#but I didn't learn every word there is to know

[harrysfolklore]

lily - but daddy i love him

summary: max verstappen and yn wolff welcome their first baby into the world. READ BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM HERE. wc:1.6k

folkie radio: GUYS I JUST COULDN'T HELP MYSELF OKAY !!! i love the bdilh babies so much and i missed writing about them and this was just the perfect opportunity. i hope you like this!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The hospital room is quiet now, the chaos of delivery replaced by a peaceful calm. Early morning light filters through the windows of your private suite in Monaco, casting a gentle glow over the tiny bundle in your arms.

Lily Verstappen-Wolff, all of six hours old, has her father's eyes. They're that same impossible shade of blue, currently studying your face with what seems like intense concentration.

"She's got your nose though," Max whispers from where he's perched beside you on the bed, one arm around your shoulders, the other gently stroking Lily's impossibly small hand. "Thank god."

"Hey," you protest weakly, too exhausted and happy to really be offended. "Your nose is cute."

"Tell that to the aerodynamics team," he laughs softly, then goes quiet when Lily makes a tiny sound. "Sorry, princess. Didn't mean to be loud."

The way Max looks at her makes your heart feel too big for your chest. He's been crying on and off since she arrived, the four-time world champion, known for his fierce determination on track, completely undone by five pounds of baby girl.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your moment. Your father peers in, and you've never seen him look quite like this - his usual composed demeanor completely cracked open, eyes shining with tears.

"Is it... can I..." he starts, unusually lost for words.

"Come meet your granddaughter, Papa."

Toto approaches slowly, as if Lily might startle. When he sees her face, he completely breaks down, tears flowing freely now.

"She's perfect," he whispers, touching her cheek with one finger. His hand is trembling slightly. "She's absolutely perfect."

"Want to hold her?" Max offers, already carefully lifting Lily.

You watch as your father - the intimidating Mercedes team principal who's made grown men cower - cradles your daughter like she's made of glass. He hasn't stopped crying, and it makes your own eyes well up.

"Hallo, kleine Prinzessin," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm your Opa." He gently rocks her, studying every feature of her tiny face. "You know, I've won many championships, seen many incredible moments in racing, but nothing... nothing compares to this moment right here."

He touches her tiny hand with one finger, and when she grabs it, a fresh wave of tears falls. "Such a strong grip already. Just like your mama - always holding on tight to what matters."

Max wraps his arm around your shoulders as you watch your father completely melt.

"I promise you, Lily," Toto continues softly, "that you will always have someone in your corner. Someone to protect you, to guide you..." he chuckles wetly, "to teach you all about racing politics and team strategy."

"Papa," you laugh. "She's six hours old."

"Never too early to learn about the importance of good strategy," he says, but his eyes never leave Lily's face. "Although maybe we'll start with simpler things. Like how to wrap your papa around your little finger - though I see you've already mastered that."

Max grins. "Like mother, like daughter."

Toto shifts Lily slightly, cradling her closer to his chest. "You know, meine Kleine, I thought I knew what love was. Thought I understood it completely. But seeing you..." his voice cracks, "seeing my little girl become a mother... holding you..." He has to pause, overwhelmed. "You're going to change everything, aren't you? Just like your mama did."

You reach out and squeeze his arm, your own tears falling freely now.

"Papa?" you ask softly after a moment. "Who else is out there?"

"Just Lewis," he manages, still gazing at Lily. "But we don't want to intrude..."

You exchange a look with Max, who grins and nods.

"Are you kidding?" you laugh. "Get him in here. He needs to meet his goddaughter."

"I'll get him," Max says, kissing your forehead before heading to the door.

Moments later, Lewis appears, looking uncharacteristically nervous. When he sees Lily in Toto's arms, his face does something complicated before crumpling entirely.

"Oh my god," he whispers, moving closer. "Oh my god, look at her."

"Want to hold her?" your father offers, though he looks reluctant to let go.

Lewis nods, unable to speak. When Toto places Lily in his arms, he lets out a shaky breath that turns into a sob.

"Hey baby girl," he manages through tears. "I'm your Uncle Lewis. I'm... I'm going to spoil you so much. And teach you everything about racing. And protect you forever."

"Lewis," you say softly, touched by how emotional he is.

"I can't help it," he sniffles, swaying gently with Lily. "Look at her. She's... she's perfect. She's got your smile already, Little Wolff. And Max's eyes..."

He looks up at Max, who's watching from beside your bed. "You did good, man. Really good."

Max wipes at his own eyes. "We did, didn't we?"

"The best," Lewis agrees, looking back down at Lily. "God, I'm never going to stop crying, am I?"

"Join the club," your father says, still wiping his eyes.

"You know what this means though?" Lewis says suddenly, a mischievous glint appearing through his tears. "As godfather, I get to buy her her first race suit."

"Ferrari colors, I assume?" Max raises an eyebrow.

"Obviously."

"Over my dead body, Hamilton."

"Boys," you warn, but you're smiling. Some things never change.

"We'll let her choose," Lewis decides diplomatically, then adds in a whisper to Lily, "But red would look really good on you, princess."

You watch them - these three strong, competitive men, all completely undone by your tiny daughter. Your father has his hand on Lewis' shoulder, both of them looking at Lily like she's the most precious thing they've ever seen. Max sits beside you again, pulling you close as you all watch Lewis whisper promises to your daughter.

"Welcome to the family, little one," Lewis says softly. "You've got quite the crew looking out for you."

Lily makes a tiny sound and grabs Lewis' finger, making him burst into fresh tears.

"Oh, she's got a good grip," he laughs through his tears. "Future world champion material right there."

"First female world champion," Max says proudly. "Right, princess?"

After several more minutes of Lewis making promises to Lily about racing lessons and future championships, your father gently reminds him that you need rest.

"Just one more minute," Lewis pleads, still cradling Lily like she might disappear.

"Lewis," your father says fondly, "they'll still be here tomorrow."

"And the next day, and the next," you add with a smile. "She's not going anywhere."

Finally, reluctantly, Lewis places Lily back in your arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Love you already, little champ."

Your father hugs you carefully, mindful of Lily, then surprises everyone by pulling Max into a tight embrace. "You did good, son," he says softly, and you see Max's eyes well up again.

After they leave, the room falls into a peaceful quiet. Max settles beside you on the bed, his arm around your shoulders, both of you gazing down at your daughter.

"Hi baby girl," he whispers, gently stroking her cheek. "It's just us now."

Lily's tiny hand escapes her blanket, reaching up to grab Max's finger. His breath catches.

"Still can't believe she's real," he murmurs. "That we made her. That she's actually here."

You adjust the soft yellow hat on her head. "Remember when we had to hide from everyone?"

"Couldn't even hold your hand in public," Max laughs softly. "And now we have her."

"And now we have her."

Lily makes a tiny sound, drawing both your attention immediately. Her eyes - so impossibly blue - seem to focus on Max's face.

"Hey princess," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I know I probably look scary right now, crying all over the place. But I promise I'm usually more put together than this. Usually. Unless I'm around your mama. She tends to make me emotional too."

"Softie," you tease gently.

"Only for my girls," he admits without hesitation.

You watch as he carefully takes Lily from you, cradling her against his chest with a natural ease that makes your heart ache. The contrast of his strong hands - hands that have controlled the most powerful cars in the world - being so impossibly gentle with her tiny body is almost too much.

"I had this whole speech prepared," he says suddenly. "All these things I was going to tell her when she arrived. About racing, about life, about how much we wanted her. But now..." he looks down at Lily, who's watching him with what seems like intense concentration, "now I just want to tell her that I love her. That I've loved her since the moment we knew about her. That I'll love her forever."

"I think that's all she needs to know," you say softly, leaning against him.

"You know what's crazy?" Max adjusts Lily's blanket with careful precision. "All those championships, all those wins... nothing compares to this. To her. To us."

You watch them together - your fierce, passionate husband gone completely soft for this tiny person who's barely six hours old. The way he keeps checking her blanket, the gentle sway he's adopted without seeming to realize it, the look of pure wonder on his face every time she moves.

"I love you," you say suddenly, overwhelmed by everything. "Both of you. So much."

Max tears his gaze away from Lily to look at you, and the emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. "We love you too," he whispers. "Right, princess? We love Mama so much."

Lily snuggles closer to his chest in response, her tiny hand still gripping his finger.

Outside, the world keeps turning. Soon there will be visitors and photos and congratulations. Soon you'll have to share her with the rest of your extended F1 family. Soon there will be decisions about races and schedules and how to balance everything.

