#debating if I should even post this but I spent like

[black-and-yellow]

Grump doodles for your viewing pleasure

[fiepige]

why work on your fic when you can just make shitty art of one of the scenes in paint instead?

look I told you it was shitty okay? lol at least it's out of my system now so I can go back to actually writing this stuff- hopefully it'll turn out better when written down than when drawn...

[mariasont]

OKAY OKAY OKAY this might seem really simple but i love the simple stuff

spence x reader

spence is just yapping about whatever, the quantum mechanics of coffee beans, as you said in one of your posts i think, and reader just cuts him off by kissing him IN FRONT OF EVERYONE on the jet.. and everyone’s there like.. oh! im imagining he kisses reader like he kissed lila in that pool scene IM FERAL. yes he kisses back.. and then the rest of it’s just garcia being a squeaking happy person and hotch and morgan are like “that’s my boy” but rossi and jj are just gagged

please im like

Reid the Room - S.R

spencer reid has never met a bad time to discuss aviation disasters. and before your survival instincts can stop you, you're kissing him just to make it stop

pairings: spencer reid x reader warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), secret relationship, pda, mild workplace inappropriateness lol, teasing/banter, spencer reid being spencer reid, mentions of plane crashes! wc: 0.9k

The words don’t just come from Spencer, they pour — fast and inevitable, like water rolling down slick stone, shaping everything in its path. You’ve spent months memorizing the subtleties of it, the tiny furrow between his brows when he’s thinking too hard, his fingers twitching mid-sentence, like even his body can’t quite keep pace with his brilliance.

He becomes more animated when he’s passionate. It should be illegal, you think, for someone to be this smart and this pretty at once. If the team ever noticed how intently you watched him, they’d know. They’d know everything. 

“— the likelihood of a plane crash is about one in 11 million, but what’s really fascinating is that 95.7% of people actually survive crashes, assuming they’re seated within the five rows of an emergency exit. Though, of course, the probability of surviving depends on factors like impact angle and —”

Morgan leans forward, bracing an arm against his knee, eyes locked on Spencer with the patience of a man debating the ethics of shutting someone up by violent force.“Hey, man, you ever hear of a bad time? We are currently on a plane. Read the room.”

For once, you don’t leap to his defense. No well-timed he’s just trying to educate us, Morgan, or an indulgent I think it’s interesting thrown in to buffer the onslaught. 

Instead, you glance at him, eyebrows lifting into something dangerously close to betrayal. Because, yeah. This might actually be one of those times. One of the Morgan is completely justified in wanting to tape Spencer’s mouth shut for the next four hours.

“I have heard of a bad time, but the concept is largely subjective. What you’re experiencing is cognitive bias, your brain associating this discussion with immediate danger because of proximity. In reality, the likelihood of a crash remains the same whether I mention it or not, so from a purely logical standpoint, this is no worse a time than any other.”

Morgan drags a hand down his face.

“...In fact, not talking about it could be considered the real danger. Avoidance leads to complacency, and complacency leads to fatal mistakes. Did you know that the most survivable crash positions involve bracing at a 60-degree angle? Although, of course, survivability depends largely on the structural integrity of the fuselage upon impact, and in cases of explosive decompression —”

It happens before you can think about — before the gnawing, frantic need to make him stop talking about plane crashes while you are actively inside one overrides all rational thought.

You turn, grab Spencer’s collar, and yank him in, your own common sense careening into a tailspin somewhere at 30,000 feet.

The moment your lips collide, Spencer’s entire body goes rigid, frozen mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-existence. His mouth is still forming a syllable that dies in a half-swallowed exhale against your tongue. His hands, previously conducting an invisible orchestra of statistical doom, trap in mid-air like he forgot what hands are.

But he catches up fast. One second he’s buffering and the next his fingers twitch — once, twice — and then lock onto your waist like he’s just decided physics no longer applies and you need to be closer. It starts semi-tentatively, inhaling against your lips, breath uneven, before he presses deeper. A lit match dropped straight into gasoline.

You pull back, breath coming fast, Spencer still leaning in like he isn’t done yet. “Anyway. What were you saying?”

Spencer stares, lips parted, pupils blown wide. For a second, he seems to genuinely try to answer, searching his mind for whatever deeply important fact he was so adamant about a minute ago. “...I don’t remember.”

The jet is quiet — too quiet — and that’s when it hits you. 

You kissed Spencer. In front of everyone.

Something cold and hot spreads through you, and suddenly, your limbs don’t seem to be operating under your jurisdiction anymore. Do something. Anything. Breathe. Blink. Move. But nope, your brain is still buffering, and Spencer – dear, sweet Spencer — looks just as dazed, which means absolutely no one is saving you from this.

You could just… not turn around. Avoid whatever is waiting for you. Live the rest of your life facing forward like a malfunctioning animatronic. But the weight of twelve pairs of eyes boring into your back is impossible to ignore.

So, with all the grace of a person walking into their own execution, you turn.

Garcia has both hands glued to her mouth, body vibrating like she’s one second away from either screeching at a frequency only dogs can hear or launching herself into the air like a bottle rocket. Her eyes are huge, pupils dilated. JJ, meanwhile, is just staring. Frozen, lips parting as if she wants to say something but has no idea where to start.

And then there’s Hotch.

You swallow hard as you meet his gaze, expecting some level of seriousness, some stern professional acknowledgment of the wildly inappropriate display that just took place — but instead, he just exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man who is simply too tired for this.

And then, breaking the tension with the ease of a wrecking ball, Morgan lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Damn. I knew there was something going on, but damn.”

After the initial shock wore off — and after Garcia had texted Emily a summary in all caps, Morgan had called you both a lost cause, and Rossi had actually applauded — things mostly went back to normal. Mostly. Except now Spencer absolutely knew what he was doing.

And later that night, as you sat beside Spencer on the couch, he turned to you, utterly serious, and murmured, “You know, in the U.S., the majority of residential break-ins occur between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. —” 

You groaned, yanked him in, and cut him off the same way you had earlier. He made a very pleased noise.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[alohajix]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞

Description: she said she wasn’t nervous. She said she'd never done this before. But then he walked in—and made her forget every lie she told herself. The Casting Tape — you only need to watch it once to come back for more.

Warnings: this one-shot includes explicit sexual content, including fingering, oral sex (M/F), face-fucking, rough grinding, dirty talk, praise kink, light choking, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), and graphic language. Readers +18.

Words count: ~ 7K.

I understand you guys really enjoyed “First Time for Everything”. So here’s a new one-shot I've been working on for a while, featuring pornstar!harry once again.

please enjoyyy💕

*****

I almost didn’t walk through the door. It looked too normal from the outside—just a nondescript black building sandwiched between a vape shop and a custom auto wrap place. No sign. No logo. Just a metal door and a tiny keypad. I stood there for a full minute, staring at my reflection in the door’s narrow glass panel, wondering what the hell I was doing. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper on my hoodie as I debated bailing. But then I remembered rent. And how many hours I’d spent reading that post.

“Paid casting opportunity. Professional, safe, filmed. No pressure to continue. Just be yourself.”

So I buzzed in. A soft click, and I stepped inside. The air was cool, sterile, quiet. A short hallway led to a room that looked more like a YouTube set than anything porn-related—white walls, gray backdrop, soft box lights aimed at a plain black leather couch. A camera was already set up on a tripod, its little red light blinking lazily like it was waiting. There was no one else in the room, just a low table with a water bottle and a clipboard. I approached it like it might bite.

“Hey there,” a voice called from behind me—low, male, casual. “You can grab a seat. We’ll start in a second.”

I turned to find a guy with a headset leaning against the doorframe, sipping coffee. He looked more like someone who worked in tech support than adult film, and he barely glanced at me. That helped a little. I gave him a tight smile and sat down on the couch, tucking one leg under the other. The camera stared back at me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my denim skirt.

“You go by your real name or a stage name?” the voice asked.

I hesitated. “Stage name.”

He chuckled. “Smart. What should we call you?”

“…Lola.” I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t even know anyone named Lola.

“Cute,” he said. “Alright, Lola. We’re just gonna ask you a few questions. Keep your eyes on the camera, speak clearly, be yourself.”

I nodded once. The camera light turned solid red.

��Tell us how old you are and why you’re here.”

My voice came out a little too fast. “Twenty-two. I—uh—I heard about this through a friend of a friend. Thought it might be… interesting.”

“And have you done anything like this before?”

I forced a smile. “Not professionally.”

He chuckled again, friendly but disinterested. “Good answer. So—this is a soft casting. No pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We just want to see how you come across on camera. If it feels natural, maybe we’ll try a short chemistry test.”

My stomach flipped. “Chemistry test?”

“With a partner,” he clarified. “Clothed or not. Touching or not. Totally up to you.”

I swallowed hard. “And who’s the partner?”

“Hey, man,” the guy said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder. “You mind stepping in for a quick test?”

I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt them. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful. And then I heard his voice.

“Yeah. I’ve got time.” I turned. And immediately forgot how to breathe.

He walked in wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tucked under a gray beanie, tattooed arms on full display. Calm. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. And when his eyes met mine—green, curious, knowing—I had to look away before I gave something away.

I knew who he was. Everyone who’s ever dipped into amateur porn knew who he was. He wasn’t just a pornstar—he was the pornstar. The one known for making people cry in the best way possible. The one who ruined girls for normal guys. The one I may or may not have watched the night I sent my application in.

“Hi,” he said softly, voice like silk. “I’m Harry.” Of course he was.

I tried to remember how to smile. “Hi.”

He looked me over—slowly, respectfully, but definitely. His gaze dragged from my hoodie to my bare thighs, then up to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“You okay to keep going?” he asked. “Or just here to talk?” His tone was soft. Patient.

I bit my lip. I should’ve said no. I should’ve kept it simple. But the way he was looking at me… “Let’s try,” I said quietly.

His mouth curled into a half-smile. “We’ll go slow.”

He sat beside me on the couch, leaving just enough space between us that it felt intentional. His thigh brushed mine every time I shifted, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose—but I hoped it was.

The camera was still rolling. “You nervous?” he asked, his voice low and almost amused.

“A little,” I admitted. “You’re not exactly a nobody.”

He smiled at that—soft, slow, like he was letting the compliment soak into his skin.

“Well, I’ve done a few of these,” he said, tilting his body slightly toward me. “So if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. We good on that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Safe word or something?”

“We can use red. If you want to pause, say yellow. But honestly? Just talk to me. I listen.”

God, that shouldn’t have made my stomach twist—but it did. His hand landed gently on my knee. Just a touch. Nothing dirty. But the weight of it made my heart skip.

“Can I touch you a little more?” he asked.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

He slid his hand up my thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around the bare skin just beneath the hem of my skirt. His pinky brushed the side of my underwear. He didn’t move further. He just… held me.

“See? You’re already shaking a little,” he said, voice soft like a secret.

“I’m not,” I lied.

His thumb moved lazily across my thigh. “You are. That’s okay, though. Nervous is normal. But you look good nervous.”

I smirked despite myself. “Is that your line?”

“No,” he said, leaning in just a little. “That’s the truth.”

His other hand reached up, fingers playing with the zipper of my hoodie. He didn’t pull it down right away—he just watched my face.

“Can I?”

I nodded again. “Yeah.”

He tugged the zipper down, slow as hell. I didn’t wear a bra on purpose—I’d told myself it was about being comfortable, but I’d also known what kind of job this was. I’d wanted to feel like I was ready for it, even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He pushed the hoodie off my shoulders, revealing my thin tank top underneath—white, ribbed, tight. My nipples were already hard beneath the fabric.

His eyes dropped for half a second. “Fuck.”

“What?” I teased.

“You’re hot.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Didn’t expect that.”

I grinned. “You didn’t look me up before this?”

He leaned closer, lips near my ear. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Fuck. That got to me. I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, and his hand didn’t miss it.

“You get turned on easily, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Only when someone says shit like that.”

He chuckled, and it vibrated straight through me. “Alright then. Let’s see how much you can take before we even get your clothes off.”

He turned to face me fully, his hand now resting between my thighs, thumb pressing lightly at the crease where leg met hip. I was still covered, but it felt dangerously intimate.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

His hand moved to my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. His palm was warm on my bare skin, fingertips grazing my ribcage, tracing just under the curve of my breast. His thumb brushed upward, catching the edge of my nipple through the fabric—and I gasped, barely holding still.

“Sensitive?” he asked, eyes still locked on mine. I nodded, biting my lip.

He pinched lightly—just enough to make me jerk—and then soothed the spot with his palm.

“You’re already breathing like you’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Maybe I just like the way you touch,” I whispered.

He grinned again. “Yeah?”

His other hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he leaned in. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Okay?”

I nodded. “Please.” And then he kissed me. Slow. Firm. One hand holding my jaw just right while the other teased under my shirt. His lips moved against mine like he had all the time in the world. He tasted like mint and something just a little bit sweet—god, it was unfair how good he was at this.

My mouth opened for him on instinct, tongue brushing his as he deepened the kiss. I whimpered before I meant to, and he smiled against my lips.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He pulled me onto his lap. I didn’t even realize I’d moved until I felt his thighs beneath mine, the stretch of my skirt riding up, the thick press of him already hard beneath me.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, hand splayed on my lower back.

“Yes.”

“You wanna keep your clothes on for now?”

I nodded again. “Let me stay like this.”

He gave a slow, approving nod. “Smart girl.”

I started to grind—tentatively, testing—and he held me tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands stayed on my waist, guiding me. My panties were soaked through already, and he hadn’t even touched me properly. His cock pressed up against my center through both layers, and the friction was delicious.

“Feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered. I nodded. “Good. Don’t stop.” I didn’t.

I rocked against him slowly, rhythmically, trying to match the pace of his hands, trying not to let my moans get too loud. But the fabric was slick, and I was clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He leaned up to kiss me again, slower this time, while grinding back into me with little thrusts of his hips.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Using me to get yourself off. All clothed. So dirty, baby.”

God, baby—the way it rolled off his tongue nearly made me come.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” he said against my lips. “But not yet. Gotta take my time with you.”

I whimpered, hands clutching his shoulders. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it to be unforgettable.”

