teeth grit.

you’re by his side, helping him to the couch. “i told you i could’ve done it, j,” you mumble, eyes filled with worry.

“yeah, well, what kind of boyfriend would i be if i made my girl carry groceries?” jack jokes, attempting to lighten your mood. he flops onto the couch, falling onto his good side. he gives you a goofy smile but your frown doesn’t drop.

your brows are pinched and your hands lay heavily on your hips, mind running a million miles per hour as you wonder what you’re going to do with him.

jack’s smile falters slightly, “baby, i didn’t mean to worry you—“ but you don’t listen, turning away and grabbing various supplies from the kitchen.

jack watches as you prep a hot water bottle, turning on the electric kettle to get water boiling. as it boils, you set out his favorite mug—one that he insisted the two of you buy because they came in a matching set of two—and put in your tea infuser. within five minutes, you return to his side with his hot water bottle—your favorite one that you never let him use—and a warm mug of tea. once they’re in jack’s hands, you turn away again and grab a cold cup of water and a tiny bottle of advil.

jack watches in awe as you take the time to open the bottle for him and dump out two pills. after surgery, you’d taken it upon yourself to open every bottle and can—whether it were a drink of a jar of jam—so he wouldn’t have to.

his memory nags at him as he watches you, as he remembers the year before when he’d initially hurt his shoulder—how his girlfriend at the time hadn’t done any of that for him. he swallows thickly, pushing away the memory of pain and fatigue of having to care for himself while his ex had spent her time lounging around.

“here you go,” you say, pulling his mind back to you. you stand in front of him, palm outstretched. he easily takes the advil from you, popping them into his mouth. you stand nearby, making sure he takes them because you know he’s weird about having to take meds.

once you’re certain he swallows, you nod happily. jack smiles softly at the sight of you so proud of yourself, thinking of the little ring box he’s tucked away in luke’s room in fear that you’d find it in his.

“alright, scooch over, pretty boy,” you say, words light and teasing. jack chuckles and makes room for you on the couch, tucking you close to his uninjured side. you reach for the remote.

“what’re we watching?” jack asks as the tv comes to life.

you shrug, “whatever you want,” you tell him.

jack’s heart stutters and he’s sure that when summer rolls around and he’s able to move his arm again, he’s definitely proposing to you.