But right now, in this quiet room with the morning sun painting everything gold, there's just this: your little family, complete at last. Max humming softly in Dutch, Lily drifting off to sleep in his arms, and you, watching the two loves of your life together.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

[theorphicangel]

papa!kuna getting up on stage when his daughter has stage fright.

she's been excited about her solo for weeks now, the endless rehearsals in the front living room on an early saturday morning. you ran through her lines almost everyday and helped her recite the songs just before she fell asleep.

it had gotten to the point where sukuna was humming her recital song in his own fucking sleep. but anything to make his baby girl happy, right?

she had wanted everything to be perfect and was excited to impress her parents. the night before she had her outfit all ready and waiting on the chair beside her despite the recital not being until the next evening.

but now she stands under the headlights of the school stage with many eyes peering at her and the piano instrumental playing in the background.

you had your camera up and ready for her solo but suddenly you place it down once you realise your child has stage fright. her kindergarten teacher prompts her to start, replaying the chord but the words seem stuck in her throat.

you glance at sukuna with worry in your eyes and he glances back with his face deadpanned but you know he's panicking inside. your daughter fiddles with her hands becoming more anxious with every second passed on stage in complete silence.

it's one of the worst feelings to experience as a parent; the panic of not knowing what to do or how to comfort your child in a situation and to be honest your heart just breaks.

before your mind could even comprehend to go and pick up your daughter Sukuna stands up with urgency and walks over to the stage. the whispers and murmurs continue until you see your husband getting up on stage and joining your daughter.

he kneels down and whispers something in her ears before taking her hand. the two of them face the crowd and before you know it their lips begin to move in time with the piano instrumental.

your confusion melts into a smile once you realise that the sukuna ryomen is...singing. on stage in front of everyone. for his precious baby girl.

his voice is gruff compared to your daughter's sweet tone but he's in tune and on time with the lyrics. you had no idea he had learned the lyrics this well. the words came to him naturally with so much ease and perfect timing right and everything. he accompanies her throughout the whole song and you watch her pick up her confidence with her dad by her side.

they finish the song and the crowd of parents and kids on stage clap with cheers and whoops. and your husband and daughter take their well deserved bow. coming off stage sukuna is praised by all the parents out there, standing immediately and patting his back.

'i don't know what i would have done if it was my kid, good job out there'

'mr ryomen I didn't know you could sing'

'you two were great! you should be very proud of yourselves!'

they quickly find you through the crowd of parents reuniting with their own children and lift your daughter into a hug.

you kiss her chubby cheek and congratulate her for doing so well out there and she gives toothy smile, 'i couldn't have done it without papa.'

'that's true, my love.' you grin, 'but you did so well, m'so proud of you for being so brave.'

sukuna stands by awkwardly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks as all eyes seem to be on him in the room. but he keeps his focus on his daughter and shuffles her pink hair, ' you did well brat.'

'thank you papa.'

after letting your daughter run off and wave goodbye to her friends for the night, you turn to sukuna with a grin.

'wow...I didn't know someone had a good singing voice.'

'yeah, yeah, just don't make a big deal about it.' he groans under his breath, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

‘mr popular huh’ you murmur, watching as parents continue to give their congratulations. 'don't let the fame rush to your head now, kuna'

'if she wasn't part of it i'd make you delete that goddamn video.'

you hum along, 'You know I'll rewatch it tonight.'

'whatever, knock yourself out.'

[guardianofscrewingup]

This is exactly it. ^

So I'm a writer and want to get published and I was looking at chatgpt out of curiosity in a "will this ever replace the job I want to do" kind of way and I put in some premise stuff and plot stuff and was like "hey chatgpt, write this first chapter" of a book.

Now this was for the first chapter of a book I'd already co-written with my writing partner. It already existed. I didn't plan to use the chatgpt version. I wanted to see how that version compared to our version.

And it sucked. The things it came up with were trite and very tropey and boring, and you could tell were lifted from a million badly-written book summaries and Ao3. The thing I wrote with my friend was still funnier and more lively (esp since my friend is very funny.) It dealt with stuff thematically in a way that chatgpt couldn't, with us grappling with some mental health stuff rooted in personal experience.

For a different book, I tried different ideas, different prompts, asked it plotting stuff, compared to what I already had plotted.

And that also sucked. What I'd already planned was less tropey and more personal and more about some life-changing personal experience. It couldn't even come close to even the premise idea I was going with, because the premise idea I was going with had to do with my own perspective - whether people like that book or not, it is a specific-to-me perspective.

While experimenting with it, the only, and I mean literally the only thing I think it could be useful for for writers is as a glorified dictionary search. I did find it was useful to be like "hey chatgpt give me occupations that could work as surnames that can be used as given names, and link to your actual sources" or "give me a list of roots of [specific language] I can use to make up a name with, also give the etymology and links to your sources" or "give me some old-timey English surnames with X vibes from Y time period, with sources" or something. (All with requested links to sources to check it wasn't hallucinating and actually pulled it from at least somewhere.)

And that was marginally useful bc it had pulled a lot from stuff like dictionaries and wiktionary, could link to it for me to check for words and etymology that were there but would've taken a lot of time and sifting to find. The skill to filter through a ton of minutiae, if anything, wastes time you could be learning or doing things of actual meaning. Just like a calculator is a time saver if it's not math that it's very important for you to learn or do in your head.

But when it comes to acts of thought, of creativity, of memory, of research for actual topics that are important to learn, it is so so bad. AI should, honestly, at most be used for it's normal and healthier uses - to make it easier to search and catalog very minor information like a glorified dictionary search, or perform very limited functions. That's a thing that narrow AI already does and has done and with things like auto-correct, bot detection (like flagging bots for propaganda or hate speech slurs), speech recognition for voice-to-text, etc. etc.

Cataloging minor info that no one could possibly memorize like dictionaries to cross-reference, because there is no one that can actually memorize whole dictionaries, is one thing. Just like auto-correct is useful because no one can know how to spell every single word, even if it's their native language. Just like speech-to-text is useful because it helps someone communicate but doesn't communicate for them.

But when it comes to broader stuff, we can think, we can communicate, we can research and learn important things on our own, we can analyze things, we can create, and hell we can even learn math when we do need it, on our own.

If AI isn't a limited-focus time-saver that saves us time so we have more time to think, learn, and create, and is the thing that does the thinking, learning, and creating for us, it's a problem.

generative AI literally makes me feel like a boomer. people start talking about how it can be good to help you brainstorm ideas and i’m like oh you’re letting a computer do the hard work and thinking for you???

[reidscherrygirl]

೯⁺ 𖥻 𝓨𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗜𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 ! ᰋ

ꨄ︎ 𝒫 airing : : 𝒮pencer reid x female!bau!nonverbal!reader

ꨄ︎ 𝒮 ynopsis : : being nonverbal has it's difficulties. you speak with your hands━━SPENCER REID learned them by heart.

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ontents : : nonverbal!reader. reader knows sign language. asl. spencer learns asl. fluff. mutual pining. rossi knows sign language. the reason why reader is nonverbal,, past trauma( the team knows but won't be talked about ). light smut. reader being the one rambling( using sign language ) and spencer focusing on you and your hands alone. teasing from the team. the team didn't know about your relationship for a while(aside from rossi). grammatical errors. ooc.

ꨄ︎ 𝓦ord count : : 1.7k

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ase file shelf.

ꨄ︎ 𝒲hispers of viana : : OKAY. i made this a week ago. also,, this idea popped up after reading,, this by @/mggslover !,, gained the motivation to write it because of a boy my age who is nonverbal !! met him at the hospital && he was sososo sweet. i couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me😭😭 i made him type on my notes,, he didn't seem bothered by it,, so it's okay... ishm I FORGOT TO ASK FOR HIS SOCIALS IM GONNA KMS. also! i mentioned i met the guy at the hospital ,, yeah,, still haven't recovered.. SO THIS WON'T BE GOOD-GOOD I'M SORRY💔 also i still don't know sign language so indented = sign language. i made rossi know asl,, bc yay why not,,, contains too many breaks because i acc do nawt know anything ab sign language but,, wanted to write thistgisthis. and for the last time . I AM MINORLYATFAULT DAMMIT

the first time SPENCER REID laid eyes on you, you were signing with rossi. it was quick, neat, rehearsed. the others were slightly confused, derek arching a brow, jj tilting her head, emily sort of just standing there with a strangely amused expression. but reid? reid was focused. like laser beam concentrated. he was already trying to recall what you had just signed.

rossi had patted your shoulder and left, but you remained standing in the center of the briefing room, notebook held in front of you like a shield.

"she's nonverbal," garcia had whispered afterward, when she added, "not mute, though. trauma-related, i believe. i overheard that from strauss once. she can talk, just. doesn't. or won't."

it didn't make him pity you. he just considered how you spoke. how calculated it was. how careful you had to be, how you hacked out understanding in silence. he thought that was sort of beautiful. he thought it was absolutely beautiful.

so naturally he began learning asl. and not the watered down kind. complete, perfect grammar, complete complications, practiced every night( he read eight different asl books and read each of them three times). he didn't want to ask you to adjust for him. he wanted to be able to meet you where you were.

he began small.

hi.

and your eyes had widened a bit, guarded. but you signed back,

hi, spencer.

and that was the start.

over time, your conversations increased. it became kinda a secret language between you two( if you take rossi out of the picture ). sometimes in the car on stakeouts, he'd ask you questions just to see the way you signed. like the way you'd talk about the stars or the way the wind blew that day. usually it's him who rambles. but he can't help it. and you'd always get a little smile when you saw him staring at your hands like they were the most fascinating thing in the universe.

the team saw something, but not everything. you always signed to them, usually to rossi, but gradually more and more to spencer. and yeah, reid signed back, but they just thought he was being nice. helpful. because he was like that. always happy to learn a new language. especially so he could converse with a friend. and don't take it the wrong way, they're learning. trying. but they aren't spencer reid who could finish reading 20,000 words per minute.

rossi was the one who glanced at you both with that knowing look.