I didn’t mean to drop to my knees. It just happened. One second, I was straddling him, moaning into his mouth, and the next, I was slipping down between his legs, hands trailing over his thighs like they belonged there. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word—just leaned back on the couch and watched me with that slow-burning smirk, his chest rising and falling like he already knew what I was going to do next.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice husky.

I nodded as I settled between his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You’ve been hard since I got here.”

His brow ticked up. “And you think that means you get to do something about it?”

I looked up at him, tilted my head innocently. “I know I do.”

He grinned. “Cocky.”

“I learned from the best,” I said, tugging his sweats down just enough to free him. And fuck.

I’d seen it before—on screens, in videos—but nothing prepared me for the way it looked up close. Thick, long, already leaking at the tip. Veins along the shaft. His entire body was unfair, but this? This was just cruel.

I wrapped my hand around him slowly.

“You gonna stare at it all day, or you gonna do something?” he teased.

I licked a long stripe from the base to the tip, just to shut him up. His breath caught.

“Mouth open,” he murmured. I obeyed, letting my tongue hang out as I stroked him slowly. He was heavy in my hand, warm and twitching, and when I finally took him into my mouth, I moaned like it was for me, not him.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his head tipping back. “You’re better than half the girls I’ve filmed with.”

I pulled back just enough to say, “That supposed to make me feel special?”

He looked down at me with a grin. “It should.” Then he shifted his hips forward a little, his hand slipping into my hair. “Hold still,” he said. “Let me fuck your mouth a little.”

I whimpered, nodding as he gathered my hair in his fist and guided me back down. His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, testing. He pushed past my lips and onto my tongue, letting me feel every inch. I hollowed my cheeks around him, drool already sliding down my chin. The angle made my throat ache—but I didn’t care. He watched every second.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Look at me. Eyes up. Fuck—just like that.” I moaned around him, and he groaned in return, gripping my hair tighter. “You like this?” he asked. “Being used a little?”

I blinked up at him, spit trailing from my lip to the base of his cock. “Yes.”

“How filthy are you, baby?”

I swallowed him deeper before answering. “Wanna choke on it.”

He smirked, that filthy edge sharpening in his eyes. “Greedy girl.”

He held my jaw and started to fuck into my mouth harder, sloppier. My mascara was running—I could feel it—and my knees were going numb, but I didn’t care. Not when he was groaning and panting above me, thumb wiping spit from the corner of my mouth.

“Open wider,” he growled. “Let me all the way in.”

I did. He pushed in until the tip hit the back of my throat, and I gagged—but he didn’t stop. He stayed there for a second, watching the tears spill down my cheeks before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” I blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lips puffy and slick. “You want me to come in your mouth?” he asked.

“No.” He raised a brow. “I want more than that.” He stared at me for a beat. Then he reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me gently to my feet.

“Take your clothes off.”

I hesitated, chest heaving. “All of them?”

“All of them,” he said softly. “Want to see what kind of mess I’ve made.”

I peeled off my hoodie first, even though it had already been unzipped. My tank top followed, sticky with sweat. Then my skirt. Then my panties—soaked, clinging to my thighs. His eyes drank me in.

“You’re soaked.”

“You made me like this.”

He stood up—slow, deliberate—and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my neck, then lower, until he was kneeling in front of me.

“You ever squirt before?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

He smirked. “Might today.” Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue across my inner thigh.

He didn’t go for my pussy right away. Instead, he kissed every inch around it—my thighs, the crease of my hip, the patch of skin just above my mound. His hands wrapped around my legs, holding me steady as he took his time. The anticipation had my stomach fluttering, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be touched.

“Please,” I whispered, shifting.

He looked up at me from between my legs, his lips shiny with spit. “Yeah?”

I nodded, breath shaky. “I—I need—”

He slid one finger up my slit, slow as hell. “You need this?” he asked, teasing my clit with the lightest touch. “Or my mouth?”

“Both.”

He grinned. “Good answer.” Then he dove in.

His mouth latched around my clit like he’d missed it, like he owned it. His tongue flicked and sucked, alternating between slow pressure and fast strokes that made my legs tremble. I cried out, one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other tangled in his hair. He moaned against me when I tugged, and I felt it vibrate through my whole body.

“F-fuck,” I gasped. “Harry—”

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered between licks. “Could stay here all day.”

He pushed two fingers into me while his tongue kept working, curling them just right. My back arched off the couch, a moan ripping from my throat so loud I was sure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

I was already on the edge, too fast, too intense—and he knew it.

“You close?” he asked, sliding his fingers faster, deeper, hitting every nerve ending I had.

I nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—” He stopped. Pulled back. Fingers still inside me, but barely moving. I whimpered. “Why—”

“Cause I want you to come on my cock, not my tongue.”

“Fucking mean,�� I whispered.

He smirked. “You like it.” I hated how right he was.

He stood and kicked off his sweats fully this time, leaving him completely naked—tall, lean, toned. Tattoos stretched across his chest, down his arms. His cock was heavy and thick, standing up proudly, still slick from my mouth. He grabbed a condom from the table behind him—but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” I said softly. His eyes locked on mine.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m clean. On the pill. I want to feel all of you.”

His jaw clenched. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

He climbed back onto the couch, pulling me into his lap again. This time, we were both naked. Skin against skin. He lined himself up with one hand, the other gripping my waist.

“Take it slow,” he murmured. I did. I sank down on him inch by inch, gasping at the stretch, the burn, the way he filled me up so deep I thought I might break.

He kept eye contact the whole time. “Look at you,” he said. “Taking it so well.”

I whimpered when I bottomed out, thighs shaking.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “You weren’t made for this, were you?”

I moaned. “Maybe I was made for you.” That broke something in him.

His hands gripped my hips, and he started to move—slow thrusts upward that hit just right. I rocked against him, chasing friction, rolling my hips as he fucked up into me.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Harry.”

“Louder.”

“Harry.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” I gasped. “You’re so deep—fuck—it’s so good.” His hand came up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding.

“You’re gonna come like this?” he asked. “Like a needy little slut in my lap?”

I nodded frantically. “Yes—please, I need it—I need to come—”

“Then come.”

I shattered. The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through me in pulses that left me crying out his name, clinging to him, hips still rocking even as I trembled. He held me through it, whispered praise into my ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “So fucking good for me.” But he wasn’t done. He flipped me over onto the couch, face-down, ass up. “Not finished with you yet,” he growled.

He slid back into me easily, grabbing my hips and fucking into me hard now—rough, deep, animalistic. My cheek pressed against the cushion, mouth open as he pounded into me.

“You want it rough?” he panted. “You want to feel how hard you made me?”

“Y-yes—fuck—yes—”

He slapped my ass, hard. “Say you love it.”

“I fucking love it.”

“Say who’s fucking you.”

“Harry—Harry’s fucking me—please don’t stop—”

He leaned over me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my throat as he fucked me from behind. Skin slapping, breath ragged, everything filthy and perfect.

“Gonna come on you,” he groaned. “Wanna see you dripping.”

“Yes,” I begged. “Do it—please—come on me—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast before spilling hot all over my lower back and ass, groaning through gritted teeth. I lay there, trembling, dripping, wrecked. Breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He exhaled a long breath, letting it hang in the quiet between us. The only sound now was the soft hum of the camera still rolling. The red light blinked steadily, like it had witnessed every filthy, raw second of what just happened. Harry sat back, eyes scanning over me like he wasn’t sure if he was done yet—or just trying to memorize how I looked. Wrecked. Flushed. My hair a mess. My thighs still trembling.

“Stay there a sec,” he said, voice a little rougher than before.

I blinked up at him, cheek still pressed to the couch cushion, and nodded. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a warm towel. He didn’t rush—just knelt beside me, gently wiping me clean, taking his time like he actually cared. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just good at playing the part. But something about the way his fingers grazed my skin, soft and unhurried, made my chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking up to mine.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… that was a lot.”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Good lot or bad lot?”

“Really good.”

He handed me the towel and stood up to grab water bottles. When he tossed one to me, I caught it with shaky hands.

“You looked like you’ve done that before,” he said, sitting down beside me again—close, but not touching.

“I haven’t,” I replied, twisting the cap off. “Not like that.”

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

I smiled. “Trust me. I’d remember if someone ever made me feel like that before.” He went quiet, watching me sip.

“You ever actually plan on watching the footage?” I looked at him. At the blinking red light still recording.

“I kind of want to,” I admitted.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll show you mine… if you come back and film another one.” I stared at him, half smiling, half stunned.

“You saying that to everyone who comes through here?”

“Nope.” He leaned in just slightly, voice lower. “Just the ones who moan my name like they mean it.”

I laughed, flushed, and shook my head. “You’re dangerous.”

He smirked. “Only on camera.” I didn’t believe that for a second. But I wanted to find out.

[goldfades]

i need to be sidney crosbys controversially young gf… maybe something for that… heh

my new fav concept, hope you enjoy!

It started with whispers.

The kind that curled around the edges of locker rooms and crept into post-game interviews, barely concealed behind tight-lipped smirks and knowing glances. The kind that made headlines in tabloids next to blurry photos of a dinner reservation that should have been private. The kind that weren’t unexpected, not when a 37-year-old hockey legend started dating a 21-year-old who had no business being in his world.

Sidney Crosby was used to the noise. He’d spent two decades as the face of a franchise, his every move dissected and debated. But this? This was different. This was personal.

And you—well, you were the subject of speculation, fascination, and, in some corners, outright disapproval. The girl too young, too fresh, too much of a contrast to the quiet, calculated, carefully managed existence Sidney had built. The age gap was undeniable, a 16-year stretch that gave people ammunition, as if they hadn’t already decided what they thought about you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t some seasoned socialite or a familiar name in hockey circles. You weren’t a sports reporter or a PR darling, not a longtime fixture at games. No, you were something worse in the eyes of his critics—young, new, and entirely yours.

They didn’t know about the late-night conversations, the ones where Sidney’s usual reserve cracked open just enough for you to slip inside. They didn’t see the way he softened when you spoke, or how he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every version of you—the excited, the sleepy, the frustrated, the amused.

They didn’t know that you never sought him out, that he was the one who lingered after your first meeting, the one who texted first, the one who—despite all logic, despite knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would spark—had made it clear he wanted you.

But they knew enough to talk.

"She’s barely old enough to drink."

"What could they possibly have in common?"

"Sid’s having a mid-life crisis."

The comments should have been easy to ignore. Sidney wasn’t the type to entertain gossip, and you’d never cared about the opinions of people who didn’t know you. But still, the weight of it settled into your bones some days, making you wonder if you were an anomaly in his otherwise perfectly controlled life.

Because he was Sidney Crosby—captain, legend, a man whose legacy had been cemented long before you were even in high school. And you? You were just the girl people assumed was temporary.

And maybe that’s what made it all the more exhilarating.

The funniest part? You and Sidney actually found the whole thing hilarious.

The first time you showed him a comment under some sports gossip post—"She’s basically a child. This is so embarrassing for him."—he just blinked at you, unimpressed.

"Didn’t realize I should be embarrassed for enjoying my life," he said dryly, barely looking up from his coffee.

You snorted. "Yeah, well, you should probably start wearing knee braces to dinner so people know how frail you are."

From then on, it became a running joke.

Like when you posted a dimly lit photo of your hand wrapped around a wine glass at a fancy steakhouse, the edge of Sidney’s plate barely in frame, and captioned it: Dinner with my old man 🤍

Or when you caught a candid of him rubbing his temple after a long day and added it to your Instagram story with the text: He’s got a headache from all the whippersnappers in his life.

Or, your personal favorite, when you recorded him tying his skates before practice, zoomed in on his face as he focused, and added: D1 Grandpa Energy.

The chirps were constant, and he took them all in stride. In fact, he played along—leaned into it, even.

"Think I should start stretching before we go out?" he mused one evening as you got ready for dinner. "Maybe bring a heating pad?"

You grinned at him in the mirror. "I already put Icy Hot in your bag. Just in case you pull something walking to the table."

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the twitch of his lips.

Despite the internet losing its collective mind, the reality of your relationship was effortless. Sidney was steady, calm, and deeply private. You, on the other hand, were unbothered, playful, and just reckless enough to make things interesting. You balanced each other out in a way that worked, even if people didn’t understand it.

You loved how Sidney never treated you like you were some silly, naive kid. He respected you—your thoughts, your humor, your way of seeing the world. And you, in turn, loved teasing the hell out of him, keeping him on his toes in a way no one else really dared.

Like the time you went with him to a team dinner, and while everyone was talking hockey, you casually turned to him and went, "Tell me again what it was like growing up without color TV?"

The table went silent for a beat before someone—probably Letang—burst out laughing. Sid just gave you that look, equal parts unimpressed and amused, before shaking his head.

"She’s funny, huh?" he muttered, reaching for his drink.

"A regular comedian," you quipped, clinking your glass against his.

That was the thing—no matter how much outside noise tried to define your relationship, the two of you had already decided what it was.

It was simple. You liked each other.

Sidney didn’t buy you expensive things to impress you. Sure, he could, but he knew that wasn’t why you were here. Instead, he showed up in little ways—the way he always made sure to order your fries extra crispy because that’s how you liked them, or how he’d automatically pull you closer when cameras were around, just to make sure you didn’t get overwhelmed.

And you? You made sure he laughed. Really laughed. The kind of laugh that shook his shoulders and made his eyes crinkle, the kind of laugh he rarely let people see.

You were good together. You fit, even if people couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

And honestly? That just made it more fun.

It was nearly midnight, and the two of you were on the couch, deep in a heated argument over absolutely nothing.

"I'm just saying, people who don’t let the cereal sit in the milk for at least thirty seconds before eating it are a danger to society," you declared, pointing your spoon at him.

Sidney, reclined against the cushions in his sweatpants and a faded Team Canada hoodie, exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That’s ridiculous. You want it soggy?"

"Not soggy, perfectly saturated," you corrected, scooping another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from your bowl. "It enhances the experience."

Sid shook his head, glancing down at his own bowl—practically dry because, of course, he barely let the milk touch his cereal before shoveling it into his mouth like some kind of barbarian. "There’s no way you actually believe this."

"I do," you said, dramatic as ever, settling further into your spot next to him. "This is a hill I will die on."

Sid sighed, took another bite, and then, without missing a beat, shot back, "Guess you’d better hope I go first then."