"pretty sure he's in love with you, kid" he told you one morning, dryly, as he was making coffee. you blinked at him. signed,,

how do you know?

he smiled. "because he stares at you the same way emily stares at tequila."

... don't you mean you? you wanted to state, but restrained yourself.

the teasing came later.

morgan began it all. "pretty boy's got himself a signing buddy,"( more like you got yourself a signing buddy. ) he teased one morning. "y'all look like you're passing notes in class."

reid blushed so red it was really alarming.

you just rolled your eyes and waved your fingers:

jealous you can't keep up?

"i━━ okay, okay, she got me. i'm out."

everyone laughed( he couldn't even understand half of what you signed ). except rossi, who sipped his coffee like he was privy to some information they were not.

reid was quiet that entire day. and the next.

of course, he'd eventually snap.

he saw you in the break room, empty. where you typically retreated to escape the commotion. he seemed nervous. restless. hands quivering slightly as if he couldn't help but keep them moving.

can i talk to you?

you nodded, clearing a space beside you. he sat down across from you. deep breath.

i like you. i like you a lot. i think about you constantly and not just in a friendly way. in a.more-than-that way.

he winced a little, as if preparing himself for rejection.

you blinked. heart pounding. giddy. and then slowly, you signed,

me too. i like you, spencer. but. let's keep it private? work is still work.

his entire face beamed. "yes! yes, of course. absolutely. private. secret. top secret. agent-level secret."

you smiled. just a little gasp. no sound, but he could see it in your eyes.

he was already lovesick-looking.

oh, and dating spencer reid was like falling into poetry. he signed you good mornings, good afternoons, and good evenings. he annotated books for you with both little notes and signs he wanted to show you. he kissed your hands sometimes like they were the whole language he adored.

no one knew. or at least, they didn't know know. you were always signing regardless. sometimes you'd touch your fingers against his wrist and jj would just smile, thinking nothing of it. morgan was too busy making noise. hotch, well.. hotch. garcia kept shipping you with literally everyone( mostly spencer ).

the one and only rossi raised an eyebrow whenever reid would look at you for just a fraction too long.

"still think i was wrong?" he whispered one afternoon, walking past you in the corridor.

no. definitely not. but you didn't sign.

"so," rossi asked a week later at the round table, not even glancing up from his file. "you two finished sneaking around yet?"

you and spencer both stiffened.

morgan choked on his coffee. "wait, what?"

"they've been dating. for weeks now. maybe months. i don't know. you all are blind."

emily looked at you with big eyes. "what?"

you just signed,

hi.

spencer coughed. blushed. again.

"man," derek complained. "i knew something was up."

"no, you didn't," garcia chastised. "rossi knew. he always knows."

rossi just smiled, smug. "i read fast."

it was raining the night it happened. spencer had volunteered to drive you home from the jet. everyone else had already separated.

he came up with some reason to come in. books he borrowed? something along those lines( silly of him, you both just left the jet, what books ?).

the moment the door closed after him, he turned to you.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded. a little too quickly. too eagerly.

and it was soft. soft. but also desperate. like he'd been waiting for years. your hands in his hair, and his arms tight around your waist like he couldn't believe you were real.

you took him to the couch. didn't need to utter a word. he trailed, kissing you once more like a habit. his fingers traced your jaw, your neck, down your back. your hands signed between kisses,

you're so warm.

he grinned against your mouth. "you're perfect."

it became hotter. clothes were not completely vanished but they were. relocated. his lips on your neck. your legs. your belly. and you ━━ you couldn't keep it in.

the moaned. escaped before you could shut them up. breathy, soft, but oh so there.

spencer stopped. eyes wide open. he stared up at you. you freaked out.

i'm sorry.

you signed, panicking.

"don't be," he breathed. "god, don't be. that was the most gorgeous sound i've ever heard."

and then he kissed you again, slow and once again, desperate.

you allowed him to hold you afterward. his hand beneath your shirt was warm but never inched any lower, as if he was scared of rushing you. and perhaps that's why your body trusted him.

perhaps that's why when he asked ━━ with a gentle brush of his lips against your jaw, eyes asking permission more than anything ━━ if he could kiss you again, you let him.

and it was messier this time. not the hesitant type, not the uncertain type. it was desperate, much longed for. his fingers buried in your hair, and yours gripping the nape of his neck, thumb tracing behind his ear. and the way he kissed, god, he kissed as if he was committing every curve your lips held to memory.

his glasses misted, but he didn't mind. you smiled during the kiss, teeth clashing once as he attempted to smile in return. you signed against his chest ━━ adorable. ( adorable. adorable. adorable. ) he only smiled harder.

"you're unfair," he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your mouth. "you know what you do to me?"

tell me.

he leaned in to kiss you again. slower, softer.

"you ruin me."

in a good way?

"the best way."

somehow, you found yourself lying back on the couch. your fingers intertwined in his shirt and his weight resting carefully over you. you buried your face in his neck and kissed there. slow, soft.

he grunted ━━ not even ━━ but you felt it more than you heard it. you kissed beneath his jaw. again. again. again. you did not say a word but you were loud in other ways. he let you feel safe enough to be loud.

he whispered something akin to "jesus, you're perfect" against your cheek, and it curled your toes. his hand remained at your waist, and your leg touched his. you moved ━━ wanting more, not all, just more.

he drew back only to ask, "are you sure?"

you nodded. signed ,

yes. please.

his lips slammed against yours again.

it was still soft, but different now. a little deeper. teeth brushing, tongue dancing. he didn't force. he let you welcome him. and you did. you drew him in again and again. he kissed you like a man who'd waited months ━━ because he had.

he kissed you until your chest was heaving and your body was warmer than ever.

and when you moved again, thighs touching more, his hand crept up to cradle your cheek.

"we can stop whenever," he vowed. breathless. hopeful.

i don't want to.

he kissed your fingertips for that. soft, reverent. then your knuckles. your wrist. your pulse.

when he finally drew back, both of you were flushed and swollen-lipped. you let out a soft giggle.

so. dating?

he blinked. then laughed. his laugh is also adorable. head thrown back, nose scrunched.

"yes. very, very much dating."

cool.

you attempted to look and act cool, too, but your smile was way too wide.

"cool," he repeated.

the following week at the office, nothing changed ━━ to everyone else.

to rossi, you noticed the smirk you received from him across the conference room table.

to reid, you signed,

missed you.

while getting coffee.

he clenched his lip to keep from grinning. signed back,

me more.

morgan cocked an eyebrow from the hallway. "you two ever gonna share the inside joke or what?"

"nope," reid replied, taking a swallow and not looking at anyone.

never.

but when he strode past your desk, he touched your hand. and you looked at him like he hung the stars.

and yeah, you were still quiet.

but with him, you never had to be quiet.

© reidscherrygirl

[kittykia]

∿savoring you∿

pairing ∿ stack x black fem reader x mary

synopsis ∿ you hadn't even noticed those dark brown eyes plotting on how to lure you in. how those eyes turned into hands sinking their touch into your skin. you didn't even know why it happened, but one thing you did know, there wasn't any easy way out.

word count ∿ 1.2k+ words

warnings ∿ this is triad poly(gyny), very much "we looking for a third" marystack, is it vamp marystack or regular marystack? the world will never know, allusions to sex (?), SUGGESTIVE, lemme know if i forgot something, excuse any grammer mistakes, this is not edited

author notes ∿ i am not a writing blog, just a writer with a blog. that being said, i will write for sinners because it hasn't left my brain since i went to go see it. coming out of (writing) retirement for this one. shout out to @szatears for their work on stack and mary poly, pls make sure to go read it as it inspired this current work -> here !! this is something slight while i get my thoughts together and learn to write about these two more. need time to write for bo chow as well. sorry i couldn't write more in one sitting.

it was mary who saw you first. she was standing at the bar, catching her breath from dancing all night when she saw you. sweaty curls sticking to your forehead, panting and out of breath, knocking back a shot before following it with whatever was in the cup in front of you.

you had gone out that night with some of your friends, needing some release from the stressful week and what better way to do that than getting dressed to the 9s and 10s, dancing and drinking the night away.

it was like looking at an erotic painting, seeing you so relaxed under the club lights, watching that drop of alcohol slip from your mouth and slide down your neck, past your curls and hoops, almost felt sinful. and mary was hooked.

she was so busy watching you start to sway away, back towards your group of friends as they yell for you to join them again, she hadn't even noticed stack coming up behind her.

the way you moved your hips in those jeans made her chest tight and her throat dry. she's seen a lot of beauty, hard not to, but something about you made her feel greedy. like she had to reach out and touch, feel, kiss, devour, or she'd go insane. she could feel herself starting to salivate.

in that moment, she wondered if you'd sweat the same, if your curls would stick to your forehead the same when she's gotten you laid up underneath her. if you would knock your head back the same way you took that shot once her tongue was on you. if you would sway your hips the same in her hands as she asks you to dance.

and you had the audacity to not even notice her inner turmoil. stack did though.

"what's got you all distracted, huh?" stack's voice rang in mary's ears like an alarm, pulling her from her daydreams immediately. he felt her flinch under his touch as he wrapped his hands around her waist. "called ya name 3 times, baby."

mary turned flawlessly in stack's hold, hitting her hand on his shoulder as she huffs, "elias, don't spook me! gon give me a heart attack." stack only raised an eyebrow at her, "then pay attention when i call you. now, answer me. some nigga in here tryna die?" stack started to look in the direction he saw mary starting at.

mary sighed and rolled her eyes, "no, stack" "you sure?" stack kept searching the crowd, looking for any eyes that dared to look at the woman under his arm. "stack, nobody in here crazy enough to start shit with me especially with you around," mary called out, reaching out to turn his gaze back at her. she stared for a moment before sighing out and pointing his gaze to where you were, "just- look for ya self"

stack squinted his eyes, searching every face in the direction mary pointed him in and that's when he saw it. saw you.

he inhaled deeply, eyes widening ever so slightly as he drank you in. all curves, curls, and brown skin. his hands tightened on mary as he watched you twirl around with your friends, watching as you bump and grind in the middle with your head tilted back, neck all out on display.

he felt his teeth ache with the need to bury them in all that soft skin, to sit 'n watch as the blood rush to surface and bruise under his teeth marks. to watch your curls bounce as you climb on top of him, to feel you grind back against him. to watch the sweat form on your skin if only to lick it up as he holds you against him.

ouuu, the thought of you was bound to be just as good as the taste of you.

"whatcha think, hm? a beauty, ain't she?" stack snapped back towards mary who was back to watching you as she rubbed her hands against stack's clothed chest. she looked like she was just ready to pounce, stewing in her own anticipation, like a predator waiting to close in on its prey.

he knew that look, knew it so well cause she learned it from him. had used it on him many times before too. he knew exactly how she felt looking at you and now he felt it too, looking at you too.

"mhm...so now what?" stack asked, leaning down in mary's ear, slowly dragging his eyes back towards your swaying figure, squeezing mary's waistin anticipation.

mary giggled before responding, "well that'll depend...feelin' greedy, stack?" she turned back towards him grinning. he tore his eyes away to look at her's, smiling like the cat that got the cream. "i'm feelin what you feelin, baby" ever the smooth talker, mary grins right back. "then im starving."

as for you, all you could hear was the beat of the music blaring all around you and the giggles and yelling of your friends surrounding you. you felt more though.

more then the sweat and heat in the air and on your skin, then the ache in your hips as you swing your hips and arms, then the curls sticking to you, or the weight of your hoops as you throw your head back.

you felt eyes. people usually say to dance without a care, dance like no one's watching but not this time. somebody is watching you and you feel their gaze ooze over your skin like molasses.

every inch of your body belonged to the gaze of whoever was watching you dance.

you subtly tried to look around, look for whoever was staring at you, trying to psyche yourself out, to tell yourself that was just your imagination.

and if it was your imagination, then you would never have thought up a woman lounging at the bar, drinking your body in like she had been walking in the Mississippi heat all day and you were her first mirage in miles.

you caught her eyes but she held your eyes. she almost looked excited, giggly, with a soft smile to finally have your eyes looking back at her. but it was something about those eyes that didn't seem all too innocent.

she was petite, small but curvy, wavy brown hair, pale skin reflecting all the lights, and brown eyes flitting all across your body as she undressed you slowly, right there from the bar.

and it only got worse when you looked at the man behind her, intense eyes staring right down to your soul as he smirked.

he tipped his head towards you, shamelessly looking up and down as you saw his arms flex around the woman. like looking at you made him tense and impatient, like he was just itching to touch you. and she was too if the grip she had on his clothes were anything to go by.

he was strong, built, and tall. thick with muscle and strength under those clothes. you could just imagine those arms wrapping around you tight, holding you nice and steady. his hair was cut short but his line up was as sharp as his jawline that he flexed. exhaling as he smiled even bigger watching you check him and her out.

and without noticing, you had turned towards them, dancing in their direction. feeling drunk on their heady gazes as you moved. mary felt her breathe hitch as you turned, not even thinking for a second as she slipped away from stack, their hands lingering before she made it to the dance floor, stack leaning against the bar and watching her go.

you could feel exhilaration rising as you dance between all the bodies to get closer to her, reaching out for her. you don't even know this damn girl, but you would be lying if you weren't on the edge of your seat to get her in your grasp. your friends hadn't even noticed you abandoned them.

once she finally touched you, you felt a pleasant shiver run down your spine. she curled right into your space, chest to chest, her soft skin and smile taking up all of your attention as you leaned into her.

she slinked her arms around your neck as you wrapped yours around her waist, her following your moves perfectly. you met her eyes dead on, feeling a knot in your stomach begin to form while looking into a pool of desire.

you leaned towards her ear, her eyes following you as her swayed and grinded against you, "what's your name?"

you spoke loud enough over the music. you swore you heard her groan at the sound of your voice so close, felt her twitch feeling your breath on her ear and cheek before she tucked it away and answered, "name's mary." she answered in a sweet yet husky voice that made your legs tremble ever so slightly.

"you gonna tell me yours?" mary teased as she spun you around, pulling you closer to her, hands moving to grip them as you move to the beat of the music.

you melt into her embrace with your eyes closed like you were meant to, resting your head on her shoulder as she nuzzles yours, resisting putting her lips to it, taking in your scent as it wafts towards her nose.

you open your eyes to catch stack, still at the bar, no longer smiling. his arms are crossed as he watches you two dance together, clenching his jaw and body twitching as he shifts his hips, pants getting tighter and tighter with every passing second, but staying put.

he isn't much a vouyer but watching you two might just make him one. he can't bring himself to join but feels the tension from not having a body on his.

you see him power struggle as you finally turn your head to mary, distracted in feeling you up, hands gliding up and down your torso stopping right before you chest and right under your belly button.

"i'm y/n," you whisper back, revealing in the way mary groans under her breathe in response to your sultry tone.

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[westanleovaldito]

Not So Bad

Summary: Reader cutting Spencers hair.

Fluff, scissors, mentions of mental illness and sensory issues.

Written with early seasons/autistic Reid in mind. Hardly proofread

Spencer was... Introverted, to say the very least.

He reluctantly let you into his life. He never really liked trusting people, but you felt different, calming, almost. Like he didnt need to break down his walls, because you scaled them with such quiet ease.

He took you on a few dates. Soon, you lost count of how many nights you spent on the floor, reading and waiting for the library to close, secretly hoping you'd be forgotten and be trapped in there for the night.

How many afternoons you'd spent in the corner of a coffee shop, buzzing with caffeine and letting him ramble every fact he knew, letting words sink into you so you could bounce back with equal enthusiasm.

All you knew, it was enough for him to know he wanted to bring you into his space. He took you back to his apartment.

It was a massive step for you two, for him to trust you in his space, to figuratively and literally let you into his mind and heart.

You didn't really know what to do. You took your shoes off at the door, stood awkwardly as he gave you the tour, restrained yourself from touching every trinket.

Eventually, he went off to the bathroom and you stood with your head cocked to the side, reading the book titles on his shelf.

"Ugh, I need to cut my hair again." He groaned. As you turned, you saw him messing with his hair in the mirror nearby.

"I think it looks nice." You say in response, humming as you shift over to meet his gaze through the mirror. "Your waves are really cute- I like them"

He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair before turning to look at you. "I never really learned to take care of them..."

Tilting your head, you reached out to touch him. Quickly pausing, you retract your hand. "Sorry- c-can I..?" Waiting for his nod before you ruffle his hair. "You cut your own hair?"

Spencer never liked barbers.

Never.

Too many sensations, touches, the talking? And the fact that a stranger was holding scissors near his hair? A stranger that never ever followed his instructions or systems- and almost always cutting it wrong?

Ok, that sounds horrible and rude... He just... couldn't stand it.

So, he started cutting his own hair at home. For a moment, it was nice. He liked the 'tssssip!' Sound, the feeling of cleaning the hair off the floor and sink, how sterile he felt- no feeling of the social setting seeping into his skin.

Then it started to become a chore. The ache his arms got from trying to reach the back, the fact that he never got it just right- ok. The back was the worst of his problems. And he never really trusted his mom with the scissors.

He also hated how people always touched him when they found out he did his own hair, inspecting him, likely judging him. You weren't like that- you were talking to him- shit

"I- uh- yeah" he nodded, bitting his lip. "I know it looks bad- I just-"

"I cut my own hair too" you interrupt softly, moving to look at the back of his head. "My mom hated it, but couldn't stop me."

"My mom never noticed..."

A sad hum from you, who was now analyzing him. He had seen that look before, from an artist who was looking at a blank canvas. "When did you start?"

After my mom's schizophrenia got unbearable?