You gasped, shoving his shoulder. "Did you just—"

He fought back a smirk, chewing methodically like he didn’t just say something that made your jaw drop. "You’re too young to be making retirement home decisions, anyway," he added, extra casual.

"Wow," you scoffed, setting your bowl down. "Big words for someone whose lower back cracks every time he stands up."

He snorted, finally breaking into that slow, warm smile that made your stomach flip.

It was moments like this that made you realize why, despite the comments and the noise, this relationship worked.

You weren’t intimidated by him. Not by his reputation, not by the weight of who he was. You poked fun at the untouchable Sidney Crosby the way most people wouldn’t dare, but you never disrespected him. You met him as a person, not as a legacy.

And Sid—Sid liked that.

He liked how quick you were, how you made fun of him without ever making him feel small. How you never treated him like some god on skates but also never downplayed how much he meant to people. It was a balance no one had quite figured out before you.

He let out a deep breath, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the ends of your hair.

"You done bullying me for the night?" he asked, amused.

You hummed, considering. "Depends. You gonna admit my cereal method is better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no."

He chuckled, shaking his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. You melted into his side like it was second nature, warm and easy.

The whole world could talk. The whole world could speculate. But in here, in this quiet moment between bowls of cereal and bad jokes, you fit like you were always meant to.

[lightsoutmatthews]

auston matthews + you left this at mine for the 100 celly, please? 🥹 make it fluffy or angsty depending on your mood i don’t mind either way 🫶🏻

"You left this at mine" - Auston Matthews

summary: While cleaning your apartment you found something your ex-boyfriend left behind after you broke up. Now it is on you to decide what to do with it

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: none

authors note:

First post of the 100 followers celly!! Hope you enjoy!!

--------------------------------

The apartment was cold. Quiet. Too quiet.

Just a few short weeks ago it was filled with life. You boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, spending time here whenever his schedule allowed. Bringing his dog, his sisters, sometimes teammates that became friends over the course of your relationship.

He always said he liked staying here because it was closer to the rink than his place. You never complained. Sleeping in your own bed something you preferred most nights even though the perfect mattress in his bed was more comfortable than anything you´ve ever laid on.

But all that was gone now.

His usual spot on the couch was occupied by nothing but the throw pillows that had always been there, the used mug he put in the sink each morning before he left for practice or morning responsibilities cleaned and put in the cupboard weeks ago. Untouched since.

It was like he was never here. At least not physically. The memories the two of you made in this living room, the kitchen, on the balcony and at the dining room table still lingered heavy in the air. Warm hugs that were shared, kisses, movie nights, teasing and laughter that was sometimes still ringing through your head.

The breakup came out of nowhere, or that´s what you were telling yourself. One day he came here from practice at Scotiabank Arena and just decided that he could not do it anymore. That he had to focus on his career right now, on being the captain while dealing with the fact that he would not be able to replicate the career season he had last year.

He also told you, you both changed. Your focus laid on different things than at the start of your relationship when he wasn’t captain, and you were still a student with no full-time job.

You understood, or at least you pretended you did. Secretly, behind closed doors, when no one could see you break, it was hard to deal with the suddenness. One day you were planning how to spend the off-season, and the next one you were alone. Heartbroken.

But at the same time, you couldn’t say that you didn’t see the signs. He became distant. Cold even. He spent less time at yours, hardly asking if you wanted to come to his.

Your relationship wasn’t all roses, you knew that, but the finality of all of it had claimed you weeks before the actual breakup happened. You just were too caught up in telling yourself otherwise while trying to hold onto something that wasn’t what it had been at the beginning for weeks now.

------------

It took you a week to initially recover, you had been together for almost two years after all. Then you got yourself up and moved on with your life. Or at least you tried to.

Memories clinging tight to you everywhere you looked. The lunch spots the two of you frequented that you passed every day on your way to work. His face plastered around the city. Scotiabank Arena. Everything reminded you of him.

And it got better. At first. But whenever you were reminded of what you had, of what you shared over the course of your relationship, your heart shattered into a million pieced all over again.

The expensive hoodie he forgot at your apartment when he took his things that night was draped over one of your dining room chairs. It served as a severe reminder of him the same way the memories did.

Ever since you found it a few days ago during a deep clean of your apartment you debated what you should do with it. You didn’t want to keep it; it was expensive after all, but you weren’t sure if you could muster up the courage to text him or worse, show up to his place to give it back.

So, it just hung there, day in and day out. Starring back at you whenever you walked through the open space of your apartment. Until it was enough, and you couldn’t bear the sight of it anymore.

You would be in his neighborhood for a client meeting tomorrow, stopping by and dropping it off wouldn’t hurt, right?

-------------

The next day passed in a blur, a coffee meeting with your supervisor in the morning, lunch with a few of your co-workers, the client meeting in the part of Toronto where Auston lived. Your clients, a nice elderly couple, unfortunately people who wanted to know every single thing down to the littlest detail, which kept you with them for much longer than you expected. Your anxiety about the evening raising with every passing minute.

The lady had even asked if you were alright at one point because you kept kneading your hands and brushing your hand through your hair in an attempt to calm yourself down.

The hoodie was stashed on the passenger seat of your car when you returned. The logo of a famous brand staring back at you just like it had every day while it was hanging in your dining room. The navy-blue color engraved into your brain.

His house looked like the last time you were here. Lights along the driveway lit. Auston´s Porsche sitting in front of the garage indicating he was home.

Your stomach clenched. The many times you drove up this driveway, alone or with him, coming back to you. One particular memory flashed through your brain. You came home from dinner at a really exclusive restaurant. Both dressed up to the nines. The maroon dress you chose, the black suit he wore. The night of passion that followed.

You swallowed it all down. Focusing on the task on hand. Delivering the hoodie, getting out of here as quickly as possible.

The lights in the living room on the first floor were on. Maybe he had people over, but the lack of cars in the driveway indicated otherwise. You hoped he hadn’t. As much as you liked his teammates, friends, there was no way you would do this with them present.

It took you five minutes and several deep breaths to finally press the doorbell. The material cold on your pointer finger, a stark contrast to the warmth of the hoodies soft material in your other hand.

You couldn’t remember the last time you rang. He had given you a key early on in the relationship. “To check on the plants” he said at first, but the lack of plants throughout the house always indicated otherwise.

A bark from the other side of the door ripped you from your thoughts.

Felix.

When the door opened the doodle excitedly jumped right into your arms. “Hey snuff,” you whispered as you softly petted the dog on his head. He didn’t know why you stopped showing up or why he stopped going to your apartment. He was just happy to see you again.

When you looked up Auston was staring down at you, eyebrows raised, shoulders tense. A backwards cap hiding his hair. It had always been a weakness of yours when he was wearing one.

For a beat neither of you said anything, both just staring. His brown eyes meeting yours before eyeing you up and down. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” you breathed out when you finally mustered up the courage. “Hey,” he replied, quiet but firm. The hint of surprise and confusion in the single word wasn’t missed on you.

When you didn’t say anything for another few seconds, just continuing to pet Felix on his head, he cleared his throat. The noise almost making you jump back in surprise. “Uhm… what can I do for you?” he awkwardly asked, while you once again ran your hands through your hair.

“You left this at mine.” you held out the hoodie to him like you were presenting him with a gift. “I was in the neighborhood with some clients so I thought I would stop by and drop it off,” you added quickly, not wanting him to think you drove out here just for this.

“Oh uhm, thanks?” it sounded more like a question than a genuine thankfulness.

You weren’t sure what you expected from seeing him again, the awkwardness of two ex-lovers reuniting clear in the cold air of the Toronto night.

“Yeah uh… you´re welcome.” Your voice an awkward stutter. For another second the both of you were just staring. It seemed as it was your thing now.

“Why are you really here?” he asked then. A question that made your heart beat faster. Initially there wasn’t any underlying reason why you were coming here but then, it was just a hoodie, if he hadn’t come searching for it, he clearly wasn’t missing it, there was no reason to bring it here.

You could´ve just thrown it away and never thought about it again.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked, so quietly you almost missed it.

“Yeah,” you breathed out before you could think otherwise.

He stepped away from the door, opening it just wide enough for you to slip through, Felix trailing behind you like the loyal companion he was.

The house hadn’t changed since you´ve last seen the inside. It was still the lived in mess crossed with the typical men aesthetic. You had once tried to decorate it more with the help of his sisters, but he was having none of it, so the attempts were quickly stopped.

“Drink?” he asked holding a bottle of water in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other, holding both out to you.

You noticed an open bottle on the couch table, but you opted for the water. “Thanks.”

He settled next to you, the awkward silence once again casting over you. “So, how is it going?”

“I´m fine, playoffs are coming up next week, just trying to get through the last few regular season games. How´s the job?”

“Good, nothing exciting to report. Congrats on making the playoffs again.”

The conversation being awkward was the understatement of the century. What once was familiar banter, sweet words and honest thoughts shared was now just small talk you would make with a stranger at the grocery store.

You studied his frame from the side. The wear and tear from the season were slowly starting to show. One of his fingers was in a bandage, a bruise formed on the side of his face. He looked tired. More tired than usually at the end of the season.

Empathy immediately flooding your body. He was still an individual you were caring for deeply. All the feelings your shared not something that would just vanish in the span of a few short weeks without seeing each other.

“You look tired,” you pointed out the obvious. “Long season,” he countered. You nodded along in agreement, but you knew him, it wasn’t the only thing bothering him. The breakup was nagging on him like it was nagging on you.

When you looked the room over to do anything but continue to stare at him you noticed a piece of art hanging on the wall next to the TV. You knew it all too well because you had commissioned it for him after he broke the single season scoring record of active players last season.

“You kept it?” his eyes shot up from starring at the now empty bottle in front of him. “of course.” Another one of these short replies but this time it made your heart beat faster. You figured he would’ve gotten rid of it after you broke up.

“I made a mistake,” the confession came out of nowhere, your head snapping to him, eyes wide.

He couldn’t mean the breakup, right?

“Made a mistake how?” you still asked, unsure if you even wanted to hear the answer. “I´m an asshole, I thought all would get better if I got rid of the distractions, if I just focused on hockey alone, I would score more goals, rack up more points, help the team to secure more wins and be a better captain but I was wrong.” He uttered.

“My life has not been the same since we broke up. Coming home alone and to an empty house after a loss was harder than I expected.”

Your heart beat so fast you were scared it would jump out of your chest if he said one more word. He was basically confessing that breaking up was a mistake, indicating that if he could he would take it all back and never throw the words at you in the first place.

“What are you saying, Auston?” you challenged. “I fucked up, babe.” The nickname sending a shiver down your spine, but he didn’t let you get a word in before he spoke again. “Breaking up with you was the worst mistake of my life.”

You weren’t used to seeing him in a vulnerable state like this. Usually he was all calm, cool and collected hockey superstar who was unshakable and immune to everything life threw at him, at least in the public eye. Him confessing to you that he made a mistake with so much emotion in his voice had you take a step back and look at him with disbelieve, was an odd feeling.

“I miss waking up next to you and falling asleep with you in my arms. I miss you waiting for me after a game, good or bad, telling me I did well even though we both know I didn’t in most games we lost. If I could take it all back, I would.”

When you showed up here an hour ago, hands shaking, heart racing just because you were seeing him again and it was bringing back emotions you didn’t know you still had, you would have never guessed that it was this it would come to. Hence why you were unsure as to how to react to his sudden confession.

Felix let out a bark when you stopped petting him but apart from that the living room was dead quiet. His words hanging heavy in the air.

“Can you say something?” he muttered.

“I need to go.” was what you settled on, before you got up and rushed out of the house.

-------------

A week later you weren’t any wiser than when you stormed out of his house. He had sent a few messages, called at least once a day. Apologizing, still waiting for you to say something when you yourself didn’t even know how to feel.

On the one hand all those feelings you had when you were together came back to you as soon as he dropped that on you. On the other hand, you couldn’t forget how your relationship ended in the first place.

Of course, he tried to explain. His messages said as much but you weren’t sure if it was enough for you to forget and forgive him for how sudden he just ended things.

He was used to getting what he wanted, at least in his career. A bigger contract, a new sponsorship, a captaincy. But transmitting that to his life shouldn’t work as easily as it did.

You missed him too, that was no question but who told you that he wouldn’t do the exact same thing the next time it got hard in his career. When the goals and points wouldn’t come next season, or the post-season success was once again cut short?

Who promised you he wouldn’t do it all over again?

On the other hand, you felt like you should risk it. What you and Auston had was good. At least most of the time, at least until it turned sour. For almost two years you had an almost picture-perfect relationship that your friends were jealous of whenever you got the chance to brag about him.

For days you questioned if the good would outweigh the bad in this case, but you came to no conclusion.

You debated talking to someone about it but in the end, it was a decision you had to make all on your own and no advice in the world could take that from you.

----------------

The Friday before the first game of the playoffs a sleek black box arrived at your doorstep. Curiosity overtook you because you hadn’t ordered anything and weren’t waiting for anything either.

Carefully you unwrapped the parchment paper that was covering the inside of the box which revealed a cozy looking black fluffy jacket. The Leafs logo was stitched at the front. Matthews was stitched inside it in black thread.

When you took it out of the box and turned it around the back showed the Toronto skyline, the team name in writing as well as a big 34.

The wag jacket.

You weren’t sure why you got one, you weren’t a wag anymore.

Maybe it was an attempt from him to get you back, and you hated to admit it, but it was working.

A black envelope was hidden beneath the jacket. When you opened it a card was inside, written on by an all too familiar handwriting.

Maybe this is a long shot and maybe I´m overstepping but I wanted you to have this. There´s a pass waiting for you at will call. You can use it or not, but I wanted to give you the opportunity.

Hopefully see you Sunday. A.

------------------

Sunday. The first game of the playoff series between the Leafs and the Senators. The Battle of Ontario making its way into the playoffs had everyone beaming with anticipation.

Scotiabank Arena was loud already, and warm-ups hadn’t even started yet.

You were on you way to the glass to stand with some of the other wags and watch warm-ups. Some had cheered when you entered the family room a few minutes prior. Steph Marner had wrapped you in a warm hug, telling you how glad she was that you gave Auston another chance after he was a dumbass. Some others followed.

You just smiled at them, nodding, not telling them that the man had no idea that you were here, wearing his name and number on you back again.

Standing with one of the Tavares kids you held him up to the glass so he could see his dad skating past, waving enthusiastically. John immediately recognized who was holding his son and laughed, trying to gain Auston´s attention.

When the captain looked into his assistants general direction you waved. Shooting him a shy smile which brought out the biggest smile on his face. Especially, when you turned around, careful as to not drop the kid, showing him the back of your jacket.

He proceeded to rack up two assists in the 6-2 win over the Senators and when he wrapped you in his arms, spinning you around in the hallway as if he had just won the cup and not game one of the first round you knew you made the right decision because in the end the good always outweigh the bad when it came to the both of you.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

𖦹 ࣪˖ ◂ To The Future⊹ ˖ ࣪✦

WHAT IF!! | Diana Prince, The Wonder Woman, and her wife had a baby? But the problem is...how?

Synopsis; Diana loved you, and in her love, there was everything you needed: an infinite calm in her arms, a refuge in her words, and a future full of promises they didn’t yet know how to write. Together, without haste, without fear, only with the whisper of a love that grew day by day, building a home that needed no words, just shared glances and fleeting smiles.

Pairing ── Diana Prince x Wife! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Fluff, Mentions of pregnancy, babys, elements of experimentation, mild angst, themes of family, and emotional vulnerability.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— A flood of posts is coming. Honestly, I've always wanted to write about Wonder Woman x reader (my inner lesbian speaking U.U) — she's my true "Hear me out" moment.

There always comes that inevitable point in relationships when the conversation turns to family. But in your case, we’re not talking about just any relationship. No, you’ve been happily married for three years to none other than Wonder Woman herself. The impossible dream of any average mortal, and here you are, sharing your morning coffee with the Amazon princess while debating whether the coffee should have sugar or not.

Then, one day, you notice it. At first, it’s small, subtle gestures. Maybe she takes you to the park on any random Saturday, and suddenly her eyes shine a little too brightly when a couple with a stroller walks by. “Isn’t it adorable?” she says, pointing to the baby who’s sleeping like it’s dreaming of cotton clouds. Or maybe, while shopping at some store, she stops in front of a mannequin wearing a tiny Wonder Woman costume, complete with a miniature tiara. “Look at this,” she says, holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you think someone in our family would look perfect in this someday?”

And then there’s the direct talk, as only Diana could do it. Straightforward, but with that sweetness that disarms you. “I’ve been thinking,” she says one night while you both watch the stars from the terrace, her hair gently waving in the breeze. “You and I… we could be wonderful parents.” And even though she says it seriously, there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

But of course, this is Diana, Wonder Woman. For every serious conversation, there’s an avalanche of charmingly chaotic moments. Like that time she taught you how to hold a baby using a sack of rice because, according to her, “a warrior must be prepared for any situation.” Or that other time, during dinner with Clark and Lois, she launched into a philosophical debate about whether their baby should have an Amazonian, human, or Kryptonian name “just in case”—leaving you with your face completely red.

The problem came later, when you both looked at each other one afternoon in the Batcave, in front of a whiteboard full of equations, diagrams, and something that looked like a drawing of a baby with a cape, made by you in a burst of nerves. Yes, that was the tricky part: how.

The conversation with Batman was, in short, awkward.

“Let me see if I understand,” Bruce said, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You want me to use my resources, technology, and—oh, I don’t know—my few hours of sleep, to figure out how an Amazonian and a human can have a biological child.”

“Exactly,” Diana replied, crossing her arms with the naturalness of someone who had already defeated gods. “Why are you making that face? You’ve done more complicated things.”

“Not with babies involved.”

Meanwhile, you tried not to make eye contact. After all, how do you explain to a man who spent his life as a dark knight that you now needed him for something so… personal?

Despite his reluctance, Bruce agreed to help. But not without conditions. “This doesn’t leave the circle. Not a word to Clark or Barry. Ever.” His look was so severe that even Diana raised an eyebrow, amused.

J’onn J’onzz, on the other hand, was a little more kind when consulted. “It’s a fascinating topic from a scientific perspective,” he said with that alien calm that seemed to come from centuries of Martian patience. “Though I must warn you, interdimensional hybrids aren’t a widely explored field.”

“Thanks for the optimism, J’onn,” you replied, glancing sideways at how Bruce and Diana argued about whether Amazonian genes could overpower normal humans.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of experiments, consultations, and technology that seemed straight out of a science fiction movie. J’onn led the genetic analysis, while Bruce applied his methodical obsession to create a viable procedure. Every night, Diana came home with a detailed report and summarized it for you with a mix of enthusiasm and seriousness.

“Bruce says we might need a Kryptonian catalyst,” she said one day, as if she were talking about what to have for dinner. “Do you think Clark will mind if we ask him for a hair sample?”

By the time everything was ready, you were already used to the strangest conversations of your life. But when the time came, when Diana held your hand while J’onn and Bruce confirmed that their plan would work, you couldn’t help but smile. They had achieved the impossible.

And so, with the help of a grumpy dark knight and a Martian with infinite patience, your dream of starting a family with Diana began to take shape. Because, in the end, if there’s one thing that heroes understand better than anyone, it’s that no challenge is too great when it comes to love.

The months flew by, and with each one, the Batcave became a second home for you and Diana. Every week, you would enter the dark, cold sanctuary of Gotham, where Batman, or more specifically Bruce, waited with an air of seriousness and a look that made you feel like you were participating in a high-risk operation. And in a way, you were.

Diana, although more than capable of facing the universe’s greatest threats, couldn’t help but show a completely human vulnerability when it came to her baby. At first, she tried to hide it, but every time Bruce, J'onn, or worse, Tim, began to review the baby’s growth with that scientific look, her face would tense. Tim, the Robin at that time, was so meticulous that he seemed to enjoy measuring every aspect of the baby’s development more than anyone else, as if he were calculating the exact moment a future superhero might crawl out of the crib and start kicking butt.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Tim said, again and again, checking the monitors as if it were a game. Diana smiled, but you could see her fingers interlacing with Bruce’s, looking for some sign of support. Bruce, meanwhile, kept observing in silence, calculating every possible scenario with a sharp mind, but also a little bit of affection hidden between his words.

“If Tim tells you it’s fine, it probably is,” he said with his voice tone that left no room for doubt, but that, to you, sounded strangely reassuring. He wasn’t used to showing many emotions, but when Diana couldn’t help but bite her lip, he noticed.

Every time Bruce and Tim gathered to review the baby’s growth, she would remain still, as if waiting for a verdict. “Is everything okay? Is this all we hoped for?” she would ask from time to time, even though the answers were already quite clear.

And then, the day came.

It all happened in the blink of an eye: a quick trip to the Batcave, followed by a torrent of emotions that no one could have anticipated. Diana, calmer than you expected, held the baby with a softness that only she could have. And there it was, the little being that had been the center of so many scientific consultations, now wrapped in the warmth of the woman who had carried it in her womb.

“It’s a girl,” Bruce murmured, his deep voice but with a rare warmth. “Welcome to the world.”

Diana’s smile was as bright as the sun. Her eyes, always so firm, were now filled with infinite sweetness as she looked at her daughter, who slept peacefully in her arms.

If it was a girl, things were simple. She could grow up on Themyscira, surrounded by the peace of the island, with the ancient warriors and her grandmother, Hippolyta, to guide her. The aunts would also be there, and they could teach her the secrets of her lineage, as well as her mother’s story. Diana could freely take her to the island and watch her grow in an environment of love and power.

But if it was a boy… the rules were different. Although Diana’s love, yours, and her grandmother’s would be endless, they couldn’t take the little one to Themyscira for now. The island, a place of ancient traditions and mystical protections, wasn’t the best place for a human child at the moment. There were too many dangers and secrets still to be understood, and Diana knew the boy would need a larger, more complicated world before he could be part of that sacred refuge.

When J'onn confirmed the gender, Diana's relief was palpable, and although the joy of holding her daughter was absolute, there was also a slight shadow of concern at the thought of what might have been if it had been a boy.

But as the hours passed and the little being with bright eyes and a peaceful smile woke up, Diana leaned over her, whispering with unconditional love, “Everything will be fine. The world will be ours to give her.”

And as the little girl snuggled against her mother, both knew that no matter what the future held, their family had already begun to take shape. With Diana’s love, yours, and the support of all the heroes around them, the little being would grow up in a world full of protection, love, and adventures that would undoubtedly surpass any challenge.

A/N ── Since I was little, when I lived in a messed-up country, Wonder Woman has always been one of my favorite heroes. I have other heroes I love too, but with Diana, I kneel and pray, no kidding! She’s so gorgeous, especially in those fanarts of Buff! Wonder Woman… God, she drives me crazy, I adore her to the core. It’s like my heart is a suit of armor about to crumble because of her!

[yokumirumerafan]

Yoo~....hi~ hehe. Saur. I have a request...AHH DONT MIND ME THIS IS MY FIRST TIME-! so, when muzan discovers reader/yn has basically the very same effect as a blue spider lily? It's just that y/n is a demon slayer and if a demon sucked 1 litre of her/their blood they become resistant to the sun for 1 month? But the demons can only take like enough to make sure she's still alive because they can't kill her off since she's a marechi and the only one with this kind of perk in her blood? If ya dont wanna do it just know I really like your content ! I'm thinking about a muzan + uppermoons for this one but please include demon slayers if you want too! I LOVE YOU BYE!

OK so first of all HOW DO PEOPLE COME UP WITH IDEAS LIKE THAT? Second, what do I even add here? Like I low-key see a whole fic written in the request itself T^T

📌 Post Info: 💬 Request: Muzan discovers Y/N’s blood has the same effect as the Blue Spider Lily—if a demon drinks 1L of it, they gain sunlight resistance for a month. But Y/N is a Demon Slayer and a rare marechi, so they can’t be killed. 👥 Characters Included: Muzan + Upper Moons (+ Demon Slayers if needed!) 🌎 AUs Used: Canonverse 📖 Summary: Y/N unknowingly carries a powerful secret in their blood—one that could change everything for demons. Muzan, upon discovering this, is thrown into obsession, knowing he must keep Y/N alive but also control them. Meanwhile, demons and slayers alike react in shock, fear, and fascination at the implications of Y/N’s existence.

🩸 Muzan & Upper Moons React to Y/N’s Blood Being Like the Blue Spider Lily 🩸

🩸 Muzan Kibutsuji At first, he doesn’t believe it—this can’t be real. The Blue Spider Lily eluded him for centuries, and now a mere human carries its effects in their blood? The moment he confirms it, a dark obsession begins. “You are no longer a mere Demon Slayer… you are a key to my future.” Treats you like his most prized possession—not quite an enemy, but not an ally either. You belong to him. Killing you is not an option, but keeping you under his control is. Orders the Upper Moons to capture you alive and ensure no other demons consume your blood without his permission. 🔪 Kokushibo (Upper Moon One) Remains calm but sees the massive implications of your existence. “This power… it is no trivial matter. You are a rarity even among humans.” Unlike the others, he doesn’t immediately see you as prey. Instead, he considers what Muzan’s obsession might mean for the future of demons. Would not drink your blood without Muzan’s order—he values discipline too much. If ordered to capture you, he would do so with precision and minimal harm. 🔥 Doma (Upper Moon Two) Absolutely fascinated. This is a miracle—a human that could extend his life and allow him to walk in the sun? “Oho~ Y/N-chan, aren’t you the most adorable little thing? If you ever feel like joining me, I’d be happy to take good care of you~” Unlike Kokushibo, he would definitely try to sneak a taste of your blood, just to see if Muzan is telling the truth. Not afraid to break Muzan’s orders if he thinks he can get away with it. 💀 Akaza (Upper Moon Three) Horrified and intrigued at the same time. On one hand, he can’t deny how useful you are to demons. On the other, he hates the idea of preying on a human for their blood. “Tch… this is disgusting. You shouldn’t exist.” (Says this, but he knows he won’t harm you.) Would rather fight you fairly than treat you like a walking elixir. If Muzan ordered him to take you alive, he would—but he’d be conflicted the whole time. 🐍 Gyutaro (Upper Moon Six) “Wait… so yer sayin’ we gotta keep this human alive? Tch, sounds like a pain.” Absolutely jealous that you have something so valuable in your blood. Would not hesitate to drink from you if he got the chance—but only if Muzan allowed it. Heavily debates if he should just kill you to end the chaos but ultimately decides against it.

🔬 Tamayo & Yushiro's Reaction

🩸 Tamayo This changes everything. Tamayo has spent centuries searching for ways to counteract Muzan’s control, and now Y/N’s blood could be the key to understanding demon biology. “If we can analyze the properties of your blood, we might be able to create something that prevents demons from succumbing to Muzan’s curse…” She immediately samples your blood and works on multiple theories—one being a possible cure for demonification. Fearful that Muzan will come for you. She’s already lost so much and refuses to let you become his puppet. “Y/N, you must not let them take you. If Muzan gets his hands on you, he will become invincible.” 🩸 Yushiro Furious. Protective. ABSOLUTELY NOT having this. “Tch! This is exactly why humans are so weak—you’re just walking around with something that makes you a target!” He doesn’t mean to sound harsh; he’s just scared for you. He knows Muzan will stop at nothing to get you. Would stick by your side 24/7, glaring at anyone who even mentions your blood. Secretly admires your strength but will never admit it.

⚔️ Hashira Reactions

🔥 Rengoku Kyojuro (Flame Hashira) “Y/N! This is a great burden, but I trust you will remain steadfast!” Genuinely worried for your safety but will support you no matter what. Encourages you to harness your strength rather than see yourself as a victim. If Muzan tries to take you, he WILL step in. “I WILL NOT LET YOU FALL INTO HIS HANDS!” 🌊 Giyuu Tomioka (Water Hashira) Quiet but deeply concerned. “You shouldn’t have to carry this alone.” Understands the weight of your situation but struggles with how to help. If necessary, he will fight to protect you. 🌪️ Sanemi Shinazugawa (Wind Hashira) FURIOUS. “ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME?!” The thought of demons wanting your blood makes him absolutely enraged. “WE NEED TO GET RID OF YOU—NOW. It’s the only way to stop Muzan!” (Obviously, he wouldn’t actually do it, but his panic makes him say crazy things.) After cooling down, he reluctantly swears to protect you—but doesn’t like it. 🐍 Obanai Iguro (Serpent Hashira) “This is dangerous. You are dangerous.” Doesn’t trust that this won’t end badly. He fears you’ll be captured and used against the Demon Slayers. Despite his paranoia, he will fight tooth and nail to keep you from Muzan. 🦋 Shinobu Kocho (Insect Hashira) Acts calm, but internally losing her mind. “Oh my, Y/N! You’re quite the rare delicacy, aren’t you?” (She’s making light of it, but she’s terrified for you.) Immediately plans countermeasures—poisons, traps, ways to keep you out of demon hands. If any demon comes near you, she will not hesitate to kill. ⚡ Tengen Uzui (Sound Hashira) “Tch. This is the most UNFLASHY situation I’ve ever heard.” But behind the bravado, he’s seriously worried. “You’re basically a golden goose for demons. This is bad.” Keeps an eye on you at all times. Muzan is NOT getting you. ❄️ Muichiro Tokito (Mist Hashira) Confused at first. “Why does your blood do that?” When he realizes how important it is, he becomes extremely protective. Muzan isn’t getting you—not on his watch. 🌿 Gyomei Himejima (Stone Hashira) Prays for you. He knows you didn’t ask for this. “You are carrying a great burden. But you are not alone.” Refuses to let Muzan touch you. 🏮 Mitsuri Kanroji (Love Hashira) “Y/N! That’s so scary! But also kind of cool… but mostly scary!!” Extremely protective. Stays by your side as much as possible. If any demon tries to take your blood, she will tear them apart.

⚖️ Final Thoughts: BAE, THIS REQUEST WAS 10/10 🔥🔥🔥

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Shadows of the Past - Soft Things Survive

omg okay i’ve been working on these chapters for the past week and debating if i want to post it or not but i finally decided to just say fuck it. even if nobody reads or enjoys this story i still get joy from writing it and this is the first time i’ve actually spent longer than a night writing a story so this is my pride and joy lmao. using different dividers than my usual ones to match the cover theme:)

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 2.49k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Six months after the Second Rebellion ends, you return to District 12. You don’t fully understand why—why you would willingly walk back into a graveyard of memories, why you expect to find anything other than ghosts. You haven’t set foot here since the night of the bombing. Part of you clings to the foolish hope that something, anything, survived. That the Capitol, in all its cruelty, might have left some part of your home standing. But you know better. The Capitol was never merciful. Not to District scum like you.

The train groans to a stop, and as you step onto the platform, your breath catches. The ruins of 12 stretch before you, a wasteland of ash and silence. The town square—once the cold heart of the district—lies in shattered remains. It was never truly a place of joy, at least not for most of you. It was where you were herded once a year to watch children be sent to die. Where Peacekeepers patrolled with sharp eyes and loaded guns. Where only the merchant families, with their fuller bellies and lighter burdens, found any sense of comfort. And yet, even here, there were moments—fleeting and fragile—where life had tried to bloom.

Charred beams jut out from skeletal structures, the last remnants of homes and businesses that once held warmth, laughter, and whispered dreams of escape. The air is thick with the acrid scent of coal dust and smoke, the same scent that clung to your skin your entire childhood. You let out a choked laugh, realizing that the thing you once loathed—the ever-present reminder of your district’s suffering—has become a strange sort of comfort.

You pick your way through the wreckage of the train station, each careful step crunching over shattered glass and crumbling stone. The sound grates against the silence, an eerie symphony to the slow-breaking of your heart. You don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Wasn’t the absolute emptiness.

Then, your feet touch the cracked concrete of the town square, and the world tilts. The air is knocked from your lungs, and suddenly, you’re fourteen again. You’re standing among a sea of terrified faces, the silence heavier than any scream.

And you’re watching helplessly as Effie Trinket calls Fiza Prosser’s name.

The moment her name is called, it’s as if the world stops breathing with you. The air, thick with anticipation, turns suffocatingly still. The crowd freezes, a sea of held breaths and unspoken prayers, as if time itself has fractured. Your gaze snaps to Fiza.

She turns to you, her face ghostly pale, eyes glassy with terror. Her lips part, but the words barely escape.

“I— I can’t,” she squeaks, shaking her head violently, as though she can will herself out of this nightmare.

Effie’s voice cuts through the silence like a polished knife. “Fiza, dear, come on up!” she chirps, her tone bright and empty. Too cheerful. Too pleased to be calling a girl to her death.

Hope is a dangerous thing to cling to, and you know better than to let it fester. Fiza won’t come home. She’s too frail, her body a roadmap of every missed meal, every long winter spent starving in the Seam. Her father ran off years ago, leaving behind nothing but an empty space where love should have been, and her mother—too drowned in sorrow and liquor to care—was no savior. You used to beg your mother to let Fiza eat with you. Every time, it earned you nothing but scoldings.

Tears spill down her cheeks, and you brush them away with trembling fingers. Your own throat is tight, every muscle in your body screaming against the cruelty of this moment. But if you break, she’ll shatter.

“Hold your head high, even if you’re crying,” you whisper, cupping her face between your hands. “Wear your tears with pride. They do not make you weak.”

The Peacekeepers are coming. You barely have time to press a quick kiss to her forehead before you give her a gentle push forward. Her legs wobble like a newborn fawn’s, but she moves. She stands tall, her head high even as her fingers twitch with fear.

Effie claps her manicured hands together, beaming. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?!” she squeals, as if Fiza is some delicate doll instead of a girl marching toward her death.

A hot, pulsing rage surges through you. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms so hard they nearly break skin. You have never been one for violence, but in this moment, you want to tear onto that stage, claw your way to Effie, and scratch the paint right off her doll-like face.

The male tribute’s name is called, but you don’t hear it. You can’t. You’re too busy burning every detail of Fiza into your memory—her trembling fingers, the stubborn lift of her chin, the way the sun catches the tear tracks on her face.

The second the square is dismissed, you shove your way through the dispersing crowd, heart hammering as you storm into the Justice Building.

“Fiza Prosser,” you demand breathlessly, locking eyes with the first official you see. “I want to see her.”

“No time for goodbyes today. We’re running behind.” He doesn’t even look at you. Just turns away.

Something in you snaps. You want to scream, to claw at him, to beat your fists against his back until he acknowledges the cruelty of what he’s just stolen from you. But all you can do is stand there, frozen, empty, unable to cry.

You don’t move until your father comes. He picks you up like he did when you were small, cradling you against his chest as he whispers soothing words you can’t even process.

And for the first time since her name was called, you let yourself sob.

Time shifts again, and you’re twelve years old, standing in the town square, watching Dewydd Comey climb the steps of the stage. Your first love. The boy with soft gray eyes and a smattering of freckles you used to trace with your fingertips. Everyone called it puppy love, something fleeting, something childish. But love doesn’t fade just because the world refuses to take it seriously. What you felt for him then still lingers, untouched by time.

Your goodbye in the Justice Building is one of your most cherished memories—despite how god-awfully painful it is.

The moment you step into the room, you throw yourself at him, and he meets you halfway, crushing you against his chest. His arms lock around you so tightly that your ribs ache, but you don’t care. You bury your face in his shoulder, your sobs coming in broken gasps, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. His hand moves up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, whispering reassurances he doesn’t believe. You should be the one comforting him, but you can’t. Your grief is selfish, swallowing you whole.

He gently pulls back just enough to see your face, his fingers trembling as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His storm-cloud eyes search yours, memorizing. His fingertips trace the curve of your cheek before cupping it, warm and soft. You press into his touch, desperate to burn the feeling into your skin. A small, keening sound escapes you as your gaze drinks in every last freckle, every tiny imperfection, terrified that someday they’ll blur and fade in your mind.

“I’m gonna win and come back to you, okay?” His voice is steady, but his eyes betray him, glistening with unshed tears. “Then we can finish school, get married, and I’ll take good care of you.”

You nod against his palm, biting back a wail.

“Promise?” Your voice cracks, the word barely escaping as you see his lower lip quiver. His shoulders sag, his breath shuddering. He bows his head, his hand slipping from your cheek.

You cup his face, forcing him to look at you, to hold on just a little longer. His tears fall freely now, streaking down his cheeks, and the sight of them unravels something deep inside you. He doesn’t have to say it—you see it in his eyes. He knows. He knows he won’t come back.

You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding so hard it hurts. Neither of you has ever kissed anyone before. Not each other, not anyone. You always talked about saving your first kiss for something special. For when you were older, when you had time, when the world wasn’t so cruel.

But there is no more time.

A sob tears from your throat as you surge forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate, trembling kiss. It’s clumsy, wet with tears, full of fear and love and everything you will never get to have. His hands find your waist, anchoring you together for just a second longer.

Then, the door swings open.

A Peacekeeper’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. “Time’s up.”

Dewydd and you barely manage two more frantic kisses before the Peacekeeper wrenches you away, their grip bruising around your arm.

“Don’t forget me!” he cries, his voice raw and broken as the door slams shut between you.

You never did.

You take a shaky breath, but it does nothing to steady you. Pain lances through your chest as the past fractures around you, dissolving like ash in the wind. You are twenty years old, standing in the graveyard of your childhood. Every memory you have is buried beneath the rubble of homes and businesses, scattered like remnants of a life that no longer exists.

Tears streak down your cheeks as you step forward, each footfall heavy with ghosts.

Dewydd and you dance through the remnants of the Fall Festival, your laughter twirling between the ruins like autumn leaves. The festival had once made the town square almost beautiful—lanterns casting golden light against the cold, music drowning out the ever-present hunger in your bellies. But now, the echoes of your joy only deepen the hollowness inside you. That night was his last Fall Festival, and you hadn’t known. Hadn’t cherished it enough.

You pass the half-standing remains of the mayor’s house, and specters of Fiza and you flit by in your periphery, your breathless giggles carried away by the wind. You were just children, running through the streets of a district that had already doomed you, too naive to understand how cruel the world would be.

The merchant section appears next—once untouchable, a world of goods you could never afford. Fiza, Dewydd, and you used to press your noses against the shop windows, dreaming of stepping inside, of running your fingers over silks and pastries and gold-tipped fountain pens. Now, those once-grand storefronts are nothing but scorched skeletons, their vibrant colors reduced to soot-streaked debris. The dreams you had here are as dead as the district itself.

You force your feet toward the Seam, bracing yourself for the devastation you know awaits you. But nothing could have prepared you for this.

Fiza’s house, or what’s left of it, is the first thing you see. A single doorway beam stands defiantly against the wreckage, a marker for a home that no longer exists. Your fingers graze its surface, splintered wood biting into your skin, and suddenly you can’t breathe. A sob rips free from your throat, shaking you to your core.

Then you see them.

The charred skeletons of a family, their bodies half-buried beneath the rubble of their home. Your stomach lurches, bile rising fast, and you stagger away just in time to vomit onto the broken earth. The acrid taste burns your throat, but you barely notice—you can only stare at the bodies.

You keep moving, though your legs tremble beneath you. The deeper you go, the worse it gets. More bodies. More homes turned to dust. Your cries dissolve into the wind, lost in the sea of death that stretches before you.

You find Dewydd’s house.

His parents are still inside, their bodies burned but unmistakably entwined, wrapped in each other’s arms in the remnants of their bedroom. Your breath catches, your stomach twists violently, and you clap a hand over your mouth as another wave of nausea surges through you. You tear your gaze away, but the image is seared into your brain.

Then, your house.

The second your eyes land on it, your body betrays you, and you retch onto the ground, emptying what little is left inside you. The foundation is all that remains, a shattered skeleton of a place that never felt like home.

You take a step forward, then another, but your knees buckle the moment your feet touch the foundation. Shards of glass and jagged stone slice into your skin, but you barely feel it. Your mother’s voice rises in your head, a low whisper at first, growing louder with every breath until it drowns out everything else.

Useless. Pathetic. A burden.

The words scrape against your skull like rusted nails, twisting and warping until they are all you can hear. Your eyes land on a hand protruding from beneath a massive slab of cement, fingers curled slightly, frozen in time.

You don’t know when you stand. You don’t know when you start running.

All you know is that her voice follows you, chasing you through the ruins of the Seam, its venom echoing off the broken walls. Your foot catches on a loose rock, nearly sending you sprawling, but you manage to keep going.

Your lungs burn. Your ribs ache.

You only stop running when the echoes finally fade.

When you finally stop running, you double over, bracing your hands against your thighs as you struggle to catch your breath. Your lungs burn, your ribs ache, and your entire body trembles from exhaustion. For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart in your ears.

Then, silence.

As your breathing evens out, your eyes drift upward—and you freeze.

The Victor’s Village stands just ahead, untouched by the destruction that swallowed the rest of District 12. A chill seeps into your bones.

Every house is pristine, their exteriors unscathed, their windows gleaming as if the fires of war never reached them. It feels wrong, like a cruel illusion amidst the ruins. While everything else has crumbled to dust, this piece of the Capitol implanted into District 12 remains eerily whole.

You take a step forward. Then another.

A flicker of light in one of the houses catches your attention. Your brows knit together as you inch closer, your fingers hesitantly curling around the gate’s handle. You push it open, wincing as the rusted hinges screech through the stillness. The manicured lawns and cobblestone paths feel like relics from another world, a world where people lived in comfort while the rest of you starved. You barely notice the front door of the illuminated house swinging open—until a voice startles you.

Next Part

[cheriladycl01]

No because that hurt me! Lando Norris x Girlfriend! Reader Part 2

Plot: Lando goes one step too far ...

As you'd promised you'd gone straight back to London, you thrown yourself into your work. You spent the days on the construction sight for the new house you were flipping, overseeing the progress. You spent the evenings in the studio working on more plans for the interior of the house.

But you did miss him, of course you missed him.

He was your person ...

Your guy...

The love of your life.

In the time that you'd come home however, videos had surfaced, many videos had surfaced...

The first was of you and Lando in the club, someone from a table across from the one your friends had been sat in showed how Lando had acted towards you and how his friends had tried to back you up. The next was of you running up to Alex, begging for a lift.

Afterwards, videos were leaked of the rest of Lando's night where he celebrated his win, by dancing with his friends and random girls that were being pulled into the big group. Nothing scandalous but enough to upset the fans who really liked you.

Later on, after the first few videos came out a video came out of Max Fewtrell and him arguing before him and Pietra left. Max actually pushed him a little and lots of hand gestures were flying round, but Lando looked just as angry as Max did.

Normally when you were in London, people knew they'd get content on your Instagram stories of you doing what you do best. People had suggested you to start a YouTube because your live's and reels were so funny that they'd definitely spend the time watching.

But you'd been dark since the argument with Lando and people were getting worried including Lando. So when you posted a titkok with your team, in the trend that AstonMartin did where the camera is up high above and you all do funny things, the media went crazy.

You then posted a video on instagram talking about the new house and the progress that was coming on.

"Hey guys! Y/N here! Just wanted to show you how the latest project is coming on. We've torn down the living room and put all new flooring in, which actually has built in underfloor heating which i think here in the UK is a real money move. We're going to hook it all up to a central network from the hallway as you walk in, which we finally finished the painting for that last week" you pan showing the round the areas you'd been talking about.

You showed you and one of the girls tearing down the kitchen.

Captioned 'Best Part of the Job, Free Rage Room', which is how you'd always referred to the demolition phase of house flipping. People on twitter of course took it out of context and rumors started flying that you and Lando had in fact called it splits, even one of those WAG update pages 'confirming' the breakup from close sources.

You'd found it laughable really, but you knew it would be hurting Lando, and no matter how much he hurt you ... you weren't a bitter person. You didn't want him hurting as well.

You were sat in your studio at your desk, sketching for the garden. The pen was currently in your mouth, sat back debating whether you should reach out to Lando or wait for him to come to you.

It had been three weeks at this point with no communication. You'd spoken to Lando's family, who had talked with you about everything that had happened. Cisca and Adam had apologized for their sons behavior.

As you were about to pick up your phone, caving in to messaging Lando first when you swore you wouldn't on knock on your wooden studio door sounds.

You frown, wondering who on earth would be coming to you at this time of the night. You weren't even open, office hours were long over. It was about 11pm, so your clients knew you weren't taking calls even though you were still here and working with a light on.

You open the door, bolt and latch on for added protection.

"Lando?" you ask seeing the curly haired boy, hoodie up and his eyes looking more tired than you'd ever seen them.

"You want to open up and let me in baby?" he asks softly, a slight crack to his voice.

"I was just about to call you" you admit, unlatching the door so it swings open fully. He stops just under the arch of the door observing you. It was like he was having a small inward debate with himself.

"Gonna cave coz you miss me?" he jokes, testing the waters. He didn't know how you were now that you'd have some time apart. He was hopeful that he could talk to you again and fix what had happened.

"Honestly yeah. I hate you and how much of a hold you have on me" you admit, leaning back into your chair directing him to the sofa.

"I came here, to say I'm sorry and that I was horrible to you. And I know it's not excuse but I want to explain what happened. In full... I think you deserve more than an explanation... but I think you need one for if we are ever going to go back to what we were" he sighs. He leans forward and takes your hand into his.

He explains how, after the race people told him you'd said you were leaving the race track. So he went to the hotel to find you, only for you not to be there, Max came round and said you were probably getting ready with the girls as P had told him you were all gonna meet them there.

"I didn't think this was too out of the ordinary for you, your especially close with P and Lily, and it wouldn't shock me if Kelly and Kika would drag you all into a girl pre-club party in their hotel room..." he laughs knowing that normally you and P would do each other's makeup when Max and her came to race weekends. Or you and Lily would switch outfit's loving to venture into each other's styles.

When he got to the club and no-one had seen you, and Pierre and Charles had come up to him with celebratory shots, he hadn't declined.

"The shots were the start of what slowly just went downhill, I don't think i ever want to drink that much again, I was so happy at the start" he laughs flushing red and the thought of him knocking back shots, which was rare considering he didn't like to drink. He wouldn't be doing it anytime soon that was for sure.

"You deserved to celebrate though baby, don't make it seem like you shouldn't have had a fun night" you admit, both of you were being open and mature adults right now. You were so glad you'd both spent some time apart to think before you fought more, now you were both talking and listening to each other and you couldn't help but think it was beautiful and intimate.

After the three hour mark he was fed up that you hadn't bothered to show up at such an important night for him. Talking to Charles and Pierre who were also drunk, weren't the best influences on suggesting places you could be. All of them being ones his drunk mind could picture vividly, his sober mind would have known his girl would never dream of doing that to him.

"Charles said some things and I know sober me would have known you wouldn't do that, but i was already angry thinking you'd just ditched me. I shouldn't have drunk as much and I know its no excuse... but" he starts and you nod.

"The main thing is you know how you would have acted. Yes you upset me, yes your hurt me because you said some horrible things to me..."

"Yeah, I've heard the video and It wasn't my intention to embarrass you the way I did, especially in front of our friends. I'm so so sorry!" he admits.

The other group, had tried to convince him that maybe you'd just got held up and thats where Oscar, Lily, Max and P had all messaged you.

"Baby, I'm so so sorry that i wasn't there for you after what happened!" he says tears in his eyes. This would forever be one of his biggest regrets in life, not being there for you when you needed him.

"How did you find out?" you gulp, not really wanting to think about what could have happened that night if it wasn't for the Mclaren Mechanics.

"Well, after having a scolding from Oscar, and Max, and Alex, and Zac... the mechanics also threatened to botch my pit stops. So i listened to what they did for you"

"Mmmm it was scary. All i wanted was you" you nod, rubbing a thumb across his hand.

"I'm so so sorry, I promised you that i'd protect you always. And I've failed!" he says with a little snivel and tears brimming his eyes.

"You've not failed, you just made a mistake, there's been some miscommunication and Charles and Pierre didn't help with their boyish meddling but ... we'll get there" you smile before pulling closer to him and nuzzling into his neck breathing in his sent.

"Do you think you'll ever forgive me?" he asks softly pulling you back so he can fully look at you.

"I already have, darling" you smile.

"What did i ever do to deserve you, I don't think i do" he smiles.

"Hmmmm, well I think the historians will argue one day its me who didn't deserve you" you sigh, brushing some of his hair back.

"I doubt that" he scoffs, knowing that when you first started dating, even with your lack of status people still thought you were too kind, too sweet and too innocent for someone as jokey and brash as Lando was seen to be.

"I've never had anyone treat me the way you do, I'm so so in love with you. And I don't ever want the feelings I have when i think of you and see you to stop. I feel like i can do anything when i have you by my side. Why do you think the first person i seeked out was you?" you offer, softly leaning in and placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.

You guys, talked more that night. About how you actually had fun helping the Mclaren boys pack up, regardless if you thought Lando had forgotten about you.

A week later and the media had picked up on the sighting the paps had got of both of you. Some fans had seen you both at a restaurant and make posts on it.

The comments bashed you either way, being between saying how silly you were for taking him back or the others saying they were upset you were back. It got to the point where you had to release a statement saying that you and Lando, are grown adults who can talk through the miscommunication and issues you'd experienced and were better for it now.

"I love you so much, and I'm never ever ever acting up like that again" he says as you help him do up his fire suit for the race you were currently at with him.

"I love you too, now go out and get another win for me baby so we can celebrate properly this time" you smile, kissing him before Jon comes forward asking for Lando's presence in the front of the garage.

A/N: I hope you guys think this did the first part justice as so many people requested a Part 2, so I'm really scared that this hasn't done it justice! If you want a rewrite with something better... something longer where its more of a series. Or where it goes the opposite way and it takes her longer to forgive him let me know. I just thought that Y/N and Lando in this one specifically would be the type to maturely talk about things!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo

People requesting for just this part...

@christianpulisic10 @ilovechickenwings @basicallyric @runs-with-sciss0rs @dreamerrosie @eviethetheatrefreak @luv4kani @randomgirlnumber-13 @simpingcorner @c3ndr1n3 @bibissparkles @littlehoneyfreak @80sloverry @xjval @de1u1ugyal @meadhbhcavanagh @solphin @devotedleycrookeddonut @gg-trini @urfavnoirette @manuosorioh @angelbunny222 @randaaz @nvi111 @allabouthappiness @loloekie @error1190 @itsprashimusic @goldenharrysworld @glitterf1

[tarohugs]

how you find out they cheated (nct dream)

►ot7 x reader

► light angst, toxic dreamies, some tears shed

►a/n this def isn't my best work and i will prob update in the future if i feel the need. please enjoy and lmk if you did! also requests are open~~

MARK -  dispatch

You were aware dispatch was known for being full of shit but something in your heart told you this didn’t fall into that category. With Mark being a famous idol, it was common for his face to appear on your feed. Typically it was just fans acknowledging their admiration and support for him - however, this was different. 

“Mark Lee spotted with female idol at restaurant.” 

You had to admit, he fooled you. When you read the title you didn’t know how to comprehend it. How should you even approach him?

You debated on whether to confront him but given how furious you were, it was best to do so at another time. There was still the possibility that your lover, now ex-lover, was being defamed by the media. Mark had always told you not to believe the outlet and come straight to him. You knew he would be mad if you got pent up over the post so easily. 

Something in your mind hoped that the news was false and would fade away like any fake drama. But when you heard the *ding*  of your phone, you knew something was off.

spiderboy <3: y/n

spiderboy <3: i fucked up

When you read the text, your world crashed and burned. The boy you once spent every lingering moment with was now no one to you. Every morning he greeted you graciously with his gorgeous face and hoarse voice. Now it was all for another girl. 

RENJUN - he tells you

Throughout all the years you had been with Renjun, you two had gained mutual trust and learned to be as clear as water with each other. The bond you shared went far beyond any other relationship you had ever been in. You had learned to be honest with each other and voice all your concerns. 

Loving Renjun was easy and mindless. You were never worried about him staying out late at night, hiding his phone, or knowing who he was hanging out with, because you trusted him. The trust between you two couldn’t be reciprocated between any other person.

You knew Renjun, so when he began shielding himself from you, you immediately addressed your worry for the boy. “Renjunie,” you asked late at night by his side, “is there something going on?”

He stared at you, sitting with his back against the headboard. His eyes began to water as your question settled in. “W-well, you know I’ve always been honest with you, but there’s something I’ve yet to tell you.”

Knowing Renjun’s past with anxiety, you immediately assumed it must have been connected. “Oh, my love, you don’t have to feel bad for not being upfront about your emotions.”

“No Y/N, it’s not that,” he looked away from you, the eye contact making him nervous.

You began to get worried, “then what could it be?”

He couldn’t even look at you when he admitted, guilt clouding his mind. “I cheated.”

JENO - at a party

Jeno wasn’t a party person so seeing him at your monthly college outing shocked you. You were ready to greet him and question why he was here. You were certain he was here to surprise you but when you saw his arms wrapped around another girl's waist, you began to think otherwise.

In an eager fit to disrupt his cheating session, you approached him without caution. “Jeno?” you questioned. Tears slowly began to drip down your face as reality dawned on you. 

He snapped his head in your direction with an annoyed look on his face, quickly removing himself from the unknown girl, nudging her to go away.  “Baby, what are you doing here?”

“I go here,” you replied bluntly, the pet name only adding to your frustration.

“You know I told you to tell me when you go out. If I didn’t know any better I would think you're starting to lose your trust in me.”

You couldn’t even begin to process what Jeno said. Was he really doing this right now? Words didn’t even leave your mouth to express your anger. The once sweet boy you knew now meant nothing to you. Did he not even care to address the elephant in the room? 

Without even trying to confront him for his behavior you are left with nothing to say. He didn’t even make an attempt to run after you. Years spent with the boy now turned to ashes as he threw away what you once had. When you confronted him when you were more sober, he still made no effort to amend your relationship. Jeno was now just a stranger.

HAECHAN - text messages

Something about Haechan had been off recently. He was your loving and carefree boyfriend, always making sure to inform you of his day and every thought he had of you. The once sweet gesture slowly began to diminish day by day. You couldn’t think of any reason for his behavior so you resorted to the extreme. 

You both shared your passwords knowing you had “nothing to hide.” How far that was from the truth. Although you had open access to his phone, you were reluctant to look through it. You weren’t scared of what he may have thought of your actions but it was more so the dread that you feared.

Even though you knew what you may find would ruin your relationship, you had to do it. Luckily for you, you didn’t even have to try very hard. Haechan had just gone to the bathroom, leaving his phone next to you on the bed. No more than a few seconds after he had gotten up, you had noticed a notification appearing on his phone from “her.” 

her: she home tn?

her: we haven’t hung out in sooooo long :(

You wanted to believe your eyes deceived you but when you unlocked his phone, your suspicions were confirmed. Months worth of text messages had gone back and forth between Haechan and the mysterious girl. When you heard the door of the bathroom unlock and his footsteps begin to inch closer, you didn’t move, you were defeated. 

“Baby, what’s got you distracted?” he asked, assuming you were playing a game on his phone.

Words didn’t leave your mouth, but your tears explained everything to him as he saw the screen of his unlocked device.

JAEMIN - finding her clothes

You and Jaemin had just moved in together, marking the beginning of a new step in your relationship. After completing another year of college, you decided it was about time to move out of your run-down dorm. You had expressed your need for a change in scenery to Jaemin to which he graciously offered you his place to stay.

You had spent quite a lot of time at his place as your dorm was compact and your roommate never seemed to leave. His apartment was already home to you and the move felt natural.

He had never made an effort to confine his house to you, but when you moved in he began to be more controlling of his belongings. Although this should have struck a nerve, his actions seemed to be out of kind-heartedness as his main reasons were “I don’t need you cleaning my messes, I can handle it myself.”

Although Jaemin had strictly told you not to do so, you decided to do his laundry while he was at practice. With him being so kind to offer you somewhere to stay, you wanted to repay him. You weren’t worried he would get mad at you since the gesture was more of a “thank you.”

What you didn’t know is that the underwear of his mistress would be sitting in his hamper. “What the fuck, this isn’t mine,” you screamed as you came across the hosiery. And like clockwork, Jaemin arrived just as you discovered his darkest secret.

“Baby, what are you doing? You know I told you not to touch my stuff.”

Anger began to cloud your vision, months of love falling to an end over the boys impure needs. You didn’t even reply to him, immediately making way to pack your things. With no thought in mind where to stay, you knew you needed to leave. “Don’t bother trying to find me Jaemin, we’re nothing.”

CHENLE - mutual friends

You had met Chenle during one of your weekly hangouts with your friends. He was one of the most gorgeous men you had ever seen and he, without a doubt, felt the same way about you. Your friends had acknowledged the chemistry you two shared and continued to tease you for endless nights until you finally confessed.

Now, 3 months later, you're in a happy relationship with him and couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend. He never failed to treat you and cherish your love for him. You had become the mom and dad duo of the friend group and would constantly be nagged about your absurd amount of affection for each other. 

Knowing everyone approved of him brought happiness to your heart. After being cheated on in your last relationship, your friends warned you they had sensed it from the beginning. Chenle was different and they knew that too, but one night their whole demeanor on him changed.

“Heyyyyy,” you greeted your friends at the cafe they instructed you to meet at, immediately noticing Chenle was nowhere in sight.

“Y/n, we have some news,” your best friend, Yuna, said with a tinge of stress in her voice. She gestured for you to sit in the chair next to her, warning you this was going to be a tough conversation.

For the years you had known Yuna, she was never the one to have such deep conversations. You two were constantly joking and never failing to make the other laugh. The last time you had such an intense interaction was when you had found out your ex had cheated on you…

You began to piece the situation together.  Eric, the boy who sat next to you, began to show you a conversation between him and Chenle about his infidelity. “It can’t be true,” tears began to form. Your friends didn’t want to argue with you, instead offering you the solace of silence. 

JISUNG - during a live

🔴박지성 started their LIVE: jakdfef

“Weird,” you thought to yourself, immediately clicking on the notification. Jisung had told you he was going out tonight to practice for Dream’s upcoming performance. It was weird, you had to admit, that he would be out so late at night, but you knew idol life was full of surprises. However, there was no reason for him to livestream at such an ungodly hour. 

When you clicked on the live, the screen was filled with black. Tons of comments were filling the screen, questioning what he was doing so late at night. Jisung made no effort to try and fix the technological issues as you heard his voice in the background. 

After a couple of seconds of the live, you began to hear a woman’s voice in the background. Jisung had never mentioned having a female manager let alone any staff member. Questions continued dropping in the comments as fans were beginning to believe Jisung had accidentally started the live. 

You happened to catch one of the comments being Haechan’s, “ahh poor jisungie started a live on accident.” The live didn’t go on for longer than 3 minutes before Jisung had realized his mistake.

But wait, if Haechan wasn’t with Jisung, where was he? You put together all the clues, Jisung was with a girl. A girl that he didn’t care to mention to you and lied to you about seeing. Park Jisung had cheated.

[scriptfree]

Alright finally! I have these pages out!

I've been excited to post these pages for a long time and hope you all like them! Man! Working on a comic is hard and I spent so long trying to be satisfied with how consistent the style and rendering is but it's finally in a place where I feel it's alright.

I hope you enjoy and I have a few more rough chapters coming out. The chapters come as I have time and I will be moving within the month so I wanted to put this out there before I have no time to even pick up a pencil.

Please give me feedback, I would appreciate it.

And I also need some extra support for commissions so I would appreciate some help spreading the word around! I still have the reduced prices and am willing to negotiate prices depending on the project.

Anyways, it's 3am here so I should sleep. Have a good night/morning wherever you are!

Edit:

I just really liked this other version of page 6 so I'll put it down here below the bar. I had a serious debate whether or not I should use this one but decided against it since the other one showed more detail. But this one somehow makes the villain look more epic or powerful. I dunno.

[mariasont]

HEAR ME OUT!

post prison Spencer and shy!reader bonding over being total nerds. Books, shows... you name it

Bookstore Physics - S.R

summary: spencer suggests you should compare moral biases more often. you think he's making a philosophical point. he thinks he just asked you on a date

pairings: post!prison spencer reid x shy!medialiaison!reader

warnings: fluff, second hand embarrassment im sure, philosophical debates that are probably wrong bc i had to google and i know hardly knowing about mr kant, existential crisis but make it romantic, post prison reid, shy reader, prolonged eye contact

wc: 1.6k

a/n: thanks for requesting my lovely! happy superbowl to those who celebrate! go birds!

You were so close. Just one more inch, and your fingertips would finally graze the spine of the book that had been taunting you from its impossibly high perch. 

Rising to your tiptoes, you reached with all the reckless confidence of someone who had severely underestimated basic physics. The shelf wobbled under your grip, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and in that split second, you were faced with a terrifying possibility that you were about to take out the entire bookshelf, along with your dignity.

Something grabbed ahold of you, steadying you before you could faceplant directly into a pile of literary fiction. 

You went completely rigid. Because that wasn't just something. That was a Spencer Reid hand, long fingers, warm palm, and a freakishly strong grip for a man who treated physical exertion like a concept rather than a practice.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Reid," you blurted, the words tumbling out clumsy and unpolished, as if your tongue had forgotten how to function. You winced instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Spencer didn't answer right away. His grip on your arm slackened, but he didn't step away, didn't even give you an inch of space, like he had no intention of letting you breathe properly.

Oh, that's fine. Air is overrated anyway.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated as if he were genuinely considering the question, but you knew better.

His expression hovered somewhere between pity and uncontained glee, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

Your lips parted, but your mind refused to cooperate, stuck on an endless loop of oh my god, did you actually just say that?

To Spencer Reid. The same Spencer who had, on multiple occasions, resorted to scribbling entire paragraphs on the back of receipts and once, when truly desperate, his own wrist. Spencer, who physically flinched at the sound of a cracked spine and once spent seventeen uninterrupted minutes explaining the significance of marginalia. Spencer who read like breathing and talked about prose like it was something alive.

And you, a person allegedly with working cognitive abilities, had just asked him what he was doing in a bookstore.

You opened your mouth, whether to correct yourself or just inhale enough oxygen to function again, you weren't sure, but before you could, Spencer, with precisely zero struggle, reached up and plucked the book from the shelf like it had been placed there specifically for him. 

"You should've asked for help," he murmured, and oh, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

"I-I had it under control."

One brow arched, unimpressed.

"Sure you did," he mused, lips twitching like they couldn’t quite decide whether to commit to a smirk. "Although, considering that 20% of bookstore-related injuries stem from ill-advised attempts at reaching high shelves, you were probably just one statistic away from a minor concussion."

You narrowed your eyes. "That's not — there's no way that's a real statistic."

Spencer barely reacted, flipping open the book with the same casual disinterest of someone checking the sky for clouds, except this wasn't a change in barometric pressure, and you were positive your entire nervous system had just gone into meltdown mode.

Your face burned, heat creeping up your spine and flooding through you veins at an alarming speed, and — oh, no — you had officially run out of places to look that weren't him.

And he (unfortunately) made such an easy focal point.

His shirt was rumpled like he'd spent the whole day forgetting to sit properly and a barely-there ink smudge kissed the edge of his palm, the kind only noticeable if you were close. His hair was at war with itself, some strands curling forward rebelliously against the collar of his cardigan, others falling forward, brushing the edge of his cheek.

He didn't glance up as he murmured, "Philosophy?"

The words barely had time to settle before your brain supplied an immediate translation: he was about to analyze you.

You could practically hear the gears turning, the internal mechanisms of his brain whirring at a speed that actually did defy physics. If you concentrated hard enough, you might've been able to hear the faint whir of neurons firing, piecing together a framework of analysis that was surely seconds away from being spoken into existence. He was surely already forming a hypothesis, already constructing some impossibly insightful revelation about what this particular title said about you, your worldview, your subconscious motivations.

"Well, yeah, that one," you said quickly, the words tripping over each other. “I mean, it’s not real philosophy — well, obviously, it is, but not in the way you would define foundational philosophy, but it still presents some really interesting moral dilemmas, and the writing is surprisingly digestible considering the subject matter is so —”

You clamped your mouth shut so fast it was a wonder your teeth didn’t rattle.

What were you even saying?

"Um — yeah. Philosophy. Or... something like that."

Spencer's lips twitched, and then, in a move so profoundly unsettling, he smiled.

Not just any smile, either. A real one. The kind that didn't just curve his mouth but softened him entirely, the corners tugging upward, a barely there dimple surfacing at his cheek. 

It hit you like a perfectly aimed dart —sharp, direct, and entirely crushing. Something fluttered wildly in your chest, light enough to feel stupid, but heavy enough to be a problem.

Then, still smiling, he tilted his head, leaning in just enough to invade your space, his voice dipping like he was handing you something fragile.

"I didn't take you for the existentialist type."

Your first instinct is to argue, to insist that you're far too well-rounded, too multifaceted, too impossible to be pinned down by a single school of thought. But before you can even begin to string words together, Spencer tilts his head just a little more, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that feels dangerously close to that same expression of analyzing once again.

And suddenly, you need to redirect this conversation, desperately, urgently, before your body betrays you, before you start visibly sweating or keel over like a fainting goat. Neither feels like an optimal outcome.

"I — I mean... I could say the same about you."

His lips quirk. "Interesting. And why's that?"

"I don't know. I always assumed you'd be more of a rationalist? Like, Descartes' methodical doubt feels like something you'd respect, and even Kant's categorical imperative, although that's more deontological ethics than strict rationalism, kind of aligns with the way you view morality and decision-making, and —"

You stop. Blink.

Oh no. You’re heavily invested in this man’s philosophical alignment.

You purse your lips, clearing your throat like that’ll erase the absurd level of thought you’ve just admitted to having.

"I mean, I'm probably way off."

Spencer flips the book closed, considering.

"I supposed you could argue I lean toward rationalism," he allows. "But morality is messy. Kant insists on universal law, and let's be real, most people abandon objectivity the second emotions get involved."

He glances at you then, a shift so small it shouldn't feel significant, but somehow, it does.

“For instance, we all make exceptions. We justify things we probably shouldn’t. Sometimes we prioritize people in ways that defy reason.”

His lips twitch. 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Well, yeah,” you say, caught up in the current of the conversation before you even realize you’ve been swept away. “People make emotional calculations constantly. Even when they claim objectivity, their decisions are shaped by personal attachments.”

The thought unspools too easily, words tumbling forward, carried by momentum.

“And it’s not just morality, it’s cognition in general. Have you read Jonathan Haidt’s work on moral intuitionism? He argues that people make moral judgments first based on instinct, and then rationalize them after the fact.”

You glance up, expecting a rapid-fire counterargument, some impossibly well-structured debate. But Spencer is just watching you.

"So what about you?" he asks suddenly. "Would you say you make exceptions?"

You pause.

"I mean… yeah? I guess I do. Everyone does, right? If someone I care about does something morally questionable, I’d probably be more inclined to defend them than if it were a stranger. I mean, that’s just human nature."

Then shrug. 

"But that doesn’t mean I’m being hypocritical," you add quickly, as if you just realized how that sounded. "I think there’s a difference between conscious favoritism and subconscious moral bias. It’s not like I have a specific person I’d automatically justify no matter what."

Spencer exhales. "I think you're more consistent than you realize."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, lifting the book in his hands, fingers drumming idly against the cover. “You try so hard to rationalize your emotions. But I think, if it came down to it, you’d make an exception for someone. Just one.”

Your stomach knots, and it's humiliating how obvious you must be. You can feel your pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your temples, like your entire body is broadcasting, Hey, Spencer Reid is making you malfunction because he somehow sees right through you, somebody send help.

“I — well, I mean —”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.”

But something about the way he says it makes you not relax at all. And before you can scramble for some kind of coherent response, he nods toward your book.

“You should get that one,” he says lightly, handing you back the book. “I’d love to hear your take on it next time.”

You freeze. Next time?

Oh. Oh no. The words settle over you like an ill-timed realization, and your brain is running the math like you're about to file a report on your own social incompetence. Next time implies... a prior time, a recurring time, a pattern of times. Next time implies he assumes there will be a next time. 

And you assume that he assumes that you are the kind of person who could logically expect another bookstore trip with Spencer Reid as if that's just a thing that happens in your life. Which is absurd.

Your fingers tighten around the book, like holding onto an overpriced paperback will somehow restore balance to your rapidly deteriorating world. Your pulse is a problem and your ability to think critically is a casualty. 

You scramble for something, anything, to say, but before your brain can reboot, Spencer is already moving. 

Then just as he disappears into the next aisle, he tosses one final parting shot of his shoulder —

"See you soon, then."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[moonlight-alexia]

sliding into something real | c.f.

caitlin foord x kerr!reader | 1.1k | 'from slide tackling me to sliding in my dms,' + ‘being with you feels like coming home,’

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘I thought you two would have your shit together by now,’ A, slightly tipsy, Sam leaned on the table next to Caitlin. You had skipped the pre planned night out after how the match had gone beforehand. Losing a London derby to Arsenal was always going to sour your mood, especially when the person responsible for disrupting your last big chance to at least get the equaliser would be there.

You and Caitlin had mutual crushes on each other, but it had never been anything more than that. Or at least neither of you let it be anything more, you both didn’t even realise that the crush each of you had was mutual. Though it didn’t mean that the longing looks you both gave and the way you’d seek out each other's comfort, especially during national camp, didn’t go unnoticed. 

Sam, who frustratingly knows you better than you know yourself, picked up on the mutual feelings her best friend and younger sister had for each other. You’d skipped the night out and now Caitlin had been caught by your older sister, looking through your old instagram posts and debating on whether she should send you a message.

‘What do you mean?’ Caitlin tried to hide her phone away when she realised who was next to her, but she knew Sam had already seen anyway.

‘Just send her a message,’ Caitlin gave Sam a look, wanting to make sure that she was definitely okay with it. Sam being the main reason Caitlin had been holding back from acting on her feelings towards you, not wanting to cross any boundaries or lose an important friendship with your older sister. Sam rolled her eyes, ‘There’s only so much more I can take when she gets all pouty after showing her a picture of you smiling next to literally anyone else. Don’t get me wrong though, you better treat her well or you will have me to deal with,’ 

Sam left Caitlin to dwell on whether she actually would message you or not. Though she had a little confidence boost knowing your sister would be okay with it. She’d spent too many nights thinking about you and what it would be like to be with you, maybe she could make it actually happen instead of just thinking about it.

I thought you were unstoppable, or do you just like falling at my feet?

You half groaned when the message from Caitlin came through, reminding you of the match earlier, but you felt your heart race when you saw her name on your phone screen. Your cheeks heated up and you bit your lower lip trying to stop the grin that wanted to spread across your face. You felt like a teenager all over, smiling and kicking your feet while your crush was actually talking to you.

From slide tackling me to sliding in my dms.

Very smooth Cait.

Caitlin looked up from her phone, making sure no one was around to see the smile that wasn’t leaving her face any time soon. She’d surely be teased and everyone would try to see who she was texting. So she was thankful everyone else was preoccupied and she could focus on you. 

Smooth just like my tackle.

You rolled your eyes, but laughed a little anyway. It wasn’t often that Caitlin ever had the chance to make a tackle like that on you. Normally not playing near each other on the pitch. 

Keep that up and maybe you won’t get the chance to come here.

Somewhere you got the confidence, sending a bold and kind of risky message, especially considering you’d never really talked to each other like this before. Some conversations border lined it, but you both always stopped before implying something else.

Are you inviting me over?

Caitlin, already thinking of an excuse to leave the night early, not that any of the others would really notice if she left or not. 

Would you like to come over?

‘Thank god,’ were the first words out of your older sister’s mouth when you told her you and Caitlin had gotten together, a few months after those texts which led Caitlin to spending the night and the two of you talking and enjoying each other's company for that entire night and next day. Leading on to more talking and eventual official dates.

Sam ended up being you and Caitlin’s biggest supporter in your relationship. She also liked to take credit for the two of you actually getting your shit together, as she likes to say, and finally becoming official. Even if you did get endless teasing from your teammates when they found out, for going soft for an Arsenal player.

You waved up from the pitch where Caitlin and Sam were sitting. Arsenal had played the day before so she was able to make it to yours to support you. It was nice for you to look up and see your girlfriend sitting in the stands. You’d made a compromise and she would wear one of your Australia jerseys whenever she came to support you and you’d do the same whenever you found yourself at an Arsenal match for her.

As soon as the final whistle sounded, your hands went to your face as you let out a sigh of frustration. You’d not played your best, neither had your team, and Chelsea ended up dropping points to a club you shouldn’t be dropping points to. From the stands Caitlin could tell how hard the match had been for you. Wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around you and tell you not to worry too much about everything that happened.

Finally you made your way through the stands towards your girlfriend. Sam had already come down, giving you a little hug before pushing you towards where Caitlin was, knowing who you really needed right now.

‘Hey,’ Your voice was small, exhaustion evident on your face. Caitlin reached out, grabbing a hold of your hand before pulling you onto her lap. You laid your head against her shoulder looking up at her, small, tired smile on your face, ‘Thank you for being here. Sorry I couldn’t play better,’

Caitlin frowned a little, wrapping her arms around you a little bit tighter, ‘You always play well and baby you know I love watching you play, even if you’re wearing the wrong colour,’ Caitlin trying to lighten your mood a little, you let out a small chuckle. The two of you always ‘fighting’ over which club was better. Caitlin leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, then each of your temples, a little one on your nose and peppering kisses all over your cheeks. Your smile widened and you cuddled further into her, turning your head when she went to kiss your cheek so she’d kiss your lips instead. 

‘Being with you feels like coming home,’ You laid your hand on top of where Caitlin’s were resting against your waist. Even after a match that wasn’t an ideal result, you had the comfort of your girlfriend you could come home to. When you were with Caitlin not much else mattered.

[deadhands69]

Cute When You Stutter

loser!Shigaraki x gn/afab Reader

prev ◁ part 5 (final)

[series masterlist]

The league headquarters are quiet tonight, almost too quiet. Everyone has plans for Valentine’s day. Toga is out with her girlfriend. Dabi is doing whatever Dabi usually does at night. Even Spinner managed to score a date with his cute discord friend. 

Well, almost everyone has Valentine’s plans. Not you. Posting so many pictures with your boss, pretending to date him, then burning every bridge you know absolutely cemented your lack of a date or even friend hangout this year. 

Even Shigaraki has been pretty quiet tonight, making almost no noise in his room and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know what he’s doing in there. You’re almost certain he doesn’t have a date either though because you’ve never seen him voluntarily talk to anyone outside of the league. You also left a massive hickey on his neck two days ago which may be a slight deterrent for some people (Toga later asked you if you did this on purpose to keep Tomura to yourself, but admittedly you were just drunk and weren’t thinking that far ahead.)

Maybe it’s boredom or loneliness from being in your room alone all day, but you decide to see what he’s up to. Knocking a few more times than you normally would, you yell out “hey, it’s me,” before making your way into his room.

“Hey,” you walk in to find him on the floor surrounded in legos, sorted by color. “Want some help?”

He debates for a moment before nodding and handing you one of the instruction sheets. You sit quietly in the space next to him, glad for the company. 

“Thanks for hanging out tonight,” you say, pulling a few pieces from the red pile.

“Mmmhm.”

He turns to you with one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Hugging you. Is that okay?” You can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be, considering that he let you sit on his face yesterday. 

“Yeah, it’s just different,” he mumbles into your shoulder, “usually you only get close when you want something or you’re messing with me.”

“I’m not messing with you. At least, not always.” 

He pulls back, looking at you incredulously. “Why else would you do stuff like this? I’m not stupid, I know you just like to fuck with me.” 

“Of course I do, you’re cute when you’re flustered. It’s not like I don’t get anything out of it too though.”

Tomura doesn’t respond, busying himself with a few green blocks as the tips of his ears turn pink. 

A few minutes later, your creation begins to take shape.

“Flowers?” you ask, amused. “You don’t really strike me as the type to decorate with lego flowers.”

“They’re not for me,” he mutters in response.

“Oh yeah? Then who are they for?” You realize the answer immediately after the words leave your mouth. You’re the only person he has ever shown interest in, who else would they be for? He bites his lip, blushing profusely as he stares at you. 

“You were making me flowers, even if you thought I only spent time with you as a joke?” 

“Kind of,” he searches for a specific yellow piece before continuing, “I never actually thought I had a chance with you. But seeing everything this week, I figured you probably don’t have anyone else to buy you flowers. And you’re really cool so someone should. Why not me?”

He looks hurt for a moment before focusing hard on getting a piece to fit properly. 

You think back, trying to remember the last time anyone ever bothered to be this nice to you. Yet here he is doing so without any expectations. Spending hours putting together an expensive lego bouquet when he could easily have just bought you cheap gas station flowers or done nothing at all.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, “thanks.”

He smiles at you, subtly scratching his neck. “And you don’t owe me anything for them. Not that I mind everything you’ve been doing, but you don’t have to.”

“No?” you ask, moving a strand of pale blue hair out of his face, “but what if I want to?”

Bringing your lips to his feels natural at this point. You’ve done it so many times now that it’s all you want to do, but it still feels so new to you. He kisses you back with confidence you've only seen him show in battle. You climb onto his lap, legs straddling each side of him.

Your hand slides up his chest, wrapping lightly around his throat. As your thumb brushes over the new scratches, he leans into the touch. Tentatively, you give a little squeeze. He moans. You make a mental note to come back to that sometime. For now, you selfishly want him to last long enough to get yourself off too. 

As the two of you begin to make out more passionately, you drag yourself over his thigh. You're careful not to press too far forward into the tent forming in his pants; remembering how fast he came yesterday. He gets the idea quickly, grabbing your hips with two fingers and a thumb to press you harder into him. Without much contact, he’s already breathing heavily along with you.

You scoot back to pull your shirt off. Slowing down the motion, you watch as his jaw drops at the sight. He fumbles removing his own shirt, decaying it in the process. Like you suspected, he's hot. His baggy clothes covering how toned he is.

“F-fuck,” Tomura mumbles as you slide your shorts off. 

Without wasting time, you find your way back onto his lap. He looks up at you through messy hair, mouth agape and eyelids heavy. You take a second to run your hands over his abs and chest, memorizing the feel of every scratch and scar along the way. When you reach the hem of his sweatpants, you pull them halfway down his thighs along with his underwear. Running your fingers over his length, you give him a few firm strokes. He closes his eyes, hips jumping at your touch. Still grasping him in one hand, you line yourself up and little by little, you lower onto his surprisingly perfect dick. Reaching his base, you pause in amazement. Taking in how how perfectly he fits into you. If you’d known that, you would have stumbled into his room the first time you heard him moan your name while he touched himself at night.

Better late than never though.

As you should have expected, he cums almost immediately. Gripping your hips, his head falls forward as he chokes back a groan. 

“Ah shit,” he pants, “‘m sorry.”

After some reassurance that you take it as a huge compliment, he’s hard again and ready to go.

Once more, you slowly ease your way down him as he stretches you perfectly in the right places. Taking things slow, you lean forward and kiss him. His unruly hair tickles against your nose. He adapts to your slow movements quickly. Since meeting you, he’s gotten better at this, moving his lips gently to dance against yours. 

Emotions flood in, overwhelming you. He’s the grouchiest loser and the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. The symbol of fear who completely melts at the slightest bit of affection from you. His hands destroy everything he touches but you've never felt anything but safe with him. All of the details of Tomura conflict and make sense at the same time, forming into the complex person whimpering sweetly against your lips. 

You rock your hips into his, barely having to move to hit the sweet spot that sends warm tingles through your whole body.

“[y/n], fuck you feel so good,” he whines. 

“This what you imagined every night?” you tease, bouncing faster as your excitement grows.

“B-better,” he gasps. 

He looks so pretty like this. Flushed skin and kiss-swollen lips. He stares up at you with big red eyes, trying desperately not to cum again but you know he’s close.

Fortunately, you are too.

With another snap of your hips, you find yourself crumbling around him. Your movements stutter before slamming down to engulf all of him. This time it’s your turn to grasp his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He lets go at the sight, smashing his face into yours as you both moan into a sloppy kiss. Your breathing slows, you begin to come down, but your lips continue to trace over each other.

“I’ll be right back,” you kiss him again before pressing yourself from the floor to go clean up. You revel in the way he leans wantonly into your every touch, even when he’s on the verge of sleep. 

When you get back to his room, Tomura has collapsed into his bed, passed out from the evening. You’re not far behind. Climbing in next to him, he unconsciously wraps an arm around you.

Laying in his bed surrounded in bags of trash, stray legos, and energy drink cans, you realize you'll have to teach him about cleaning tomorrow.

Through the walls, you listen as everyone slowly trickles in for the night. One by one, they all make their way back to their rooms. 

But not you. 

This time you stay.

↺ series masterlist - bnha masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @kalulakunundrum @jimabbenamara @aryuunachigiri

[sweetkpopmusings]

minghao best friend headcanons <3

a/n: given how SLAY minghao's comeback was, i needed to honor him by posting something. he is an absolute gem, so hopefully these hcs reflect the joy and appreciation minghao brings me :,-) pics not mine <3

content: fluff | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none! | pairing: bestfriend!minghao x gn!reader | requests:open

where to even begin with the AMAZING best friend minghao??

as a best friend, he is ALL heart. super caring, kind, and warm <3

with plenty of sass to balance out all the sappiness

he’s like a wise but playful elder why do i feel like he’d hate me comparing him to an elder…sorry minghao

he simultaneously knows what’s best for you while constantly making things lighthearted through jokes, silly conversations, and nonstop giggling

you’ll always have the time of your LIFE with minghao by your side

he is equal parts joy and peace

friendship with him is the perfect balance of being uplifted and grounded

every time you comment on this aspect of him, he always says it is because of you 

usually you two playfully argue about who is the one making everything so calm and secure until you agree that it is thanks to both of you

minghao finds these little debates endearing because it’s a way for him to express his love and appreciation for you without the tone being too serious

he doesn’t shy away from serious conversations, though

communication is very important to him, and he is always willing to dedicate time and emotional space for you, whether that’s a check-in over the phone or a whole night discussing what’s going on in your lives/relationship

truly, no one could be more attuned to your needs and moods than minghao because he has spent your entire friendship observing you and learning everything there is to know

you, of course, have done the exact same, so you two basically have a special intuition about each other :,-) 

it is incredibly special, and everyone is EXTREMELY jealous of your bond

because you two are naturally a perfect fit AND you both put in the work to keep yourselves aligned with each other

minghao holds himself to high standards of friendship which means that, while he may require a lot of things to be closest friend, he 100% returns the favor and is always working to be his best self with you 

given how much effort he puts into loving and caring for you, he is not afraid to tell you if he thinks other people in your life are not treating you the way you deserve

whether it’s a partner, friend, coworker, etc., minghao will not stand any subpar behavior of those in your life

he knows how valuable you are and refuses to let that be diminished or ignored

he is always, always respectful when he discusses these things with you though

like he is stern sometimes very stubborn but he is so very kind

he loves and cherishes you more than anything, after all <3333

minghao also fully listens if you comment on how other people are treating him

in his eyes, your words should be 100% believed, even if he disagrees with them from time to time

because you of all people know his heart, so who is he to doubt your thoughts and feelings?

at the end of the day, it isn’t about which of you is right. it’s about you two being cared for and safe, and minghao always trusts that you will fight for his safety and wellbeing 

truly, you two are each other’s fiercest protectors

everyone, and i mean EVERYONE, knows that 

no one crosses you, not even to tease you lightly, because minghao will attack them like a guard dog

rip to chan that ONE time he made the mistake of teasing you too much

like he survived but minghao really terrified him to his core LOL

minghao regrets nothing though <3 he’ll do anything for you <3

his members are also jealous of the way he looks at you with such kindness and care

when they complain about it, minghao just glares at them so they give up quickly LMAO

of course, we cannot forget the style and fashion perks of having minghao as your best friend

he is never one to force a specific style on someone else. rather, he supports you in finding and expressing your own style

minghao wants you to feel beautiful and confident 25/8, and he knows that how you dress, do your hair, and adjust your appearance really contributes to a powerful sense of self 

he is down to go through your closet with you, find unique thrifted items, or even take you on shopping sprees for special occasions aka any time he wants to treat you to something special

he also LOVES to give you some of his accessories to borrow and/or keep :,-)

he gets a sense of pride when he sees his influence and personality in your style

to him, it is a reflection that he really is an important person to you

so he makes it a point to intentionally reflect parts of you and your style in how he expresses himself

minghao views it as an act of gratitude for your overall influence on his life

and, admittedly, he ADORES it when you two stand out together

nothing fills him with confidence quite like the way people turn their heads when you two walk by

he also never feels more grounded and energized than when you two are doing wellness activities or self-care together

the first time you two did facemasks together, minghao SWORE his skin had never been so bright

you thought he was being dramatic, but there is something to the happiness you two bring each other :,-)