"I don't remember..."

It wasn't a full lie. He didn't remember what age he started, but he didn't tell the whole truth either.

"Hm... want me to try?"

Spencer hesitated. Visibly thinking. Did he really trust you enough? Did he even need a haircut that badly?

The thoughts persisted until he was staring out the bathroom window, with you seated contently on his counter.

You had yet to start snipping. He could still back out- did he want to back out?

"Just- just a trim?"

Why did his mouth betray him?

"Just a trim?" You ask skeptically. "Not even a scalp massage? A kiss for luck?"

He turned around with a begrudging smile. "If you need luck, I'm not sure I trust you with my hair!"

"I'm kidding! I jest, my love!" You giggle, turning him back around. Pressing a kiss to the back of his head, you carefully take a strand, and cut it.

After he got out of thinking about the germs and the best, most logical way to do it... He... liked it. It was pleasant! You didnt talk to much, your touch was delicate, you had scrubbed your hands before you started, you even hummed along to some song he couldn't place.

When you turned him around to cut his bangs, you carefully brushed his hair behind his ear and cut it at the right length that he could keep it out of his face!

Every small snip was with him in mind. And when you were done? How you shook out his hair and then the towel, setting the scissors in a cup of alcohol.

Pulling back and cupping his face with such delicate reverence that he almost never felt. "I think I did a pretty good job..." you murmur, scanning every inch of his face.

It was such a soft, intimate moment between you two. He let you in, and you held him like a glass flower.

"I- I dont think it's bad..."

You look back to his eyes with a cocked brow.

"I haven't even seen it... you're in the way of the mirror" he chuckled reluctantly.

"Sorry~" you mutter in a mock apologetic tone before pressing a kiss to his lips.

He almost forgot about how much he wanted to see his hair, before you parted, and slid off the counter.

Maybe he didnt have to cut his own hair anymore.

[bachshot]

Danger Zone

request: so happy to hear ava was your fav thunderbolt she was mine too!! Would you be willing to write a oneshot about fem reader who also heard about Valentina’s plan and came to save Ava, meeting John and Yelena a little before Alexei.

Ava Starr x Fem!Reader no warnings apply

thunderbolts spoilers ahead... kinda want to do a part two later on in the movie with some more fluffy y/n and ava moments + interaction with the other thunderbolts, lmk what you think!!

Y/N never trusted Valentina, what was happening right now was only more timber for the fire in the list of reasons why she really needed to quit her job. For the past few months she had been working as her personal security guard, something Ava wasn't exactly overjoyed to learn but the pay was cushy and so far Valentina didn't seem to suspect their relationship. Or if she did she hadn't said anything, whether that was better or worse they were unsure.

That being said the jobs Y/N was given were nowhere near the level of Ava's, instead being stuck accompanying Valentina to events and looking overall intimidating, so when it came time for Valentina to clean her hands of evidence it was unsurprising that Y/N didn't make the list.

But as she raced up this stupid hill to the facility atop of it she had one thought on her mind, 'i really need to quit this job', if Valentina’s awful attitude wasn't enough then trying to kill her girlfriend certainly was. Mel had spilled the secret plan to Y/N, a guilt filled moment of clarity where the words came out hard and fast unaware of Y/N's connection to Ava, but the subsequent words fell on deaf ears as the blood rushed to Y/N's head as all she could think about was Ava. It had been easy to convince Mel to help her, she always seemed to be teetering on the fence of supporting Valentina so all she seemed to need was a push, the girl managing to give Y/N top level access to scan into the building Ava was sent to but other than that it was all in Y/N's hands, any more meddling from Mel would quickly be spotted and stopped by Valentina. As much as she thought of Valentina and her assistant as one in the same, here Y/N had to reconsider her biases... But maybe not right at this second. The facility quickly comes into view as Y/N reaches the top of the hill, opening the door with the building's biometric system and groaning quietly to herself as it opens only to reveal more doors. She couldn’t help but feel she didn’t have time for this, knowing the incinerator Ava had been led into would activate any moment.

Luckily the feeling was short lived as Ava phased through one of the doors with a panicked look on her face, jaw dropping once she spotted Y/N their speech overlapping in a frantic exclamation of “you’re here!” and “what are you doing here?!”

Y/N shakes her head grabbing Ava’s arms, giving her a slight shake, “Valentina set you up! I came here to get you,” she explains, eyes scanning over Ava to check her over for any injuries, easily distracted and unable to hold back rambling a little despite the urgency of the current situation, “God, you look so good in that new suit by the way, but we need to get out of here, i dont know when the others are getting here but—“

Ava cuts her off with a chuckle, endeared by Y/N’s ability to give out a compliment alongside attempting to save her life (even if she’s definitely seen Ava’s new suit before and has told her that every time she’s seen her in it),

“they’re already here,” Ava informs her, glancing back to the door she just phased through, “and we just figured out Valentina’s plan…” she adds with some reluctance not wanting to diminish Y/N’s efforts. It’s then that Ava’s face drops from the tender smile she always had plastered on in Y/N’s presence, replaced by an expression of realisation as she cursed under her breath suddenly breaking from Y/N’s hold to turn to the lock pad next to the door. Y/N raises a brow as Ava presses the buttons, letting out a frustrated growl as she’s met with a harsh ‘access denied’, given Ava’s history Y/N felt kind of proud that she had managed to work with the others she was set up against. Ava wasn’t quick to trust with her past, and while Y/N understood the trust was probably fleeting and completely situational, something about seeing her working with others made her chest swell regardless. She made a note to tell her as such later.

“Let me try,” Y/N offers, arm brushing against Ava’s as she moves to stand next to her, assuming Ava’s access was removed the moment she had entered to stop her from being able to escape, but Y/N’s should still be in full effect thanks to Mel. The door opens, revealing the others inside who look almost surprised to see they had actually been freed, and Ava’s arm nudges Y/N’s in a silent form of appreciation however the moment is fleeting as flames begin to descend in the opened up room causing an explosion that continued on into the room they currently stood in.

By all means Ava could temporarily phase to avoid the blow but instead Y/N feels Ava’s hands on her chest as she pushes her to the ground bodies pressed together to stay low as the explosion blew over them, Ava's body blocking most of the blow from Y/N in a protective hold. It didn’t take long for it to end, Ava pushing herself up still straddling Y/N and looking down at her with a concerned look as she made sure she was okay… Y/N couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t mind this position in another setting, and maybe she subconsciously leaned forward at first seeing Ava’s face hovering above hers but could you really blame her? Aware however that it was not the time for that she didn’t allow her mind to wander further, stopping herself before she and Ava actually kissed but not before Ava had noticed.

“…Hey,” Y/N breathes out, a ringing in her ears and a dull aching in her head as she definitely hit it on the floor going down (and may or may not be a little concussed), causing Ava to shake her head in amusement as she pulls herself up from the ground and offers Y/N a hand.

“Hey yourself,” she replies smoothly, a teasing tone on her tongue egged on by Y/N’s antics, it looks like she’s about to say something else as her mouth opens again only to be interrupted by a gruffer voice to the right of the two. Y/N doesn’t really catch what’s being said, the ringing from the loud explosion still persisting in her ears but she can tell it’s something along the lines of ‘who the fuck are you’ causing both her and Ava to quickly whip their heads round looking towards a man in some kind of captain america-esque costume, Ava's stance hardening as she side stepped in front of Y/N to block her from the mans view. It was then Y/N remembered her and Ava weren’t alone, noticing a shorter blonde woman and another man with darker hair on the other side of the room slowly getting up, clearly just recovering from being blown away when the explosion had gone off. With such an interesting combination of people she would definitely be asking Ava for more details later, and knew absolutely no insults towards the other mercenaries would be spared, but for now as she felt Ava's hand protectively reach for hers and give it a thankful squeeze she was glad she had come here— even if it seemed Ava had already been capable of saving herself.

[berryispunk]

Insatiable

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: soft! Frankie, domestic fluff, morning sex, quickie, unprotected PinV, praise, filthy but make it romantic, Frankie being a menace, established relationship, PEK in action

summary: One chaotic, steamy morning where Frankie proves he's both the best and worst way to start the day

notes: highly inspired by this post from @intheorangebedroom. i wanted to write today anyway, but I didn't expect it to be smut, oop-

word count: ~ 1,7k

Mornings with Frankie were never quite the same, but they were always a surprise. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, but he was your person—and if there was one thing you’d learned since moving in together, it was that he could never get enough of you.

When your alarm dragged you out of a deep sleep, you groaned and blindly reached for your phone to silence it. The sheets rustled beside you—Frankie was awake too.

You sat on the edge of the bed, stretched with a noise that landed somewhere between a war cry and surrender, and heard his quiet chuckle behind you.

“Morning, baby,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Too short, though—someone kept me up longer than I would’ve liked,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder.

He was still naked from the night before, only a thin sheet barely covering the obvious effects of morning.

Frankie laughed again, deep and smug—and God, you loved this version of him. The easy one. The one not lost in his head.

“I’d say you’re welcome,” he said with a cocky grin.

You smirked, finally dragging your eyes from the sheet to his face—dark, messy locks framing his ridiculously handsome face and sleepy warm eyes that somehow made it all worse.

“Sure,” you said, and got to your feet, disappearing into the bathroom for a shower.

–

Half an hour later, you found him in the kitchen. Even though today was his day off, he was already up, making coffee for both of you like clockwork. He handed you your usual mug—the one with the quote “cry a river, build a bridge, get over it.”

Frankie watched you closely over the rim of his own cup as you took a sip. You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious of the attention.

“What?” you asked, playful.

He just shook his head, setting his mug down on the counter before walking over to you. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you in until your bodies met. You were still holding your coffee, but you set it down with a soft clink so you could loop your arms around his neck, fingers curling into the messy curls at the nape of his neck—knowing exactly what that does to him.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low as he dipped his head to press a feather-light kiss just behind your ear.

You tugged gently at his hair in response.

“I’m the luckiest bastard alive,” he added, and the warmth of his words spread through you like sunlight. It lit you up from the inside, and you hugged him tighter.

Frankie was never one for grand speeches. He let his actions speak louder, which made moments like this—soft and sincere—mean everything. It made you feel giddy.

You rose onto your toes to kiss him—soft and slow, pouring every ounce of love and devotion into it. Because that’s what you felt, every day, ever since this broad-shouldered mess of a man stumbled into your life and refused to leave.

He didn’t hesitate for a second. His response wasn’t gentle—it was all heat and hunger, making you gasp as he coaxed your lips apart, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with practiced ease. In just a few steps, he had you backed against the wall, and you laughed against his mouth at how eager he was.

“Francisco,” you purred, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze. “I have to go to work. I already showered.”

He grinned—that dangerous kind of grin that always spelled trouble. “How long until you have to leave?”

You glanced at the big clock on the wall. “Twenty minutes. Max.”

“Then I better make it worth,” he murmured, and his lips found your neck, sucking and biting at all the spots that made your knees weak. Instinctively, you tilted your head, letting him in.

You just hoped he had the decency to avoid leaving a hickey you’d have to explain at the office. His mouth trailed down to your collarbone, one hand palming your breast through your blouse before he tugged impatiently at the buttons—half-ripping them open just to kiss the soft skin above your bra.

A soft mewl slipped from your lips as you watched him through heavy lids, his mouth trailing lower, tracing every inch of your skin—down the valley between your breasts, over your stomach—until he tugged your chinos and panties down in one slow, practiced motion. Your breath caught as he helped you step out of them, his hands purposeful but gentle, just like he always was.

He sank to his knees, kissing the inside of your thighs, nudging them apart to make space for himself. One leg hooked over his shoulder as he settled between them, opening you up to him completely. His kisses were hot and wet, punctuated with the occasional teasing bite, and you reached for his tousled hair—needing something to anchor you as he moved closer to where you were already aching.

It was ridiculous how easily he could set your body on fire.

When his mouth reached your core, he placed a soft kiss on your mound, then another along your folds before his tongue found your clit. He swirled it, then sucked—hard enough to make your hips buck into his mouth. You could feel the smirk he didn’t bother to hide, feel it between your legs as he devoured you like he had all the time in the world—when in truth, you were racing the clock.

“Frankie, please,” you whimpered, your grip tightening in his curls.

He eased your leg from his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your knee before rising to his feet and tugging down his boxers. Of course, he was already just as hard and eager as you were.

“You want this?” he asked, eyes locking with yours, always checking in—always making sure.

You nodded, breathless, and he didn’t waste another second. One, two strokes down his length before his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his hips, arms clinging to his neck as he pressed you against the wall, guiding himself to your entrance.

You moaned at the stretch, and he hissed through his teeth—a low, throaty “fuuuck” spilling from his mouth as he sank into you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. One hand gripped your ass as he started to move, slow at first—deep, deliberate strokes that made your whole body tremble—before his pace quickened, driven by urgency.

You clung to him, helplessly moaning with each powerful thrust, feeling him everywhere.

“So fuckin’ good,” he groaned, voice gravelly near your ear. “You feel so good, baby. So wet for me.”

Heat crept into your cheeks at his words, your body arching into him.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he growled, and the sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the kitchen—each thrust snapping into you, the only rhythm in the room as the knot inside you pulled tighter, closer to release.

The knot in your belly wound tighter with every thrust, every word from his mouth, every graze of his teeth along your jaw. Frankie’s hands gripped you like he needed you to stay tethered, like he was holding on to something holy—and you felt it too. The way your body arched into his, how his name spilled from your lips over and over like a prayer.

He shifted his angle just slightly, and you saw stars.

“Right there—fuck, Frankie—don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your climax crept closer, faster than you could brace for.

“I got you,” he rasped, forehead pressing to yours, hips snapping with steady precision. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

It was all you needed.

Your body seized, and pleasure ripped through you like a wave crashing into the shore. You cried out his name, clinging to him as your orgasm rolled through your limbs in pulsing waves. He followed a moment later with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt as he came—his whole body tense, breath ragged against your cheek. He came hard, painting your walls with thick, hot ropes, the intensity of it almost heavenly. He twitched inside you as your heart gradually began to steady, both of you breathless and spent.

Then—

“Shit,” you whispered, peeking over his shoulder at the clock. “Shitshitshit. I have six minutes.”

Frankie chuckled, breath still ragged as he stayed buried inside you. “Guess that’s one way to start the day.”

You swatted his shoulder as he finally pulled out, lowering you to the floor like you were made of glass. Your legs wobbled, and you had to grab the counter to stay upright.

“Oh my God, I can’t walk.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your cheek, full of unrepentant pride. “Yeah, but you’ll be glowing all day.”

You groaned as you fumbled to button your now thoroughly wrinkled blouse. “You’re the worst. The actual worst.”

Frankie handed you your pants with zero shame. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

You were still laughing, breathless and flushed, as you darted toward the bathroom to try and salvage what was left of your appearance.

“Don’t forget your coffee!” he called after you.

“Too late!” you shouted back. “You already ruined me!”

“Just how I like you,” he muttered, grinning into his mug as he watched your whirlwind exit.

You managed to plant a rushed kiss to his cheek before sprinting out the door and into your car, still feeling him between your legs, the dampness in your panties a lingering reminder.

—

Later, around lunchtime, you shot him a quick text—still feeling him everywhere, still smelling like him, and trying your hardest not to let your co-workers’ suspicious glances get to you.

[You]: I still feel you. Smell you. See you in my underwear 🙄💦 [Frankie]: As it should be 😌 Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up real nice when you’re home—before we try the extension 😉

You smothered a laugh, glancing around to make sure no one noticed your expression.

[You]: You’re insatiable 😵‍💫 [Frankie]: Only when it comes to you 😏❤️

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[animeficsworld]

Warm on One Side

Todoroki Shoto x Reader

Summary: Shoto's never been good at romance. But with you, it's all stolen kisses, quiet confessions, and learning how to love—one sweet moment at a time.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

“Your hands are freezing,” you muttered, holding his palm up to your lips and brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

Shoto stared. “I... was born this way.”

You looked up at him from the couch, one brow raised, legs tangled with his. “That’s not an excuse to let me suffer. Gimme your other hand. The warm one.”

He offered it without another word, cheeks faintly pink.

You cradled his hand between yours, rubbing gentle circles into his skin. Shoto relaxed, his shoulders lowering the way they only ever did around you.

The movie playing in the background was long forgotten.

“I don’t get how you're so cold and still so kissable,” you teased.

He blinked. “That’s... not scientific.”

You laughed and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his nose. “It’s not supposed to be.”

Shoto wasn’t a natural flirt. He didn't know how to tease. What he did know was you.

He liked the way your eyes fluttered shut before a kiss.

He liked how your hands always reached for his jaw when you leaned in like you were grounding him.

And he liked, loved, how you smiled against his lips, every single time.

So he tried to give you that. Again and again.

He kissed you in the kitchen while you were making tea. He kissed you in the middle of your sentences. He kissed you shyly, and with too much gentleness, as if afraid you might disappear.

“Shoto,” you whispered once, lips brushing his. “You can be greedy. I don’t mind.”

He kissed you again, longer this time, fingers in your hair.

It was snowing outside when you caught him watching you.

Not just glancing, watching. Like you were some kind of wonder he couldn’t believe he got to keep.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, pulling a blanket over both of you on the couch.

“That I’m happy,” he said, eyes half-lidded, a soft flush high on his cheeks. “That this is... warm.”

You shifted closer. “The blanket?”

He shook his head. “You.”

You kissed him. Once. Twice. Three times. Until he was smiling in that quiet, rare way he saved only for you.

One rainy afternoon, you built a pillow fort in the living room just to see if Shoto would help.

He did. As if it were a high-stakes mission.

When it was finished, you both lay under the soft lights, shoulders touching, the scent of mint tea in the air.

“If I asked you to stay here forever,” you murmured, “in this silly little fort with me… would you?”

Shoto turned, brushing his lips to your forehead, then your cheek.

“Forever is a long time,” he said quietly. “But I’d like to try.”

You kissed him.

He kissed you back like he meant it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

[drdemonprince]

I'm writing this after reading the ask about redditors who hate you, which made me realize that maybe I shouldn't just quietly consume and love your writing without ever interacting with it and show some actual gratitude.

I was traumatically and forcefully institutionalized at a very young age and on some level I understood even as an 11 year old that what made that systemic abuse possible were the ways people view children as lesser and undeserving of self-determination and the attitudes the psychiatrists had to their patients, as well as their power over us. Long before I ever learned the words child liberation and anti psych, I knew for a fact that these systems were bullshit.

When every single person in my life told me that I deserved what was done to me, I still, somehow, knew that I didn't. But for 16(!) years afterwards I never had the language to explain it nor any evidence that anyone else in the world thought the same, not even in communities that I considered pretty left wing.

Only in these last few months did I finally come across some real neurodivergent self advocacy and first and foremost you. I really can't begin to describe what some of your substack posts mean to me, how much I could finally feel things clicking into place. It feels to me like between finding your work (and some others) I am for the first time building a world view for myself that ACTUALLY explains my experiences.

You've changed my life and I almost would have never let you know, so just think how many people your writing must have helped who'll simply never mention it!

wowww, oh my goodness thank you for this kind message. I often feel that I was just at the right place at the right time, in being introduced to the right confluence of influences to start to figure out systems that had confounded me all my life. a lot of people have been anarchists and liberationists their whole life long but I was late in getting into some of them and I'm just thankful I was able to find my way.

[jman14102-blog]

Danse Macabre

An art piece I commissioned from @leafinqxi of a scene from an upcoming story I'm writing. They were fast, patient, and excellent to work with! I definitely recommend them! Thank you again for bringing to life O and Cyn, and the beginnings of what will eventually become the world's most toxic relationship.

The gramophone cranked to life, the music groaning and moaning until it was fully up to speed, filling the room with a sweeping, cascading song.

O winced as he turned, knees locking as he performed an exaggerated bow with his singular arm, winking, "May I have this dance, miss?"

Cyn's head rocked to the side, crooked little body shuddering under the change in balance. She was quiet for a moment, but then she moved, that ever-present smile unchanging as she shuffled forward, "Polite curtsy. Yes, you may."

They half-stumbled, half-walked into the center of the room as the crescendo in the song gave way to a woman's voice, every word, every note carrying with it a haunting, forlorn longing.

The maid's tiny hand found his and stretched outwards with it. Her head tilted forward and bumped off his chest, and a short laugh was his reply. She didn't pull away, instead pressing against him, rising on tiptoes, other hand trailing up, fingers searching, twitching with a nervous energy as they grazed against his shoulder. She couldn't reach, instead settling for gathering a balled up wad of fabric between her fingers. Her head drifted up, tilting slightly, eyes blinking, "I have never. Danced. Like this before. Big Brother is usually. Too. Busy. To teach me."

He looked down at her, a smile, an actual smile present there, as he gently but firmly guided them across the floor, "Well, that's a shame. Everyone here should know at least the basics. Turn with me, please?"

O twisted his hand, beginning to turn. Cyn released his jacket, maintaining her grip as he pulled her into a slow, halting spin. It was spastic, unsure, stumbling feet and disjointed knees dragging what should have been a graceful move into something ugly. She nearly fell twice, but O would stop moving each time and allow her to recover. He let her lead.

"Don't feel bad." He whispered, "Practice makes perfect."

Her spin finished, and Cyn tried to hide the flush lines on her visor as she replaced her hand on his jacket a little too quickly.

"Sheepish. Expression." She mumbled, legs quivering, her head turned to the side and pressed against his chest, "Much to learn. Yes."

They continued on like that. Slow and meandering. Their moves were clumsy, halting, neither of their bodies cut out for something this elegant, but still they danced. The earnestness, the want to drift among the moonlit shadows, guided their steps regardless. Any mistakes, any slips or stepped-on shoes, were quickly forgotten amid nervous giggles and the soaring music.

For the bespectacled maid drone and curious human girl watching through a crack in the door, it was absurdly cute. Something they'd spend the rest of the night gossiping about, snickering and smiling.

For the broken butler and the mangled maid, however, nothing changed. Time stretched on, and eventually their dancing was little more than the two of them turning in slow, simple circles. Both of her hands were now pinned to his jacket, his singular arm wrapped gently around her. Cyn's head was nestled gently against his core, feeling the electric thrum through her audials, eyes focused somewhere far away, smiling. O's head rested atop her's, chin squishing down the extravagant bow, eyes shut with a lazy grin.

"Another lesson tomorrow?" He sighed, breath ruffling her hair, her bow, "You have me now. Plenty of time for lessons."

Her smile grew, her hold tightened, she nuzzled further against his core, absorbing the warmth, the faint scent of oil, the tingle of electrodes and circuits. Her eyes glinted in the dim light.

"Yes." She said, and something vaguely resembling a symbol flickered across her visor for a split-second, so fast that none could have noticed. Her grip tightened further, refusing to let go, "I do have you now."

[mayvora]

SPREAD THE SCULK SPREAD THE SOULS

he is not my favourite. he is me. I am him. he is my entire personality I make everything about him I have so much cub/sculk cub/sculk stuff it is CRAZY. My hair is blue because I wanted to be more like him. My friends call me cub. I stole this guys identity or something.

small drawings/sketches for work days because. well. work u know! goin easy on myself! also if you too think that this one looks better than others - thats because I spend entire Saturday drawing and learning and stuff and I think it affected me a little bit tehee.

Lil headcanon below the cut just because I can

Sculk looks like the night sky full of stars.

When you're in the ancient city and it's fully dark and ominous and you're out of your torches and lights... You can look at the ceiling and mistake it for the sky with small white stars - cold and cruel stars of the forever lost city that will not lead you home but instead will give you to the grey walls and endless corridors and... maybe to something that was once full of life but will never be truly living again.

Before Cub got corrupted he would spend endless nights with his best friend; lying together on the grass, they would stare at dark sky and Cub would talk about the eternal cosmos, explaining star maps, planets, black holes and everything he ever learned; starting from the birth of the universe and ending with theories how it will die. Scar would listen to every word again and again, thousands of nights in a row, always smiling and asking questions and laughing and sharing the joy with his favourite person in the world.

Sculk-infected Cub would stare at the ceilings of the ancient city for hours; he didn't know why, didn't remember why, but he still would. Looking at fake sky the same way he would look at living... but without his best friend at his side.

Maybe that's why it was so hurtful to look up and count stars he didn't know and didn't recognize but still tried to find constellations Scar loved most.

[dying-isnt-good-for-your-health]

single father of 6 at nearly 27 years old

more of my adopted/acquired early au (first post of it, which has more info on the au)

Alfred is visiting England and Bruce got pulled due to a multi-day JL emergency, so Dick got to be in charge for a few days, it went as well as you would expect

small extra info about the au:

I didn't mention it in the last post, but the reason Duke is living in the manor and stuff is because I decided to make Jay (His cousin in the comics who has guardianship over Duke) be under the age of 18 when Duke's parents were Joker gassed (Based on my research, you must be over the age of 18 in New Jersey for that, but correct me if that's wrong) since Duke 's parents get Joker Gassed 12-13 years earlier than canon in the au

Cass is mostly non verbal, because she hasn't been learning English for too long and her mind didn't get changed by a random guy, she finds baby Damian confusing because babies have a bit of a different body language than older kids and adults, reacting in ways she can't predict as easily

Damian's first word was a swear, which he learned after Dick accidentally kicked a table leg, Jason and Dick are the only ones who know this fact, the rest of the Waynes think his first word was "Papa", neither plan on telling anyone for the next decade

Tim is a tattletale

Steph comes over to hang out with Tim sometimes, she doesn't know Dick and Bruce are Batman and Robin, but she has theories (Because why wouldn't rich people have a basement?)

Every one of them fight in typical sibling fashion, they have a score board to keep track of each person's wins, Jason is winning in the "Total Fights Won" category, Cass is winning in the "Wins to Losses Ratio" category, and Bruce is winning in the "Total Grey Hairs Gained" category

[sage-nebula]

I wanted to compile some of the headcanons I have for the adult members of the Rising Volt Tacklers into one place, so here it is, simple and sweet.

Friede:

— He's 33 when the series starts, and was 23 when he met Cap and ended up forming the Rising Volt Tacklers.

— He's claustrophobic, though it's not severe; he can handle being in average sized rooms with the door closed, and in tents. But if it was something the size of, say, a closet, his phobia would be triggered.

— He knows how to, and enjoys playing, the acoustic guitar. It's not uncommon for him to play for the crew at night when they're all relaxing and having a good time, letting the others make up words to whatever random melodies he plays.

— He's a thrill-seeker / adrenaline junkie, naturally drawn to things like skydiving or spelunking in caves specifically noted to be dangerous. However, he toned down this behavior a lot when the kids came on board, since he didn't want to negatively influence them.

— He has a tattoo of the Rising Volt Tacklers' symbol, on his chest above his heart. This is both because he feels that traveling the world on the Brave Asagi is his one true calling in life, and also because he considers the crew to be his family.

— He insisted that Cap be on the title of the Brave Asagi as the primary owner. Cap signed the title with a paw print. Landau is the secondary owner (since it was originally his ship), Orio is third (since she built it), and Friede himself is fourth.

Orio:

— She's 33 when the series starts, and was 23 when she first built the Brave Asagi.

— She can drink every other adult crew member of the Rising Volt Tacklers under the table and has before, on several occasions.

— She has an excellent singing voice, though she doesn't think very much of it. She often sings while she's working on the ship or her other projects, or when Friede is playing his guitar and the rest of the crew is singing along.

— She's decent at styling hair, and helps the crew with haircuts and the like when they're far from any actual salon. When they were kids, she would dye hers and Friede's hair with kool-aid; with Friede's hair being white, they were able to color it any color of the rainbow, and one time tried all the colors of the rainbow at once. Orio's verdict: "He looked like we'd glued a clown wig to his head." She uses box dye to maintain her orange tips nowadays.

— She is the worst when it comes to resting, including and perhaps especially when she is sick. Mollie has had to threaten to strap her to her bed to force her to rest on multiple occasions, and Murdock threatened to drug her soup with drowsiness-inducing cold medication.

Mollie:

— She is 29 when the series starts, and was 20 when she joined the Rising Volt Tacklers.

— She is an excellent, nigh-unbeatable, poker player. Usually the other members of the crew are her victims, but when times have been tight financially and they had difficulty finding legitimate jobs, she has won the money they needed to get by through betting on cards.

— She started studying human medicine after joining the Rising Volt Tacklers, so that she could look after the other members of the crew in case anything happened. (Particularly Friede, given the risks he was prone to taking.) She's not as skilled at human medicine as she is at pokémon medicine, but she works hard to stay on top of her studies of both.

— Orio is the one who pierced her ears, at her request.

— Like Friede, she has genius level intelligence. Unlike Friede, she doesn't know this because she never took any tests to have it confirmed or denied.

Murdock:

— He's 36 when the series starts, and was in his late twenties when he joined the Rising Volt Tacklers.

— He and Blanca were raised by their grandmother, and he learned how to cook from her. He took on more and more of the cooking responsibilities as he got older, both to lift the burden from his grandmother, and also because he legitimately came to love it.

— He has studied dietary science in addition to the culinary arts, and this is something that he and Mollie often nerd out about together.

— While he can and will battle if need-be, he has never cared very much for it, because he doesn't like it when his pokémon get hurt. This is largely the reason why his rockruff is still a rockruff.

— He is very often the first to point out when another member of the crew is pushing themselves too hard. However, he is also prone to pushing himself too hard. He and Orio frequently call each other out on this.

[theheirofthesharingan]

Besides being painful, I think Sasuke doesn't really know how to have relationships outside of Itachi.

Their parents really didn't socialize those two -- made no effort to make sure either boy was making friends, no effort to see they even interacted with children their own age or indeed anyone of any age outside of their own clan. After the massacre, things were made that much worse for Sasuke because he was left with literally no one for five years until he just happened to be stuck with another bratty orphan long enough to get traumatized all over again, together.

It doesn't help that Naruto will keep yelling to the heavens how Sasuke is still his best friend when they haven't really hung out in 20 years - not how you maintain relationships. And, even in his relationship with Itachi, he was still just a selfish child.

Sasuke and Itachi were always very codependent even before the massacre. They not only had no bonds outside of their clan, the only deep and genuine connection they felt with was each other.

In Itachi's case, he'd seen too much of violence and destruction that Sasuke was the only stability in his life that he witnessed and held on to.

And Sasuke grew up in Itachi's shadow. He lived in a patriarchal system where he might have received his mother's affection, but he wanted more of his father's acknowledgement. With Itachi in the picture, he didn't get it ever until Itachi was drifting away from his family.

In that scenario, Sasuke found that acknowledgement from Itachi and that motherly affection too. Itachi read him like an open book and cared about him. So, when Itachi left, murdering their parents, and showing him all he'd done, even telling him he'd never loved Sasuke, Sasuke was left devastated and confused.

Every single thing he did afterwards was driven by his feelings for Itachi.

He may have hated Itachi, but when he was dying in the Land of the Waves arc, his only thought was Itachi. When he discovered Itachi was in the village and after Naruto, Sasuke's thoughts were about Itachi, the day they'd separated, even if he was worried about Naruto. When he refused to kill Naruto, it was because he wanted to contradict Itachi, and tell himself, "See, I didn't do what you asked me to do." And when Obtio was telling him the truth, Sasuke still valued Itachi's words (his lies about Madara) over Obito's.

His whole life was defined by Itachi in love and in hate. And when he learned Itachi loved him and was taken away unfairly from him, he lost himself completely.

Itachi had the same life, driven by his love for Sasuke, but he doesn't get the opportunity to express it as much as Sasuke does.

Sasuke never really got to get over his loss. He needed Itachi to live with him after war. He needed Itachi to be with him because that's what was taken away from him. But instead he had to go by a marriage he didn't really want and also serving the very place that took away all of his family away.

Sasuke may have had other people in his life, but none of them loved him like Itachi did and he didn't love them like he loved Itachi.

It's like, everything else is bland compared to his feelings for his brother. The only one who manages to breach that barrier a little bit is Naruto. And again, I think a lot of that happens because he's the main character (and Itachi isn't, but that discussion is for another time).

I don't consider Sasuke to be selfish with Itachi. He was only a kid. And even if he was selfish, he was allowed to be so.

[sunshades]

I’ve never read the stranger and I’m so curious about the Marie thing because I honestly don’t hear much about the two’s relationship outside of Meursault liking boobs.

RIGHT i was kind of curious because what i knew from friends going into the book was really kind of. the boobs? while it feels like limbus fans have always been REALLY excited about her in the way we were about other "love interest" characters (queequeg who was obviously going to be one of the most important characters in c5, being so defining of ishmael and of the homosexual subtext in moby-dick, and catherine whom we knew since release was at the crux of heathcliff's story as she is in wh) to the point i see her added to so many ship charts as an otp for meursault, so i was wondering if she really had such a cool and interesting dynamic that everyone was looking forward to it so much despite there having been no hint at her even existing. granted i'm excited at the thought of penelope since odypen is an incredibly important part to the odyssey (despite being. very aware there's no way we're getting a canon lesbian marriage 😭) even if nothing has hinted at her either...

so now i finished it and YEAH basically. to spoil an 80 year old novel- yeah the extent to their relationship is that they go to the movies, they go swimming together and they have sex. there is some stray moments where meursault shows a slight interest in her as a person (like wanting to know where she's going when she says she's busy, but then not thinking about asking her, i thought that bit was kind of endearing) and by the end when he's in prison he associates the thought of her to that of freedom, but beside that... 🤷‍♂️? there is no actual "dynamic" the way i expected from seeing people talking about limbus meursault's potential relationship with her.

THE metaphorical level of their relationship is INTERESTING- while i haven't done readings about it yet, i do think basically every character in the book is readable as representing a type of institution and the absurdity and corruption of it, so marie represents a very bleak (but realistic!) look on the institution of marriage and of romantic love at all. meursault has moments where he thinks/learns about a couple other relationships, that of his neighbour salamano with his late wife, and of his mom with her "boyfriend" at the hospice. in both cases the concept that is observed is that humans like to have a companion, especially as they grow older and weaker. salamano didn't care much for his wife, but when she died he felt lonely, so he got a dog instead. similarly, meursault never knew his father, but put his mom in the hospice when he realized they didn't have anything to tell each other- she resented him, but there she made friends and became close with a man. it's a thing all about convenience, in a sense. the relationship with marie too is framed in this context: meursault enjoys spending time with her and enjoys the sex, but anything else isn't relevant to him. his life is defined by the physical experience, the rest is... well, not serious!

as for marie herself, i think she's... and you'll forgive me for being dismissive of a female character-- vapid? i feel like that's the most accurate word sdtgyhufjdkg. it's not her fault, we see her through meursault's eyes, which means her interiority is kind of limited, but i think that is the idea. she is nice, she likes swimming, she smiles a lot, she is vaguely bothered by meursault's behavior and the fact he doesn't really love her or consider her special, but not enough to leave him. i think that too is supposed to be commentary on how love and marriage is something sought after out of a need and convenience more than anything sentimental, because it is considered the way one (especially a woman!) must lead a normal life.

so at the end: i'm genuinely not sure where this idea of marie as one of the "love interest" characters is coming from... but! i'm incredibly curious to see how canto 10 adapts the concepts she's tied to. considering the city doesn't really have like... well i guess the entire patriarchal structure of Marriage And Kids -and in fact we know canonically for some people (like fixers) it's widely considered a bad idea- i am really thinking they might not make her a character at all, unless there's some stuff specific to n corp. that meursault is going to explore. even if they adapted her, her role, like in the book, should be to reflect on meursault's indifference to life, his struggle to connect with the world, because that world IS weird and disconnected, much like he is. a good marie should reflect that as well i think.

on a sillier note. well. very obvious what my ultimate dealbreaker was: