#needed to put this thought into the world

[saerotonins]

big dick!caleb thoughts

Thinking about big dick!Caleb training your pussy to take every inch of him when the time you’re ready finally comes. 

Him painstakingly stretching your pussy out every other day with his thick fingers, toying your clit so he can easily insert two or three of his fingers when he’s feeling generous enough.

Big dick!Caleb refuses to use any toys because he wants you to feel him and only him, but it was clear to him that you need more stimulation other than his digits (much to his dismay).

The whirring of the vibrator against your clit makes him feel irrationally angry because it should be only him that’s making you feel good. The sinful noises released from your lips should be because of his cock and not some stupid toy. 

Big dick!Caleb who developed jealousy towards the dildo he purchased just to train your pussy to take him so well. The silicone head disappearing into your entrance makes him feel dizzy, wishing it was his cock inside of you. 

You feel his dick twitching from your behind as you settle on his lap as you moan his name, “quit squirming baby, fuuuck, you’re killing me here,” he says as he tries to look for some sort of friction to take care of his raging boner.

Big dick!Caleb who resorted to eating you out while his fingers do their job inside of you, making you come multiple times a night just so he can give you the pleasure you seek while he suffers with his hard-on.

Big dick!Caleb who almost crumbles when you beg him to suck his dick, trying to reciprocate the pleasure he has been giving you for the past few weeks since he can’t possibly imagine how he could fit his whole cock inside of you for the time being.

For your sake, he practices his self-control, saying no to your adorable face because he knows you couldn’t fit him in your mouth anyway.

Big dick!Caleb who resorted to jacking himself off every after session for release, for every pump of his fists he wished it was your pussy clenching around his cock, eager to milk him dry. The stolen panties pressed against his nose doing little to his imagination as he savors the remnants of your smell from the piece of lacy cloth.

His moans ringing against the bathroom walls as he fantasizes putting you in different positions, your walls feeling every vein on his cock while you babble like a bitch in heat, all in his mercy, pumping you full with his seed and leaving no drop behind.

Big dick!Caleb’s patience is running thin, he might have practiced self-control the whole time, upstanding discipline and determination courtesy of his secret training from the fleet coming in handy when it comes to you, but his cock buried deep into your pussy is one thing really needs and he doesn’t know until when he can last.

But when the time finally comes, he’s a goner. He sees your eyes pleading for him to finally fuck you. Caleb hesitates for a bit but when he sees the determination in your eyes, he agrees.

You exhale as you silently encourage yourself to sink on his cock, Caleb’s large hands digging into the fat of your hips, guiding you along his. 

Big dick!Caleb feels pathetic, the moment the head of his dick comes in contact with your hole already makes him weak, his breath becomes uneven as he feels himself stretching you out.

You cry out as you feel the dull ache spreading in your core, you know yourself that Caleb has been very patient in helping you prep for him, you wince as you feel like you already want to tap out when half of him isn’t inside you yet.

Sensing your frustration and the tears that start to well in your eyes, Caleb starts to coax you and your worries away.

“Shh, take it slowly sweetheart, we all have the time in the world, yeah?” He states, a large hand soothing the top of your head and glides along your face. The pads of his fingers find their way on your cheekbones, “it’s okay, you still have me,” Caleb’s voice was comforting, but did little to ease your worries away.

“I just want to make you feel good, you’ve been good and patient with me,” your eyes stare into his depths, keen to get the favor back to him. 

A soft smile spread against Caleb’s lips contrary to the swirl of arousal brewing within him, “I know baby, and I know you’ll do great,” he places a wet kiss against the corner of your mouth, “you can do it, yeah?”

A slow yet determined nod meets his encouragement, and Caleb thinks you’re the most adorable this way.

“Maybe you just need a little bit of guidance, how’s that sound?” His low voice trembles against his chest as you feel his free hand dance towards your pussy. 

“What do you mean— ah!” your question is cut short when you feel his calloused hands pinch the bundle of nerves in your pussy.

“Ah look at you go, baby, already doing so good just f’me, yeah?” You feel his rough pads brush and circle against your clit. You take a sharp breath as you close your eyes, the familiar sensation spreads in your body like clockwork, your head is thrown back as your back arches, chasing his digits.

“See how wet you are, sweet girl? Can’t believe this is all just for me,” His sultry voice echoes against your ears as your hips voluntarily grind against his hands.

You take this as your chance to sink lower into his cock, taking a deep breath as you suck into every inch of his length. Caleb fights every fiber of his being from slamming himself into you, letting you take your sweet time claiming him. “Shiiiit baby, stop teasing me,” you can feel his nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, restraining himself as he waits for your next move.

“‘M not, a-ah, s’too much!” You stop halfway, feeling his cock pulsating inside of you. The lines blurring between pain and pleasure floods your whole being, your mind hazy but still determined to make everything work.

“I knooow, baby, ‘m sorry, but you’re a big girl, yeah? You can do it for me, sweets,” his assurance leaves the tip of his tongue but it’s partially for himself as well. The chains of control making it hard for him to just take the reign and finally get every inch of himself into you but he doesn’t want to hurt you and so he relents, letting you do your thing, at your own pace.

Clutching on his shoulders, you force yourself further down his cock, the delicious ache stretching against your hole prominent but a welcomed feeling nonetheless, you take a sharp breath every time you sink in while feeling Caleb’s hands  on the globes of your ass guiding you down.

Your thighs burn as you keep yourself balanced on top of him until you finally meet his.

You stop on your tracks as you feel yourself settled on his thighs. Wide eyed, you look at him with enthusiasm. “Caleb, I think I did it,” you say in a whisper. But when your eyes met his, it was shut tight, it was obvious that every restraint that he put on himself is working overtime.

Oh how he badly wants to slam himself into you.

Swallowing down and taking a deep breath, he looks at you proudly, “see, knew you could do it, baby.” Caleb hides his face in the crook of your neck, taking your scent in as he controls himself from going berserk. 

You meet him in an embrace, hands exploring his nape as you bask in each other’s presence.

“Baby,” you hear Caleb breathe against you.

“Yeah?”

You can hear him gulp before he says his next words, “can I… move now? Please?” 

To the untrained ear, it might sound like a simple request but to you, it was obvious that it was laced in some level of desperation. You swallow down your nervousness, “o-okay.”

That was the only thing Caleb needed before he lifted your hips up and his thighs started to meet yours.

“Ah!” the sting of his thrust was masked with the pleasure of your pussy hugging his dick. Your back arching from the sheer force and ecstasy his dick is giving you.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The constant clapping of your thighs echoes through the whole room, every vein on his dick felt in every inch of your walls, the mixture of your moans harmonizing as he indulges himself in every thrust.

“My sweet, sweet, girl, taking my cock like it was hers to claim, you’re so good to me,” his thrusts became more and more violent, the tip of his length kissing your cervix just right. Every in and out feels like he’s hitting every right spot in your body. 

“C-caleb! ‘M sooooo close, nghh ha-ah!” incoherent noises started to leave your mouth, your mind fogged with ultimate lust with the man inside of you.

“Shh, wait for me sweetheart, hold on for me just a sec, ‘kay? You can do it for me,” his encouragement sends shivers down your spine. You could only nod as you were unable to find the words to reply, mind in the gutter as you feel yourself get stretched deliciously, pussy molding every vein in his pounding cock.

Your senses heightened, you feel yourself get closer to your climax, like hanging on a piece of thread, you find it hard to stop, surge of emotions filled within you as Caleb claims you. His fingerprints danced against your skin as he fought everything within him to go rougher.

You soon feel your back hit against the cold and soft sheets of your bed, laying down as Caleb places your ankles on his shoulders, “patience, baby, we’ll get there soon enough,” he says as you feel his lips gently placed on your forehead, a silent praise for how you’re taking him well so far.

Caleb slowly pulls his dick out and as you were about to protest, you feel him slam against you, harsher than his thrusts from earlier. You feel yourself gasp, his fat girth slowly fitting just right into you, “mngh, such tight fucking pussy, glad I trained it to be mine,” your fingers grip the sheets beneath you, knuckles forming white as you let out a mixture of whines and moans, begging him to take more of you.

“Caleb, s’good, hng— moreee!” Your begging does not fall on deaf ears as he rams his cock into you, force harsher than it was and pleasure begins to intensify. 

“Hah, look at you and your cunt getting greedy, sucking me in like a bitch in heat, yeah?” Caleb let out grunts as he lets himself get lost into you. “Fuuuuck, should fuck you like this everyday, get your womb full of my seed and have my babies grow inside of you, yeah?”

“Yes! God ha-ah, fill me up please, ngh—”

“Wan’me to make you a momma so bad, glad I’m treating your pussy like the whore that it is for my cock, yeah?”

“Mh-hmm! Want it— hah— so bad,” your words become incoherent as you get drunk with his cock stuffing you full, you can feel him pulsating as he continuously bullies himself into your tight cunt.

The whole thing feels like sin, but you couldn’t get yourself to stop, feeling every inch of his mean dick brings you ecstasy, your eyes rolling at the back of your head, bringing you higher than any drug ever could.

“‘M close, baby, meet me there, yeah?”

“Uh-huh! Inside p-pleaseee,” you whine, feeling yourself clench against his dick.

“Shiiit, baby, can’t hold any longer when you’re squeezin’ me like this, mngh—” his grunts filled the cool air, jaw clenched as he got closer, dick twitching while feeling your hole hugging every inch.

Caleb gives it a few more thrusts before letting himself go inside of you. White ropes of cum painting your insides as his cock pulsates itself inside, filling your womb full of his seed. Your feet curl at the weird but welcomed sensation, moaning in delight at the satisfying feeling rushing in your body.

Both of you were panting as Caleb fucks his cum into you, “let’s not waste anydrop, yeah, sweets?”

“Ngh, mh-hm,” your whine draws on as he slowly gets all of his seed in your cunt, swiping his tip on the trickling release against your thighs and ass.

Caleb collects himself before cradling your face in his hands, fixing your hair away from your sweat sheened face. He drinks the sight before him, your cockdrunk face and hazy eyes looking at him, exhausted but beyond relieved. 

“You did it baby, ‘m so proud of you, I love you,” he says before kissing your forehead, a gentle and sincere gesture contrary to the intense lovemaking he just did with you.

Dazed and worn out, you decide to reply with a small smile, “love ya, too,” were the last words you said before slowly drifting to sleep.

He lets out a boyish smile and places another chaste kiss on your lips. He never felt this content until now.

Big dick!Caleb swears that from now on, he will make a mold of every inch of him with your tight cunt, like it was made for him to dote and love, fitting right in just like a glove.

note: this was supposed to be a short ramble but i got carried away, my bad lol.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[glorifiedagents]

A Distracting Fixation — spencer reid

"LOOK AT YOU — on your knees, drooling for it. You need this, don’t you? Need to keep that pretty mouth busy. So take it — deep, messy, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect."

SUMMARY: spencer notices the way you have to keep your mouth occupied.. and offers a better alternative to help your oral fixation PAIRING: spencer reid & fem!reader CAUTION: swearing, oral fixation, unprotected, blowjob, swallowing cum, creampie, aftercare WORD COUNT: 4.7K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read - i love spencer sm

Spencer has been watching you for months, noticing things about you that even you haven’t picked up on. He notices everything.

The way your lips always seem to be occupied with something — a pen cap, your fingertips, the straw of your iced coffee that you absentmindedly swirl between your lips. The way your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought, how you drag your teeth over the soft skin like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

He’s caught you sucking on the tip of your thumb absentmindedly while reading through case files, your brow furrowed, lips pursed around the pad of your finger. You only do it when you’re lost in concentration, not even aware of how utterly distracting it is.

Then there’s the gum. The way you roll it between your teeth, lazily pressing it against the roof of your mouth before sucking on it like you're teasing yourself with something you can’t have. He sees the way your jaw moves, the way your tongue works behind your lips, and it makes his cock twitch in his slacks every goddamn time.

But the worst?

The absolute worst is when you’re chewing on something — a pen cap, the arm of your glasses, even just tapping your fingernails against your lower lip, like you’re waiting for something to be put there. And when you’re really not thinking about it, when you’re fully lost in whatever you’re working on, you’ll let out these little sounds. Soft hums, barely-there whimpers, like you’re trying to satisfy some need that’s not being met.

And it drives Spencer fucking insane.

Because he knows exactly how to fix it.

The weight of the case pressed down on you, thick and suffocating, curling around your shoulders like an iron shroud. It had been another dead end, another frustrating attempt at deciphering a pattern that refused to reveal itself. The victims — three so far — had been taken with terrifying precision, their bodies left posed with meticulous care. The UnSub was careful, methodical, deliberate. Just like Spencer.

The thought flickered through your mind unbidden as you sat at his desk, your fingers idly tracing the edge of a case file, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The dim glow of his desk lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting deep shadows across the scattered notes and open books surrounding you. The air smelled faintly of old paper and coffee, the scent of late nights and restless minds.

Across from you, Spencer sat hunched over a file, his gaze scanning each page with the kind of intensity that made it seem as though he was reading something the rest of the world couldn’t see. His fingers moved in that absentminded way they did when he was thinking —drumming lightly against the wood, tapping patterns only he understood. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw tight, his focus absolute.

But you weren’t focused.

You were chewing on the end of your pen, rolling it between your teeth, letting it press against your lips in slow, absent motions. It was a habit, something to keep your mouth occupied while your brain worked, though tonight, your mind wasn’t working at all. Instead, it was wandering — lingering on the way Spencer’s hands flexed when he turned a page, the way his mouth pursed slightly in concentration, the way his eyes flickered when something caught his attention.

You bit down a little harder on the pen cap.

A soft sigh slipped from Spencer’s lips. At first, you thought it was just another noise of frustration — another sign of how little progress you’d made. But then he shifted in his chair, straightening slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp.

“You’re doing it again.”

The words sent a jolt through you, grounding you back into the present moment. Your gaze snapped up to meet his, heart stumbling slightly when you realized he wasn’t even looking at the files anymore. His attention was on you.

You let the pen drop from your lips, blinking. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze slow, deliberate and assessing. The air between you thickened, tension creeping into the space that had once been filled with quiet concentration. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way it lingered, dragging over your lips, down to your throat, before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping into something quieter.

“You have an oral fixation.”

Your breath caught.

A slow, pulsing heat curled low in your stomach, coiling tightly at the casual certainty in his voice.

“I—”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes held something deeper, something unreadable and entirely dangerous.

“You chew on pens,” he continued, his tone impossibly steady. “You sip drinks even when you’re not thirsty. You touch your lips when you’re thinking. I’ve watched you do it for months.”

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the observation itself that sent warmth rushing through your veins — it was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just stating a fact. Like he had spent far too much time noticing, cataloging, analyzing every movement, every unconscious habit.

“You notice that?” Your voice was softer now, breathier than before.

Spencer exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I notice everything about you.”

A shiver rippled through you, your fingers curling against your thighs.

He leaned in a fraction more, closing the space between you just enough for the warmth of his breath to ghost over your skin. “Do you even realize how often you do it?” His voice was lower now, more controlled, each syllable measured and deliberate. “Or how distracting it is?”

Your pulse thrummed wildly.

Distracting.

The word settled deep inside you, igniting something restless and needy.

You swallowed hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips—another unconscious habit, but this time, you did it under the full weight of his stare. His eyes darkened.

“Spencer…”

The name came out softer than you intended, like a quiet plea.

His fingers twitched.

And then ever so slowly, he reached forward, his fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a sharp jolt of electricity through you, your breath stuttering at the unexpected intimacy.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, “you need something to keep your mouth occupied.”

The words sink into your skin, lighting a fire deep in your belly. Your thighs press together instinctively, your lips parting slightly as warmth floods through your veins.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

Spencer is a profiler before anything else. He sees the way your body responds, cataloging every flicker of arousal like a scientist analyzing an experiment.

His thumb drags lower, skimming your chin before tilting your face up ever so slightly. His touch is featherlight, teasing.

“If I were to give you something,” he continues, as if he’s simply musing over a hypothesis, “would you take it? Would you let me fill that pretty mouth of yours?”

Heat floods through you so quickly it’s dizzying.

“Spencer,” you breathe, the sound of his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His eyes darken. “That’s not an answer.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening under the weight of his stare. Every inch of your body is humming, aching, the slow burn of tension winding so tight inside you that it’s almost unbearable.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “I would.”

His lips part slightly, his breath faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovers, his hand tightening just a little against your jaw. He shifts in his chair, spreading his legs slightly, and you don’t miss the way his pants have grown tighter, the clear evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“You’re so good at running that mouth of yours,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your cheek, down the curve of your neck. “Always teasing, always distracting. But I think we can put it to better use.”

The words send a sharp jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your nails dig into your thighs, desperate for some kind of relief, but Spencer doesn’t give you a chance to focus on anything but him.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to make you gasp. He watches your reaction, his eyes flickering with something dark and knowing before he tugs gently, guiding you forward.

“On your knees.”

Spencer is already hard by the time you slide off your chair and sink onto your knees between his spread legs, his cock pressing thick and heavy against the fabric of his slacks. He’s aching, barely keeping himself together, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You press your palms to his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes, your fingertips digging in slightly as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. The air between you is charged, every second stretching longer, the weight of his gaze burning into your skin like it could set you aflame.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers sliding into your hair, gentle but possessive, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he can’t believe this is happening, like the sight of you there between his legs is more than he can take.

But you’re not hesitating.

Your hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate movements, dragging it out just to watch him squirm. His breath stutters, his fingers twitching in your hair, grip tightening ever so slightly as you free the leather and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The tease has you buzzing, tension coiling low in your belly as you toy with the zipper of his slacks, letting the moments stretch, watching the way his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly when you finally drag his pants down, exposing him.

And Jesus fucking Christ...

Spencer is big.

Thick, flushed, his cock already leaking at the tip, veins prominent along the length, pulsing with every ragged breath he takes. He’s achingly hard, the sight of it stirring something hot and primal inside you, making your mouth water.

“You’re already drooling,” he mutters, voice wrecked with desire, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. He drags it down slightly, just enough to make your mouth part, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “You want it that bad?”

You hum, a low sound of affirmation, nodding as your lips part wider, the heat of him brushing against your cheek, teasing the both of you with the softest contact.

Spencer hisses, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “Fucking tease.”

A flicker of mischief sparks in your eyes as you glance up at him, and then — finally — you press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to catch the salty taste of his precum.

Spencer shudders, thighs tensing beneath your hands, his whole body wound tight with need.

You start slow, dragging your tongue lazily along the underside, tracing the thick vein from base to tip, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers curl into your scalp. Every reaction is a reward, and you want to drag it out as long as possible.

Then, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking lightly, teasing him with shallow strokes of your tongue, flicking against the sensitive slit, tasting him, moaning softly at the weight of him on your tongue.

Spencer groans, the sound rough and low, his hips twitching slightly forward, like he’s holding back, like he’s trying not to lose himself completely.

“Quit fucking around,” he mutters, voice strained, his hand tightening at the base of your skull. “Take it. Now.”

A rush of heat surges between your legs, your stomach clenching at the command, and you obey.

You sink down, letting his cock stretch your mouth, your jaw already aching as you take him deeper. Your tongue presses flat against the underside, tracing along every ridge and curve, feeling every pulse.

Spencer curses under his breath, his chest rising and falling faster, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, your nose almost brushing his stomach.

You pause there, letting your throat relax, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His chest heaves, his eyes dark and half-lidded, his lips parted as he watches you with barely restrained hunger.

“Jesus fucking—” He cuts off, breath catching when you swallow around him, your throat constricting, your tongue lapping against the underside as you hollow your cheeks and start to suck.

His reaction is instant - his hips jerk slightly forward, a groan spilling from his lips as his body trembles under your hands. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way he grips your hair, in the ragged edge of his breathing.

“Fuck, that’s—” His voice breaks, shaking as you bob your head, setting a rhythm that has his cock sliding slick and wet between your lips.

You make it messy, sloppy, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down onto his thighs as you take him deeper, the sensation overwhelming as your throat constricts around him with every pass.

Spencer’s breathing turns erratic, hips starting to move of their own accord, a raw need taking over. He’s close, and you know it.

“You’re so—” He hisses, cock twitching in your mouth, thighs tensing like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose himself completely, not to just fuck your throat like he’s aching to.

But you want him to.

You press your hands against his thighs, urging him on, and Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward just slightly, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You gag, throat tightening around him, a desperate, choked sound spilling from your lips as his fingers dig into your scalp, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice cracks, breath coming in short, shallow gasps, cock twitching violently against your tongue. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t pull away.

Spencer’s groan is guttural, his entire body seizing up as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over your tongue in deep, pulsing spurts. His thighs shake, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as you swallow every drop, your throat working around him until he’s whimpering from the overstimulation.

When you finally release him, Spencer slumps back against the couch, his chest heaving, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tilting your chin up so he can look at you, still catching his breath.

His eyes are dark, but there's still something hungry lingering behind them.

“You,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “are going to be the death of me.”

Spencer’s chest is still rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, his fingers tangled in your hair as he studies you, a flicker of something darker lurking behind his half-lidded gaze. You can see it—the shift from restrained control to raw, unfiltered hunger. He’s not done with you. Not even close.

“Get up,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges with the weight of his own arousal. His fingers tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you listen. “Now.”

A shiver runs through you at the quiet authority laced in his voice. You obey, your legs unsteady as you rise, the heat between your thighs unbearable.

The moment you’re standing, Spencer surges forward, one hand gripping the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours. It’s messy— hot, desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation. You can taste him, the faintest traces of salt and heat still lingering. His other hand grips your waist, tugging you flush against his body, and you gasp at the hardness pressing into your stomach.

Already.

Already, he’s hard again.

You whimper into the kiss, your fingers fisting into his shirt, nails scraping against the fabric as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. He groans at the way you melt into him, his fingers digging into your waist before sliding under the hem of your shirt, dragging rough fingertips up your spine.

“Take this off,” he demands, voice breathless as he tugs at the fabric.

You don’t hesitate. You strip your shirt off in one swift motion, and before it even hits the floor, his hands are on you — palming your breasts through your bra, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him. His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn’t stop there. His hands slide behind you, finding the clasp of your bra, and with one deft motion, he unhooks it. Before you can even shrug the straps from your shoulders, he’s already peeling the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

You barely have time to register the sensation before his mouth is on you — hot, wet lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him with a sharp gasp.

“Spencer,” you whimper, threading your fingers into his hair as he groans against your skin, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak before switching to the other, giving it just as much attention.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading your hips before sliding lower, curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses you against the desk.

Your hands move with frantic desperation, tugging at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy, eager fingers. You need to feel him— his skin, his heat, the steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips.

As soon as his shirt is gone, you push it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Your palms splay across his chest, nails raking lightly over his skin, and he shudders under your touch. His lips find yours again, his kiss even rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and sheer, unrestrained need.

Then his hands are at your jeans, undoing the button in one swift motion, shoving the denim down your hips. You kick them off, standing before him in just your panties, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to the soaked fabric between your thighs. He drags a finger over the damp material, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Already this wet?” His voice is almost mocking, but his pupils are blown wide, his own need barely contained. His fingers toy with the lace of your panties before slipping beneath them, and when he drags his fingers through your slick folds, he groans. “You’re drenched.”

Your legs tremble as he teases you, his fingers moving torturously slow, spreading your wetness before pulling back completely. You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when you see him.

Spencer is watching you with dark, ravenous eyes as he unzips his slacks completely, shoving them and his boxers down in one swift motion. He steps out of them, kicking them aside as he stands before you, completely bare.

He wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, lazily, the head already flushed and leaking. The sight of him — so unabashedly aroused, so shameless in his hunger for you — sends another rush of heat straight to your core.

“Get on the desk,” he orders, voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for half a second, and then he’s gripping your hips, turning you and guiding you backward until your ass bumps against the wood.

“Up,” he says again, stroking himself as he watches you. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

The heat between your thighs is unbearable, need pooling low in your stomach as you do as he says, lifting yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs wide, letting him see everything.

Spencer’s breath shudders as he watches, his jaw clenching, his grip tightening on his cock. He steps closer, positioning himself between your thighs, his free hand sliding up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin, dragging his fingertips closer and closer to where you need him most.

Then he grips the base of his cock and drags the tip against your slick folds, teasing you, coating himself in your wetness. You shudder, hips bucking slightly, but he just smirks.

He slaps his cock against your clit once, twice, the sharp sting sending jolts of pleasure through you. You gasp, hands fisting against the desk, body twitching with each stinging slap.

“Spencer,” you plead, your voice breaking.

He groans at the desperation in your tone, gripping your hips to hold you still as he teases you again, dragging his cock over your entrance, pressing just enough to stretch you open — but not pushing in.

Then he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers,

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then he thrusts inside you.

Spencer’s cock sinks into you in one smooth, unrelenting thrust, stretching you open, filling you so completely that your head tilts back with a strangled gasp. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk, nails digging into the wood as your thighs squeeze around his waist.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know there’ll be marks tomorrow. “You’re so goddamn tight.”

He pulls back just enough to drag the thick length of him against your walls before slamming forward again, knocking a breathless moan from your lips. Your body jolts from the force of it, the desk creaking beneath you, but Spencer doesn’t care. If anything, the sound spurs him on.

His rhythm is ruthless - deep, hard thrusts that send pleasure rippling through your entire body, forcing your back to arch, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, nerves alight with overwhelming heat, and then...

A sharp slap lands against your breast.

You yelp, eyes snapping open in shock, only to find Spencer watching you with dark, calculating eyes, his palm still hovering in the air. The sting blossoms across your skin, warmth spreading from the impact, and before you can fully process it, he does it again.

The second slap makes your cunt clench around him, a ragged moan spilling from your lips as the sharp sting melts into something heady and intoxicating.

Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward harder, deeper. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice is breathless, edged with something dangerous.

You can’t form words, can’t think past the pleasure consuming you, so you just nod frantically, gasping when he delivers another slap, this one harder than the last.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, needy. “Fuck, Spencer—yes, I love it.”

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Then he gives you no warning before he picks up his pace, thrusting into you with a force that leaves you breathless, your legs wrapping tighter around him as he fucks you into the desk.

The wet, obscene sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fill the room, mixing with your ragged breaths, your whimpers, the sharp crack of his palm against your breasts. He alternates between squeezing them roughly and slapping them, watching the way your body reacts, the way you tighten around him every time he does it.

You’re close, so unbearably close, your stomach tightening, your muscles trembling with the buildup of pleasure. Spencer knows it too.

His grip shifts, one hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. The moment he touches you, your whole body jerks, a strangled moan ripping from your throat.

“That’s it,” he breathes, circling your clit with quick, precise motions. “Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you cry out his name, your walls spasming around him. Your entire body shakes, thighs trembling as aftershocks wrack through you, pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

Spencer groans, his pace stuttering, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic. He grips your hips hard, driving into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside you.

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his head dropping forward as his release pulses through him, hot and thick, filling you completely. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding you still as he empties himself inside you, his breath shuddering against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sounds in the room your shared panting, the quiet hum of the desk lamp casting light over your flushed skin.

Then Spencer pulls back slightly, lifting his head to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with satisfaction. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he drags his thumb along your cheek, his voice a husky murmur.

“Messy girl,” he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he watches his cum drip from your still-throbbing cunt. “I guess I’ll just have to clean you up.”

The look in his eyes tells you he means every word.

He’s careful as he adjusts, lowering himself down to kneel beside you, his eyes studying you with an intensity that’s no longer sharp and commanding but tender, attentive. His thumb brushes along your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat, and his gaze softens as he watches you blink up at him, slowly coming back to earth.

"Hey," he says softly, voice still rough but full of warmth, "you okay?"

You nod, your chest rising and falling with each breath as the tension in your body gradually unwinds. Spencer’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there, as though he can feel the strain of the night’s intensity. His fingers press into your skin, not with the same urgency they had before, but with careful, deliberate motions meant to soothe.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. He stands for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running before he’s back with a damp cloth. He’s gentle as he wipes you down, making sure to be soft around your sensitive spots, taking his time.

Once he’s finished, Spencer grabs a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cocoon. He settles next to you, pulling you close, his arms enveloping you in warmth as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, his voice full of sincerity. "You did amazing."

Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The weight of the night settles into something quieter, more intimate—this quiet aftercare, where words aren’t necessary, but the tenderness in his touch speaks volumes.

Spencer lets you relax against him, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as you both catch your breath. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you. When you finally speak, it’s soft and a little hoarse from the intensity of the night.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer simply nods, kissing your forehead in response. “Always.”

And for the rest of the night, he stays close, making sure you feel safe, cared for, and cherished. The outside world feels miles away, the two of you cocooned in your own quiet intimacy, where aftercare doesn’t just mean physical, but emotional tenderness that leaves you feeling loved, even after everything.

[krongbly]

rappers on suicide watch after Tumblr user @lasagnasdfk irrefutably proves that rap is not music using facts and logic. "you think THIS is music??? erm 😏... try listening to ☝🏻 opera 😏 tell me what 🫵🏻 you think about that 🗣️" can't argue with that how about I kill 🫵 you with 👉🔨 this hammer

this ain't even the first time you been on some bullshit about rap and opera

1. you really thought this point was so good you had to reuse it eh? you really saw this post and said "yeah 👏🏻👏🏻 that shit i said about opera a while back was really good let me bring that shit back "

2. you sound like a dork fucking "I propose an experiment ☝🏻🤓" okay bitch I think they need you back at yoglabs

3. people listen to rap in languages they don't understand all the time people are putting out fire all over the fucking world and share it with each other constantly. A movie literally just came out like last year about some mfs in Ireland who rap in Irish Gaelic. You think everybody that watched that movie speaks Irish Gaelic? are you fucking stupid?

In short your post is bad, your point is weak, you don't know shit and it shows, you obviously have never once in your life actually tried to engage with rap as a form of music (which it is). You're basically a smug bitch and everybody sees through that Czech flag in your bio, we know your ass is British. Stop acting like you're above people or have some profound understanding of what is and isn't music based on the shallow racially motivated assumptions you're constantly making about the world around you.

Now I propose an experiment to you, define music in some way that includes all genres except rap. I know your goofy ass can't.

🤡

Okay now that you guys have liked Lil Nas X, Megan thee Stallion, Kendrick Lamar AND Doechii. Surely you can listen to rap now. Surely you see the merits of the genre. Surely.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “THE LOVE ART CREATES”

୨ৎ pairing: boyfriend!seunghyun x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! sweet! cute! and everything you need

୨ৎ summary: you’re an artist who has always loved art and how it makes the soul feel. seunghyun? the same way of course but you’re much more on the.. well, shyer side and it gets in the way of things when he’s always asking to see the art you’ve created. number one rule? never be shy around the art genius himself.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello hello!! so excited to take this request since it’s so adorable and sweet! thank you for requesting it and I hope you can enjoy it!! x

— ᧔•᧓ being able to sit in a room for hours upon hours wasn’t for everyone but you? it was most definitely for you. the art that you created whether it was a simple painting or drawing was so special to you and it’s been that way since you were a very small girl. having a gift is something a lot of people wish for and your gift was creating such beautiful art pieces to share with the world but.. in your case it wasn’t that at all. sharing your art wasn’t something you were familiar with. being an extremely shy girl wasn’t always ideal but it always happened that way for you and you didn’t push it.

— ᧔•᧓ seunghyun was the most supportive boyfriend you could ever ask for. he was gentle, sweet, kind, and never pushed you to show him the art you’ve created even if he so badly wanted to see it. he wanted you to be ready but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to steal a few glances here and there at what you’re doing. to him he thinks of it as cute and can’t get over it.

— ᧔•᧓ “can I just see a little bit of it? you don’t have to show me anything you’ve finished but maybe a little something that you’re working on?” he would ask while you stood there biting your lip trying to decide if you wanted to show him something not finished or not. it made you feel bad especially when he was so sweet about it all so when you slowly nodded your head he felt like he was on the moon! (literally!) his eyes grew big and he did everything he could to not embarrass himself from being so overly excited. too excited.

— ᧔•᧓ showing him the first piece you finished a few weeks ago was a bit difficult for you because of the low self esteem you felt while finishing it. was it your best? not at all but seunghyun thought the opposite. his long fingers sliding down the painting in a slow manner allowing himself to enjoy the art you created.

— ᧔•᧓ “this is breathtaking.. why didn’t you show me this sooner? I know you’re shy and all baby but, look at this! it’s beautiful. the colors you’ve chosen go so well together.” seunghyun wouldn’t be able to put the painting down. he woukd continuously praise it and make sure you know that it was such a good piece.

— ᧔•᧓ he would finally put it down to pull you into a tight hug wanting you to feel the warmth and love from him that you adored so much. “please continue showing me your art, hm? you do so well. I can’t believe you won’t try to sell it! I just know that you could become a little star.” his words always helped you through the darkest thoughts and feelings. “you’re my little star how’s that sound? my sweet little star.”

— ᧔•᧓ from then on you continued showing him the pieces you created but the shyness didn’t disappear unfortunately. each time it would take a bit of time to show him but he would wait patiently like the amazing boyfriend that he was. deep down seunghyun loved it when you got so shy to show him the piece. he would reach his hand up to grab the back of your head and pull you into his chest so you could hide from him.

— ᧔•᧓ “you keep acting this way and I’ll have to attack you with so many kisses. I know you’ll like that but I won’t be able to stop myself.” you’d giggle in his chest while he continued looking at the piece praising it and taking pictures of it so he could show anyone that asked about you and what you did for fun/a living.

[batboysanonymous]

Soft Like Shadows

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel has never been good with words, but he never needed them with you. In the quiet hours of the night, when the world is still and his shadows retreat, he finds comfort in the warmth of your touch—the one place where even the most feared spymaster can be soft.

───────────────────────────────

The stars were sharp tonight, cutting through the inky night sky like diamonds scattered across velvet. The wind, crisp and biting, swept through Velaris, rustling the sheer curtains of the open balcony doors. But inside, wrapped in the thick warmth of blankets and Azriel’s embrace, you couldn’t feel a thing except the steady heat of his body pressed to yours.

The bedroom was cast in soft light from the fireplace, its golden flicker dancing along the dark walls, illuminating the faint glimmer of his blue siphons. They pulsed faintly in the dimness, their glow mirroring the steady beat of his heart—calm, steady, unhurried.

Azriel lay beside you, his broad frame relaxed in a way it rarely was, one wing draped partially over you, as if to shield you even in sleep. You weren’t sure when this had started, this quiet need he had to keep you tucked under his wings, but you never complained. How could you, when it made you feel so undeniably his?

You shifted slightly, reaching up to run your fingers along his forearm, tracing the fine scars that marked his skin. Your touch was featherlight, reverent. Azriel hummed low in his throat, the sound more vibration than voice, as he nuzzled closer.

And then—he bumped his forehead against yours.

It was so soft, so gentle, that for a moment, you thought you imagined it. But then he did it again, a light press, as if requesting something without words.

A smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, baby?” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to meet his hazel eyes.

Azriel muttered something under his breath, the words too soft to catch.

You huffed a quiet laugh, trailing your fingers up his arm and into the thick waves of his hair. “Use your words, big guy.”

A slow roll of his eyes—dramatic, almost teasing. “Don’t make me say it,” he muttered against your cheek, voice laced with that familiar rasp.

Your grin widened. “C’mon, Shadowsinger. Say it.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, as if put upon by your antics, but the ghost of a smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your nose before whispering, “Can you play with my hair, please?”

The softness in his voice, the way he said it like a secret meant only for you, had warmth blooming in your chest.

You tapped your chin in exaggerated thought. “Hmm…”

A shadow slithered up your arm, a teasing nudge. Then, before you could react, Azriel poked your side, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at his lips.

“Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” you relented, laughing as you shifted slightly so he could fully settle against you.

The moment your fingers found his hair, Azriel sighed—a deep, bone-melting sound, like he had been waiting for this all day. His body relaxed instantly, his weight pressing more firmly against you as his head rested against your chest.

Your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, the touch lazy and soothing. His breath hitched for a moment before he melted, a low hum slipping from his lips.

“This is your weakness, isn’t it?” you teased, dragging your fingers through the silky strands, watching the way his lashes fluttered against his sharp cheekbones.

Azriel mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like you’re my weakness, but when you tried to lift his head to look at him properly, he just buried his face further into your neck.

Your heart clenched.

No one ever saw him like this. No one ever got to see the way he melted under gentle hands, the way his entire being sighed in relief when he was held like this, cherished like this. The feared spymaster, the shadowsinger, reduced to a content, sleepy puddle in your arms.

“Can you just read my mind next time?” he murmured against your collarbone.

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I could. But then I’d miss out on watching you beg for it.”

Azriel huffed, but the arms wrapped around your waist tightened, his grip firm and secure, like he never wanted to let go.

You traced slow patterns across his bare back, following the contours of his muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He was solid beneath your touch, strong and unyielding, but here, in your arms, he was soft.

“I don’t think I ever let myself imagine this,” Azriel said after a long moment, voice quiet, almost unsure.

You frowned, pausing your ministrations. “Imagine what?”

His breath fanned against your throat. “This. You. Us.” His fingers traced lazy circles against your hip. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to have something like this.”

Your heart cracked. “Az…”

His arms tightened around you, as if he could physically stop the sadness from seeping between you. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, curling your fingers into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him lift his head. When his hazel eyes met yours, you cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing lightly over the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

“You deserve this,” you told him, firm and unwavering. “You deserve love, and softness, and a place to rest.” You ran a hand down his cheek, watching the way his expression softened, the way he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “And you’ll always have that with me.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something raw, something so deep it nearly stole your breath.

Azriel didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he kissed you.

His lips moved against yours in a way that made the world blur around you, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, holding you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever known.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart swelled, full and aching. You brushed your thumb over his bottom lip, smiling softly. “I love you more.”

Azriel made a soft sound, something close to a scoff, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted, pulling you even closer until you were practically tangled together, his head tucked beneath your chin, his wings curling around you protectively.

His shadows, usually restless and ever-present, were still.

And in that quiet, in the warm cocoon of blankets and whispered affections, you let yourself drift, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his breath steady against your skin.

Because here, in the safety of your arms, Azriel could finally rest.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Azriel: @kathren1sky_blog, @willowpains

[shorthaltsjester]

one of the most infuriating parts of seeing people refer to cr as the “it’s love that saves people” show is that they completely ignore the context of that quote and that, yes, it is the “it’s love that saves people” show and that’s actually why c3 was a disappointment. because caduceus doesn’t just spontaneously say that to trent out of some pity for the fact that trent doesn’t have anyone, it’s that, as is central to caduceus’ journey and the mighty nein as a whole, when people love you they will challenge you and negate the foolish cycles of thought that can only emerge from a life lived in isolation. the mighty nein learned this lesson, with characters who notably and violently rejected the notion that they could be open to one another eventually realizing the only way to honour the friends they found and the version of themself that those friends came to care for required being honest with those friends about their motivations and feelings and desires. and in the c2 finale(s) we see the consequences of the choice each of them made to give up the lonely versions they’d sold themselves away as in favour of being a member of the mighty nein. fjord returns to an imperfect but cherished relationship with vandran that he’d previously committed to avoiding, beau finds her footing in the cobalt soul where her loudness isn’t just put up with but is valued for its keeping the institution true, caleb decides not to be the version of himself years of solitary confinement and abusive manipulation would have him be by electing to imprison trent, veth makes the choice to return to her family rather than see the empire bureaucracy through, jester opts to continue adventuring and helping her friends as they need it since she’s found her place in the world to be wherever they need her, yasha is finally able to make the choice to fully face her grief and bring the collection of penance stored in her journal back to zuala’s grave, caduceus returns to a grove recovering from a once-encroaching sickness attended by a family likewise recovering and commits himself to rebuilding the temple. there’s not a single outcome in terms of the character’s “happily ever afters” (which, as a side note, is why the claim that what people are frustrated with c3 for is the abundance of happy endings absurd and obvious in its refusal to actually take seriously a divergent opinion to its own — c2 was also a largely happy ending, likewise boosted by a an unlikely dice roll, the difference is the narrative earning) that is not mediated by literal years of character work and dming that orients that work toward the campaign plot (or that orients the plot toward the character work). c2 feels earned because it proves the implicit message of “pain doesn’t make people, it’s love that makes people”, where transformation happens in either case, but love is a transformation born out of choice, and pain demands a transformation for survival.

if you want to take seriously that c3 is part of a world constantly negotiating with the claim “it’s love that makes people.” you have to take seriously the initiating claim that’s it’s not pain that makes them, and that, in fact, in light of the love that one chooses, pain becomes inconsequential. given the frequency with which the fandom rolls out the “it’s not. x characters fault, they’re traumatized” i’d say it’s pretty obvious that bells hells have failed to qualify for, let alone pass, the “it’s love that makes them” test, since they are all still quite significantly defined by their pain and a refusal to choose love in the sense of transformation. there’s a bell hooks quote i used for this cr edit I made awhile ago that i’ve always felt really resonates with what caduceus says in that scene + what cr has tended to say about love through the characters and their journeys. and you can go to the link for the full quote but the pertinent part is that love is a commitment to being changed and a commitment to struggle to achieve that change even if it means letting go of the easier notions of ourselves as unlovable or broken to do so.

like, to be clear i’m not saying that bells hells don’t love people or each other at the end of the campaign, but that their love is a noun and not a verb. laudna goes to lieve’tel and has to be told she isn’t broken, ashton sacrifices himself and it’s not even the love of bells hells that saves them, it’s the deus ex machina of essek. bells hells are defined by their stagnancy, their refusal to give up on the definitions of themselves they’ve come to hold as a result of trauma. and while the initial creation of those identities is not on them, the continued maintenance of those identities such that they become bad faith habits that disallow any notion of growth to occur in the face of senses of self which assume their own brokenness is on them. and in all honesty that still could’ve been an interesting story, especially since it shows they’re of the same kind as ludinus, but it would not have ever been a story about the kind of love that caduceus is talking about when he says it’s love that makes people — let it not be forgotten that love (and fear) as a noun kept caduceus alone for years and love as a verb showed him the pay off of giving up stagnancy’s safety to pursue something else — nor the kind of love that c1 and c2 are built upon.

[brunhielda]

I am enjoying the idea that the actual creative types in “Wizards of the Coast” went

“Our cantrips are now real things in the real world. We created new magic. We now have a responsibility to create some spells that could benefit humanity.”

Cause

1) It didn’t work. But they explored the possibility because someone thought- “with power comes responsibility.” Nice

2) YOU KNOW there was a pitched battle behind closed doors about that. YOU KNOW the actual people with money and authority in that company were doing their best to hide until it was over and deny any connection to it. They probably really DID NOT WANT their suddenly magical creators to prove that they did have something to do with this chaos. But the people who do the actual writing and creating said “screw that, this is world altering stuff. This is superhero stuff. This trumps your need for more money” and put it out anyway.

Just that one line- “they abruptly published a new line of cantrip cards with all kinds of utility”- says someone faught for the betterment of the world and won. Even if it didn’t amount to anything.

I love that so much.

This is great world building op. Fantastic.

It started with cantrips, which is why it took people a while to notice. The first few events were people on the news talking about how they’d been needing a light and then suddenly they’d waved a hand and said words and there was light. No one really believed them but as more reports were verified suddenly more people came forward with even less believable stories of what everyone really didn’t want to call magic. Even though it was pretty obviously magic. Spectral floating hands grabbing things that were out of reach, whispered messages that reached their friend seated too far away to hear them.

An EMT who whispered a word and suddenly saved a dying man.

Then the darker stories started filtering in. 

Words spoken in anger causing explosions. Poison spewing forth from a hand gesture. One person gave a retort so witty that someone was hospitalized. 

Everyone was scared, but the nerds started to figure it out fastest. It sure wasn’t the scientists who were doing the equivalent of crying on the floor in the fetal position in their respective labs while reports poured in globally of these occurrences. A growing movement online started spreading lists. They had all the blessings people might have gotten and regardless of how many people scoffed no one could really deny that every instance of magic correlated to a website listing the cantrips in Dungeons and Dragons. People pooled their collective resources to help quantify what was happening and facts started to emerge.

Everybody got one. You had to be at least thirteen to use the magic. That pretty much summed up the only other common denominators. Otherwise it seemed completely random, the magic didn’t line up with any existing character traits. You just unlocked one piece of magic each. People with aggressive cantrips were almost loaded up into camps for suddenly being so dangerous- however many hit points real humans had it was apparently not a big number. A lot more deaths occurred than anyone could feasibly track and the global population panicked.

The legislation for the camps got struck down. There were riots and confusion and for a while everything was pretty chaotic. Firebolts and Eldritch Blasts went off from sheer exuberance as much as anything else. Amidst the rioting were people just living their lives, not using their cantrips. It took a while for things to settle down, but humans can get used to most anything if given enough time.

Almost everybody scanned the list to figure out which they got, but someone with Chill Touch just enjoyed frostier beverages than most. Most people didn’t really do anything other than play around. A youtuber who had gotten Shape Water suddenly surged in popularity as she pivoted her channel to creating beautiful patterns with colored water. Other online personalities quickly followed and those with combat focused magic set up backyard target practice to show off. Some fires resulted as well as numerous noise complaints and a law was passed limiting where people could practice magic. It was virtually unenforceable but the people in charge were trying to keep a grip on the situation.

Noticeably the largest subset of the population that used their magic were those who had gotten Spare the Dying. Every government turned out the call that such individuals would receive a generous stipend for taking to the hospitals and stabilizing the sick and injured. Death rates dropped substantially, but it was still only a cantrip. Cancer marched on, but many got to live after miraculous recoveries.

Months passed and things started to become a little more normal. There were still debates about what had caused it and how to regulate magic but day to day life settled down. Speculations over what the long term ramifications would be continued as well as why those cantrips. Wizards of the Coast refused to comment for the first six months, closing its doors to the rioting and keeping them closed. At the end of six months they abruptly published a new line of cantrip cards with all kinds of utility and no combat usage whatsoever. The internet exploded and the government wasn’t pleased, but nothing happened. No one got any new magic. People wondered if those under thirteen would manifest the new stuff, but no one did. They just blew out their thirteenth birthday candles and got handed a cantrip like everyone else. 

A year later a mechanic in rural Canada was peering into the engine of a busted car. He realized he needed some lubricant and instead of reaching for his can he waved a hand and splattered the car with Grease that had burst from his hand. He was a calm sort of fellow so he called up the local news and said there was more magic. They asked first what cantrip he had- folks who received Prestidigitation had made a number of false alarms on receiving additional magic. The mechanic told them his cantrip was Infestation which he’d never had cause to use after figuring it out. 

The press descended and demanded a demonstration. Most people had read up on the basic rules of magic at that point, so everyone understood when the mechanic said they’d have to wait until the next day. A media storm went up the next day with headlines blaring that first level magic had been unlocked after the passing of the lunar new year. 

A wide contingent had been waiting for this opportunity. The spell list went out again amidst less panic but more chaos. There was a rash of identity thefts no could trace and eventually people realized Disguise Self posed a significant challenge to daily life. Celebrities had trouble convincing people they were who they said as random citizens took their faces on numerous joyrides. A scandal broke when it turned out an A list actor had hired someone else to play them while they went on vacation but the details were kept very hush hush.

Hospitals called out desperately for anyone with healing magic and most of those blessed with Cure Wounds and Healing Word answered. People with Goodberry formed community food kitchens and for the first time it seemed like hunger could actually be eliminated. Veterinary offices and zoos made special positions for those who could cast Animal Friendship and Speak with Animals.

A celebrity chef hit the jackpot with Purify Food and Drink and made a whole spinoff series where she went dumpster diving and made five star meals out of rotting leftovers. Several people changed careers entirely to lend their services to study ancient texts with Comprehend Languages. Even one hour a day led to huge leaps in discovery and understanding of ancient civilizations. 

A small murmur of worry followed the new influx of skills and power. What would happen when more magic was unlocked? The amount of people now running around with dangerous combat spells was even greater than before. Would people have to worry about necromancy? New crimes were being invented faster than laws could keep up as magic was put to novel and interesting uses. 

A year passed and everyone waited with bated breath for the lunar new year, but nothing happened. 

But I’m pretty sure I figured it out. We got handed cantrips. And we waited a year for first level spells. I’m pretty sure it’s one more year, and then things will really start to get interesting.

Inspired by this poll. If you enjoyed my writing consider leaving a tip on my Ko-fi!

[circe69]

"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

<3

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

[gallusrostromegalus]

An AEIWAM Bit:

Kensei Muguruma has a weird phobia of Things That Flap.

He tries very hard to pretend he doesn't, but things flapping in his proximity are extremely startling and make him jittery at best, or hyperventilate and collapse. Something about the fluttering triggers a fear response, and his total inability to ask for help or admit weakness has caused this to balloon into a terrible reactivity to almost anything with flapping wings.

Kensei was was very excited to move back into his digs in the Ninth. So excited that to no longer be living in crummy living world apartments that he has all his stuff moved in an unpacked before Shuuhei and Mashiro had actually gotten out of the hospital after the battle of Fake Karakura. It was the middle of winter, so all the division windows were closed and he didn't really look around outside.

… but the first warm-ish day in February he opened up the windows for some fresh air and screamed when he was suddenly barraged by several dozen songbirds into swooping his office looking for snacks, then becomes howlingly enraged when he realized there's easily a hundred different types of birdfeeder on the wall outside his office that Shuuhei has been dutifully filling in Tousen's Absence.

---

Kaname, over in the 12th: "Why do I feel like I've forgotten something important?"

---

Eight minutes later in the public groupchat:

KMuguruma: @KTousen WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY DUCKING BIRD FEEDERS???? KMuguruma:*FUCKING NOT DUCKING GOD HELP ME IF A DUCK FLIES IN HERE KTousen: ah. KTousen: @JUkitake got me into birdwatching in your absence. KMuguruma: BIRDWATCHING??? KTousen: Well, more like bird listening in my case. KMuguruma: WHO NEEDS A HUNDRED BIRDFEEDERS FOR BIRDWATCHING I THOUGHT YOU DID THAT SHIT IN THE WOODS?? KTousen: @JUkitake then got me a new type of bird feeder, bath or house for every subsequent holiday gift exchange. KTousen: It was very generous of him! KMuguruma: IF HE WANTS TO BE GENEROUS HE CAN COME GET THIS GODDAMN EAGLE OR WHATEVER OUT OF MY OFFICE. SHisagi: It's a pigeon sir. KMuguruma: IT'S HUGE AND TRYING TO KILL ME. IMadarame: @KZaraki Boss you gotta see this shit. KMuguruma: IS HE GONNA COME STAB IT?? IMadarame: lol. lmao. KMuguruma: IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! SHisagi: It's also not going to kill you. It's a pigeon. SHisagi: The only reason I haven't caught it yet is you keep screaming and swinging the broom at it every time it lands so I can't grab it. KTousen: It's a surprisingly grounding pass time. It really helped build a connection with the natural world around me that was of great solace during The Fuckery. KTousen: Actually learning something about birds might help with your phobia. KMuguruma: I DO NOT HAVE A PHOBIA!! KMuguruma: BIRDS ARE FUCKED UP AND EVIL AND TRYING TO KILL ME. KZaraki: That's totally true actually. KMuguruma: THANK YOU. KZaraki: I'm coming to kill you specifically in my Capacity as Prince Of All Birds. KMuguruma: what KZaraki: Be there in 10. KMuguruma: no wait what do you mean "prince of all birds"? IMadarame: The Boss is the son of She Who Rules The Sky By The Mandate Of Heaven, AKA The Firebird. IMadarame: 🔥🐦‍🔥🔥 IMadarame: So he's Prince of All Birds. IMadarame: Also, technically an Eagle. KMuguruma: wtf SHisagi: Yeah actually you should get moving he's not kidding about kicking your ass. KMuguruma: WTF?? SHisagi: He takes slurs against his people very seriously. SHisagi: also, if you leave I actually have a shot of catching this pigeon. KTousen: I'll send @MKuna over tomorrow to collect everything. @SHisagi if you can help get them off the wall? SHisagi: Roger that, Captain. KMuguruma: HEY! DON'T CALL HIM CAPTAIN! I'M YOUR CAPTAIN. SHisagi: He's still *a* captain, sir. KTousen: also the bat houses on the water tower. KMuguruma: THE FUCKING WHAT HOUSES??? SHisagi:🫡 KMuguruma: WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?? SHisagi: With all due respect Sir, I can see @KZaraki's dust cloud approaching you really should leave before he puts a hole in the building and we have to delay publication while we fix it. KTousen: Bat houses! There's approximately 2,600 rabbit-eared bats living in the old water tower on the roof. RUnohana: They do an excellent job eating mosquitoes over the entire city! Not one case of malaria or dengue fever in decades! RUnohana:💖🦇💖 🚫🦟🚫 KMuguruma: WTF WTF WTF???? SHisagi: @NinthDivision: CODE ORANGE, EVACUATE THE BUILDING AND PREPARE FOR A ZARAKI EVENT. KMuguruma: WTF WHY DOES HE HAVE HIS OWN DISASTER CLASSIFICATION??? SHisagi: You are about to find out! Godspeed Captain, I am evacuating the building. GSYamamoto: 😎👍 RUnohana: Just like the Good Old Days, Sir? GSYamamoto: Just so! SHisagi: I have caught and safely evacuated the pigeon! IMadarame:🥳🙌🙌🙌🥳 KMuguruma: WHY DID I COME BACK HERE???

[haikyu-mp4]

Tricky twins – Tsukishima x reader wc 638 – f!reader, twin!Hinata

Tsukishima Kei refused to admit he had a crush on someone in his class. He would never tell anyone about his total focus on every smart word that comes from your mouth at the teacher’s query in history class, nor anything about the way he would pretend to adjust his glasses just so he could divert his eyes to take in your beauty.

But between us? Tsukki was lowkey obsessed with you.

He’s lucky your brain was part of the reason he likes you; the way you distracted him in class would have led to a decrease in grades had your intelligent answers not been what occupied him.

You’re quiet and calm, and everything the volleyball club was not, so he had you and them as two wholly separate worlds. Until one day, disaster struck when you knocked on the gym door and pulled the door open to stick your head in.

Tsukki stuttered in his step, realising he was closest to the door. Honestly, his first thought was that you must be there for him. “Hey. Do you need something?”

You raised an eyebrow and didn’t have to strain your ears to find the person you were looking for. “My brother told me to come here with my house key because he’ll be home late.”

Tsukki’s blood ran cold. No. Way. Any one of these guys could be your brother and pretty much all those options were terrible news. “And who would that be, exactly?”

“Shoyo.”

Right. Because your last name is Hinata. How could he not have put those two inevitable pieces together before?

As he heard his name, the orange-haired spiker turned towards you and grinned, bouncing over and thanking you profusely for lending him your keys. “No problem. Will you make it home to watch the new episode with Natsu?”

As the two of you talked, Tsukishima struggled to move away. He stared from one of you to the other, horrified at the revelation that you were probably twins.

“Suckyshima-“ Shoyo’s voice brought him right back, and he quickly cleared his throat and turned away from you two, going back to serve practice beside Yamaguchi in complete ignorance of whatever Hinata wanted to say.

Tsukki’s ears were irredeemably red, and his best friend would not let it past him.

“She’s in your class, right?” Yamaguchi asked him before picking up another ball from the basket behind them.

“She is,” he confirmed, as nonchalant as ever.

“I didn’t know you two were friends-”

“We’re not.”

“Is that why you didn’t realise she was Hinata’s twin?” Tsukishima sharply turned to his best friend, surprised and quickly switching into a glare as he turned back to the net, taking a while to gather his answer.

“She doesn’t have orange hair.”

“Maybe she dyes it,” Yamaguchi genuinely wondered, glancing over at where you were still laughing with your twin.

“She’s smart. So smart.”

“Twins can be very different,” Yamaguchi agreed, snickering under his breath at the burn on their shorter teammate.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki called, making the float server’s throat hitch. The blonde had turned his whole body to him, hands squeezing each side of the volleyball he held. “We will never speak of this again.”

Tsukishima stared at the back of your head in class the next day. It made no sense.

He couldn’t pull his eyes away as you read a scientific paper in the break time, itching to ask what kind of article it was because his glasses, unfortunately, didn’t come with extra zoom.

Before he knew it, he had walked over to the side of your desk, finally noticing the name of a palaeontologist he admired highlighted in green.

You looked up at him in surprise and he inevitably crumbled. “Can I help you?”

Yes, he had a raging crush on Hinata Shoyo’s twin sister.

masterlist

requested by @paradoxicalwritings for my event, anything for you <3

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ what they gift you for valentine’s day 𐙚 .ᐟ

synopsis: valentine’s day means something different to each of them—some treat it like a grand romantic event, others act like it’s just another friday, and a few are probably panicking last-minute. but whatever they give you, one thing’s for sure: it’s undeniably them, for better or worse.

featured character(s): lilia vanrouge, malleus draconia, silver, sebek zigvolt, leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, vil schoenheit, rook hunt, epel felmier, jamil viper, kalim al-asim, riddle rosehearts, cater diamond, trey clover, ace trappola, deuce spade, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, idia shroud, no ortho shroud

content warning(s): none!

a/n: happy valentine’s day! ❤️

an overly extravagant display of affection

why settle for one gift when he could give everything? a sea of roses flooding your dorm, an entire box—no, several boxes—of gold-wrapped chocolates, or even fireworks painting your name across the night sky. to him, valentine’s day isn’t just about romance—it’s a stage, a perfect excuse to turn his feelings into something grand. love, in his eyes, should be seen, felt, and impossible to ignore. he doesn’t believe in halfway gestures; if he adores you, the world will know it.

⤷ kalim, malleus, rook

a single, meaningful item that shows they know you

this isn’t just a generic valentine’s day gift—it’s something that proves he listens. something small you once mentioned in passing, something he went out of his way to track down, something that perfectly aligns with your tastes in a way that leaves you wondering just how long he’s been paying attention. maybe it’s a first-edition book from your favorite author, a piece of jewelry that fits your aesthetic so well it feels like he had to have spent time picking it out, or a limited-edition item from a brand you once mentioned offhandedly. it’s not about extravagance—it’s about thoughtfulness, about making sure you know he sees you.

⤷ idia, jade, jamil, leona, ruggie, vil

a carefully crafted, handwritten letter

it's more than just a few words hastily jotted down onto a card—this is a letter, deliberate and meticulously composed. every word is chosen with purpose, every stroke of ink placed with careful intent, as if he agonized over each line, rewriting certain sentences more times than he’d ever admit. it feels less like a simple valentine's note and more like a confession woven into ink, every phrase carrying the weight of emotions he might struggle to voice aloud. this gift is more than a simple gesture—it’s a glimpse into the feelings he’s likely held onto far longer than he ever intended.

⤷ malleus, riddle, rook

a bouquet, but with intention

it’s not just about flowers—it’s about what they mean. this isn’t some store-bought, last-minute bouquet; every bloom has been deliberately chosen, each one carrying a message. roses for love, lilacs for first emotions, camellias for admiration—there’s no need for him to say anything outright because the meaning is woven into every petal. whether he expects you to recognize the symbolism or not, the sentiment is there, tucked between soft petals and carefully arranged stems. and if you do look up the meanings? you’ll see everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

⤷ cater, epel, trey,

jewelry, meant to be worn always

it’s not flashy or excessive, but it’s meant to last. a necklace, a bracelet, a ring—something simple but chosen with care, something that feels right for you. the weight of it is subtle but constant, a quiet reminder of him no matter where you are. he won’t say it outright, but the thought of you wearing something from him every day pleases him. and if anyone asks where you got it? well, he wouldn’t mind hearing you say his name in response.

⤷ floyd, jamil, leona, lilia, ruggie, sebek

a luxurious experience rather than an object

he sees no reason to limit valentine’s day to just a material gift—not when he could give you a memory. a private dinner under candlelight, an exclusive event, a perfect evening where every little thing has been arranged so you don’t have to lift a finger. it’s not just about extravagance (well, maybe partially); it’s about making sure you feel special, about ensuring this night is one you won’t forget. to him, valentine’s day isn’t about what you receive—it’s about how he can make you feel.

⤷ azul, jade, kalim, malleus, rook, vil

handmade, because it means more that way

he could have just bought something, but that wouldn’t have meant enough. instead, he put in the time and effort himself. maybe it’s a home-cooked meal, carefully prepared with your favorite flavors in mind, or a bouquet he arranged by hand rather than picking something up from a florist. maybe it’s a small carved trinket, a handcrafted piece of jewelry, or even a carefully stitched charm meant to bring you luck. perfection isn’t the goal—it’s the sincerity, the intention behind giving you something that holds a part of him.

⤷ deuce, epel, jack, jamil, silver, trey

something playful, because love should be fun

who says valentine’s day has to be serious? he doesn’t just want to give you a gift—he wants to make you laugh. maybe it’s a ridiculously oversized plushie, one so big you practically have to wrestle it through your door. maybe it’s a scavenger hunt, little notes leading you to the actual gift just to watch you figure it out. maybe it’s a box of chocolates with one secretly filled with something spicy, just to see your reaction. love doesn’t always have to be grand or serious—sometimes, it’s just about enjoying each other’s company.

⤷ ace, cater, epel, floyd, lilia, ruggie

something simple, but given with genuine care

he doesn’t make a big deal out of valentine’s day, and he doesn’t see the point in overcomplicating things. what matters is that he thought of you. a warm cup of your favorite drink waiting for you in the morning, a carefully wrapped box of chocolates, a small charm for luck. he won’t make a scene about it, but there’s something undeniably sweet about how naturally he makes sure you’re taken care of.

⤷ deuce, idia, jack, jamil, sebek, silver

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[mmso-notlikethat]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3k Ι cw: Blood, Gunshot, Major injury

[read below or on ao3]

Buck’s world came back in flashes.

Pain—sharp and burning, radiating through his arm. Muffled voices. The distinct smell of metal and blood. A whisper—no, a voice he knew. A voice he loved.

“Come on, Buck. Come on, wake up.”

Dammit Tommy, it’s Evan, he thought.

The words were low and urgent, threading through the pain, pulling him toward consciousness.

“Hey, Hey, just open your eyes for me. You’re fine. You’re good—just wake up, okay?”

A hand pressed against his arm, steady and firm, keeping him anchored. The pain sharpened, burning through the fog in his mind.

Buck groaned, blinking against the blinding overhead lights. His throat felt raw, his limbs heavy. He heard a sharp exhale of relief.

“—What happened?” Buck barely managed to ask, his throat dry, words slurring.

Tommy’s face hovered above him, eyes sharper than usual, scanning him like he was an emergency call. His hands were pressing something—his own flannel, bundled tightly—against Buck’s arm. Blood soaked through.

“Just stay here,” Tommy whispered. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—controlled tension. “You’ll be okay, just don’t move now. I called 911. Help is on the way.”

Buck tried to shift, but Tommy’s grip on his injured arm tightened, keeping him still.

“Don’t move,” Tommy murmured, his voice quieter now but firm. “You got shot, but it’s not bleeding too bad. No exit wound, so the bullet’s still in there.” His gaze flicked over Buck’s arm, assessing quickly. “I don’t think it hit anything major, but I can’t be sure. Probably just the muscle.” He adjusted the pressure, tightening the fabric over the wound. “You’re stable, but you need to stay still, okay?”

Buck swallowed hard, trying to process the words through the throbbing in his skull. Shot. Bullet still inside. Probably just the muscle. That meant it wasn’t that bad, right?

His eyes flickered past Tommy, and that’s when he saw the gun in the distance—the shooter, pacing erratically near the overturned tables and shattered glass.

Buck’s breath caught, but then his gaze dragged back to Tommy, to the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were squared, body coiled tight like he was ready to move at any second.

His throat felt raw, but he forced the words out. “Are you okay?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. His focus remained locked on the shooter, assessing, calculating.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, voice even. Too even. His grip on Buck’s arm didn’t loosen, though—steady, grounding, a silent reassurance.

The man was yelling. “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?!” His voice cracked with unhinged desperation.

Tommy inhaled slowly and got up.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. They were supposed to meet up, talk—just talk. Buck had been anxious, uncertain, but then Tommy walked in—steady, put together, looking good, he always did. And when Tommy smiled— small, warm, genuine—hope flickered to life in Buck’s chest. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he thought. But now, none of that mattered.

Buck blinked. “Tommy—” His fingers barely caught at Tommy’s wrist, but Tommy had already straightened up, stepping forward with careful, measured steps.

“What’s her name?” Tommy asked, voice low but steady.

The shooter’s head snapped toward him. “You—You know her? You her new boyfriend?”

Tommy didn’t flinch. “No, I don’t know her,” he said simply. “But I know you don’t want to do this.”

The man’s breathing was ragged, his grip on the gun unsteady. “She won’t even talk to me! After everything I— I just want to see her. I just want her to listen.”

Tommy nodded, keeping his hands visible, his body loose. “I hear you, man. Feels like she shut you out, right?”

The shooter’s lip curled. “She’s been ignoring me for months! Like I don’t even exist! And then I come here, and—and she’s not even—” His voice cracked, his eyes darting around wildly.

Tommy took a slow step forward. “That’s gotta be frustrating. You came here to talk, and now all this happened instead.”

The man’s jaw twitched. “Yeah. Yeah, this—this ain’t what I wanted. But I just—” He exhaled sharply, voice shaking. “I just want to know why. Why she left. Why she won’t answer me.”

Tommy’s hands were still up, his body still calm, every movement carefully controlled.

“I get it,” Tommy said. “I really do. It’s hard when someone walks away and you don’t get answers.” His tone softened, but not too much. He had to keep the shooter engaged, not coddle him. “But, listen—hurting people in here? That’s not gonna get you those answers, man.”

The shooter’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching around the grip. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. “It’s not fair.”

Tommy didn’t break eye contact. He took another slow step forward, careful, controlled. “I hear you. You didn’t come here to hurt anyone, right?”

The shooter hesitated, breath still ragged. “No, I— I just—” His fingers flexed around the trigger, shoulders tensing. “She won’t even listen to me. After everything I did for her—”

“I believe you,” Tommy said smoothly, voice steady. “I believe you just wanted her to hear you. And you deserve that. But this?” He nodded slightly toward the shattered glass, the overturned tables. “This isn’t gonna bring her back, man. You know that.”

For a moment, the shooter wavered. His grip on the gun loosened—just barely.

Buck barely heard the rest. His arm throbbed, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage Tommy had left behind. The coppery taste in his mouth made his stomach churn, but then—

A whimper.

Buck turned his head slightly, vision still hazy. A kid—barely five, maybe six—curled up behind an overturned chair, shaking, tears streaking his cheeks. His small hands clutched his knees, and he was whispering, repeating the same words over and over.

“Mommy, I want Mommy.”

Buck swallowed, forcing himself to focus.

“You’ll see her soon,” The kid’s eyes darted to him—red rimmed, terrified. “I know it’s scary, buddy, but we’re gonna be okay. See that guy?” Buck nodded toward Tommy, who was still keeping the shooter talking. “He’s strong. He’s gonna get us out.”

The kid’s lip wobbled. His small body trembled. “You’re… you’re dying.”

Buck forced a small, pained smile. “Nah. Just got a scratch.”

Tommy’s voice was still steady, but something about the way he was holding himself didn’t sit right.

His movements weren’t as sharp as before. His breathing—was it slower?

Buck frowned, barely able to focus through the haze in his head. His own arm pulsed with pain, but somewhere beneath the chaos, something felt wrong.

The kid didn’t believe him. His little hands clenched into fists. “I don’t wanna die. I want Mommy!” He hiccupped, panic rising, his breaths coming too fast now, too sharp. His small frame shook violently.

No.

Buck saw it an instant before it happened.

The kid snapped, bolting forward, little feet slapping against the floor, toward the chaos.

Straight toward the danger.

Buck’s stomach sank.

“Wait—!”

The shooter snapped toward the movement, instincts kicking in. His expression twisted, something between panic and rage flashing in his eyes.

“HEY!” His grip tightened on the gun—

Buck barely had time to react, his injured arm slowing him down as he lunged forward to grab the kid. The shooter lifted the gun. Buck saw his finger twitch on the trigger.

A flicker of movement.

A blur of motion.

Gunfire.

A choked sound.

Buck flinched, expecting pain—expecting the worst

But it wasn’t him.

Buck barely registered the body colliding with the shooter, the gun clattering to the floor, Tommy’s grunt of pain as he twisted, bringing the man down hard against the shattered glass.

Then—sirens.

The piercing wail cut through the air, growing louder, flashing red and blue outside. Someone shouted, but Buck didn’t hear the words.

Tommy wasn’t moving.

Buck struggled to sit up, adrenaline forcing him through the pain. “Tommy?” His own voice sounded distant, the rush in his ears deafening.

Tommy was on his side, breathing shallowly, fingers still twisted in the shooter’s jacket, keeping him pinned even as his strength faded.

His other hand—Buck’s stomach dropped.

Blood.

Pooling beneath his fingers. Dark. Spreading.

Buck sucked in a sharp breath, his vision narrowing. No. No, no, no—

He scrambled closer, ignoring the fire in his own arm, pressing his good hand against Tommy’s.

It wasn’t just pooling—it was creeping outward, slow at first, then faster, seeping into the cracks of the floor, staining everything it touched. The warmth of it spread beneath Buck’s palm, slick and wrong. He pressed harder, but it kept coming. Too much. Too fast. The coppery scent thickened in the air, curling in his throat, making it harder to breathe.

“Tommy,” Buck rasped. “Hey, Hey.”

Tommy’s fingers twitched weakly against the shooter’s jacket, his breath uneven. His eyes barely opened, unfocused.

Then, voice barely above a whisper— “The guy?”

Buck swallowed hard, blinking through the sting in his eyes. “Yeah, out. He’s out. I think he hit his head.”

“…Good.” Then his fingers slipped from the fabric of the shooter’s jacket. His body sagged, the last of his strength givingout.

“Shit—Tommy.”

Buck shifted quickly, his free hand moving from the wound to ease Tommy onto his back, trying to keep him steady as his body went slack.

Tommy grimaced, a sharp, pained inhale slipping through his teeth.

“I got you,” Buck murmured, his hand pressing down firmly on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Tommy gave a slow, unsteady nod.

Then his eyes fluttered open, and for the first time, Buck saw it—the pain breaking through the steel.

“…Fuck,” Tommy muttered, voice weak, a bitter, almost amused breath leaving him. “Didn’t—didn’t even feel that one.”

Buck barely breathed. His hand pressed harder against Tommy’s side, warm blood slick against his fingers. Too much blood.

Tommy exhaled sharply, shifting just slightly—and then he winced. His brow furrowed, like he was noticing something for the first time.

He blinked down at himself. "...Huh." His voice was almost puzzled, like the thought barely registered.

Buck followed his gaze and froze.

A second patch of blood—darker, smeared along Tommy’s jeans. His thigh.

Not from the gunshot just now. From before.

Buck’s stomach dropped. “Are you—” His voice broke, panic surging through him. “You were already shot?”

Tommy let out a breathy chuckle, dazed. “Guess so.” His fingers weakly gripped Buck’s wrist, half-hearted reassurance. “Didn’t notice.”

Didn’t notice.

Buck wanted to cry. "Okay, okay, you're okay—just breathe."

Tommy’s lips twitched—or maybe they were just trembling now. “Didn’t I t-tell you not t’ move?”

Buck let out a strangled laugh, something close to a sob. “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

A noise outside. Help was here. But so was the blood pooling beneath Tommy.

Buck leaned closer, grip tightening, his pulse hammering in his ears. “You stay awake, okay? Help is here. Just—just please stay with me.”

Tommy’s fingers curled weakly into Buck’s sleeve, his grip barely there, but there.

“Bu—Evan…” His voice was thin, broken by a sharp inhale. His body shuddered.

Buck’s breath caught in his throat. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Tommy’s hold tightened for just a second.

“Evan, I—” His voice cracked, a faint wheeze threading through his words. “I wanted… I wanted to apologize—”

A cough tore through him, wet and weak. His breath hitched, and Buck felt the tremor beneath his hands.

“Tommy, stop,” Buck pleaded, panic thick in his throat. “You’re gonna be fine, just save it, okay? You can tell me later.”

But Tommy shook his head—just barely.

“Had to say it,” he murmured, voice slipping. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. “Was h’rd the…’thout you…”

Buck swallowed hard, eyes burning. “I know,” he whispered.

Tommy’s lips barely moved, but Buck caught it.

“…Loved…” It was barely more than a breath—a whisper, slipping between them.

The word faded on his tongue, unfinished. His grip on Buck’s sleeve slackened.

“Tommy?” His voice cracked, sheer terror ripping through him. “Tommy, hey, no, stay with me—”

“Tommy!” Buck’s voice rose.

But Tommy wasn't answering.

Buck pressed harder against the wound, his palm slick with blood, his hands shaking.

“Tommy,” Buck rasped, shaking him slightly. "Come on, open your eyes baby, just—just look at me."

Nothing.

No response.

The flashing lights flooded the room, red and blue bouncing off shattered glass. Boots pounded against the floor, heavy and fast. Someone was shouting orders.

A hand gripped Buck’s shoulder, trying to pull him back. but Buck fought them, twisting, shoving—he couldn't let go.

"No—wait, wait—he's not—Tommy!"

But the world was spinning, voices blurring together, hands forcing him away.

But all Buck could see was Tommy, unmoving, eyes slipping closed, blood staining his shirt, and the word echoing in his mind over and over.

Loved.

Loved you.

Loved me?

Loved.

-

The world swam back into focus slowly, thick and disoriented—white lights, the steady beeping of a monitor, the distant murmur of voices. Buck sucked in a sharp breath, his chest tight, lungs struggling to expand properly.

A hand pressed gently against his shoulder. “Easy, easy, Buck. You’re fine.”

Buck’s head turned sluggishly. “…Chim?”

“Yeah, you got me,” Chim said. “Maddie was just here—she’s coming back in a minute.”

Buck barely processed it. His body felt heavy, numb, like he was floating—but then—

Tommy.

Buck’s pulse spiked. "Tommy—? TOMMY!"

“Breathe, Buck—”

“No, Chimney, Tommy, he was—he was—”

“Buck.”

A new voice.

Buck whipped his head toward it, eyes still bleary but instantly locking onto Maddie as she entered the room.

“He’s fine, Buck.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. "Fine?"

Chim nodded, his tone light. “He’s alive, Buck. Just got out of surgery about an hour ago. Woke up for a minute, but then drifted back off. Surprisingly, you’ve been out longer than he has.” He gave Buck a teasing grin, trying to lift the mood.

Buck sucked in a breath, his throat tight, burning. “I need to see him.”

Maddie exhaled, already knowing there was no point arguing. “Buck, you just had sur—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chim cut in, sighing as he got up. “He won’t listen. Let’s take him to his room.”

"You need to be checked first,” Maddie insisted.

The minutes the nurse checked him, and the surgeon explaining his injury, felt like a lifetime.

-

Tommy was awake.

He lay still in the bed, his face pale, but he was breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly. When he turned his head and saw Buck, a faint smile tugged at his lips, weak but sincere.

“Hey, Buck.”

Buck sucked in a sharp breath, something tight, angry, relieved twisting in his chest.

“Tommy, if you try to leave me again in any way, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Tommy huffed out the smallest, breathy laugh. “Violence? Really? I just woke up.”

Buck’s throat burned,, a mix of worry and relief. His hands curling into fists. “And it’s Evan!”

Tommy blinked at that, lips twitching like he wanted to say something smart, but all he did was nod, slow.

Before either of them could say more, the door swung open.

“Oh, you’re up.”

“Sargent grant.” “Athena.”

Tommy’s gaze sharpened immediately. “The guy?”

“He’s in custody.”

Tommy exhaled, half-relief, half-exhaustion.

“He was on drugs,” Athena continued, arms crossing over her chest. “Apparently, his ex-wife used to come here a lot. He must’ve been high, looking for her.”

“Anyone else?” Tommy asked.

Athena shook her head. “Just you two.” She paused. “Because you were sitting closest to the door.”

Tommy shifted slightly, trying to sit up, but winced, the movement clearly uncomfortable. “Huh.”

Buck studied him. “Huh?”

Tommy looked at him with half-lidded eyes, his voice slow and groggy. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

Athena watched them both carefully, then sighed. “I’ll be back later for your statements, and I’ll let the nurses know you’re awake. And—” she shot Buck a pointed look “—that you snuck in here before you were cleared.”

Buck didn’t even react, his focus locked on Tommy.

A nurse came in to check Tommy’s vitals, adjusting the IV and making sure everything was steady. After a moment, she helped him sit up, propping him against the pillows. Then, she stepped back, nodding to the surgeon who entered next.

Then the surgeon explained Tommy’s surgery— The first shot, the one in his thigh, hadn’t gone deep—just a graze, but deep enough to bleed. The kind of wound that looked worse than it was. The kind of wound Tommy had barely even noticed at the time.

The second bullet had hit his spleen, causing major blood loss. The surgeons had been able to repair the damage, but in the end, they had to remove it.

He’d be okay. It would take time, but he’d be okay.

And then they were alone.

Tommy let out a breath, then huffed out something resembling a laugh. “No appendix, and now no spleen. What’s next?”

“Not funny.”

Tommy blinked at him, then shrugged one shoulder weakly. “A little funny.”

Buck didn’t even bother responding. This wasn’t funny. None of this was. And then the words slipped out before Buck could stop them— “You said loved.”

Tommy blinked. “Did I?”

Buck didn’t waver. “You loved me.”

Tommy opened his mouth—then closed it.

Then, slowly, he sank deeper into the bed, exhaling softly. His gaze flickered away for just a second—like admitting it would make it impossible to take back.

Then, barely above a whisper—raw, honest, a little tired— “I did… still do.”

Buck let out a slow, shaky breath. The weight of the last few hours, the last few months, settling all at once.

His fingers moved before his mind could catch up.

His fingertips ghosted over Tommy’s knuckles, tracing along the edge of his hand, before finally curling around it.

Warm. Steady.

For a moment, Tommy stayed still—then, with a quiet inhale, he shifted his hand, palm turning slightly, fingers twitching before curling weakly around Buck’s. Holding on.

Buck swallowed, held Tommy’s gaze, and nodded once.

“Good.”

[whatifitis]

♡ Pack It Up - CL 16 ♡

Summary: You're so irrevocably in love with Charles Leclerc and enjoying life when all of a sudden, you hear this agitating noise (your ex who is an actor and probably mentally deranged or SOMETHING).

Author's Note: Hi my lovlies! This is my first attempt at an SMAU so PLEASE BE NICE 😭 this is based off this request! also this can be seen as a pt. 2 to good luck charlie, but can also be read as a stand alone 😋 also the part 2 link is here and at the bottom cause fuck ass tumblr can suck my dick

CW: SMAU, uhhhh, fluff? angst? girl idk 😭use of the word hoe/whore in portuguese

y/n_l/n

Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbestie, 745,372 others

y/n_l/n in your eyes, i get lost, i get washed away

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charlesleclerc mon amoureuse, the most beautiful person in the world and the one i get to belong to ❤️

User67 ohhh our girl is so in love 🤭

User32 does this mean the next album will solely be a love album? 👀

jade_distinguinn ✨🌘

alex_albon i just know the next album is gonna eat!

↳ lilymhe who tf taught you that?!

↳ alex_albon you?!

↳ lilymhe mhm 🤨 im watching you, Alexander Albon Ansusinha

↳ User22 yall… its been 3 hrs since albon was last seen, do you think lily got him? 

↳ lilymhe 🤫

↳ User22 😨

-=+=-

charles_leclerc 

Liked by y/n_l/n, francisca.cgomes, and 1,549,948

charles_leclerc i wanna teach you how forever feels, ma déesse

View all comments 

y/n_l/n je t’aime tellement, mon amour. I can’t believe that this incredible man is all mine 🥰

User89 wait he’s using her song lyrics about him 😭😭😭😭

User56 yall ever think about how on y/n’s posts, the first pic is of charles but charles never puts her in the first pic?

↳ User44 it’s not that serious dude

↳ User79 hmmm i never thought of that, it is a bit weird, like he doesn’t want people to see her that much?

↳ User10 yall are crazy, this post has 4 pictures and 3 of them have y/n in it

↳ User05 tom never hid her tho 🙃 just saying

User23 ugh they’re literally couple GOALS 😍

-=+=-

tomblyth

Liked by rachelzegler, kit.connor, and 379,941 others

tomblythe some photos from christmas break, ready to come back to work happy and healthy 👍

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User51 ugh, could he be any hotter 😫

User33 ehm, who dat?

User00 cringing at the 2nd pic

↳ User99 okay and? U didn’t have to voice it

↳ User12 but yet i did 

User0 is that rachel?

↳ User9 NO IT’S Y/N

↳ User34 yall need to let that go, they broke up so long ago

↳ User9 no im being so fr, y/n posted that exact picture when they were together

↳ User56 omg?! You might be right, i recognize that pic

↳ User12 YALL ITS LEGIT  HER, ITS MY PFP AND I GRABBED IT WHEN IT WAS FIRST POSTED WHEN THEY WERE TOGETHER OMFG

↳ User66 wait, so what does this mean? I thought y/n was dating that one french guy

↳ User45 that guy is not french, hes monegasque ☝️ and yes they are dating

↳ User3 maybe they broke up? 

↳ User72 no way, they just posted pics of each other, my money is tom is playing dirty to get her back

-=+=-

-=+=-

y/n_l/n posted a story

-=+=-

-=+=- 

y/n_l/n posted a story

-=+=-

-=+=-

tomblyth posted a story

Replies: 

User99 oh sir…

User34 it was clearly an accident, you don’t have to apologize

User76 so are u guys not getting back together? 😔

User89 but why did u have it? It’s been years

-=+=-

-=+=-

-=+=-

tomblyth posted a story

Replies: 

User32 OMG ARE YOU AND Y/N BACK TOGETHER?! PLS STOP WITH THE GAMES AND TELL US

User45 bruh this is so fucking weird, using your ex’s song to soft launch your new girl?

User96 ooooh this tea is piping HOT

User62 Oh hell no 😭

User05 so you’re not single anymore? 🥺

francisca.cgomes VAI P’A PUTA QUE TU PARIU

-=+=-

f1gossippofficial

169,452 Likes

F1gossippofficial seems like y/n l/n’s ex, Tom Blythe, wants her back? Tom has not only posted an old picture of y/n but has also used her song, which she wrote about him, to soft launch a new girl… or should i say someone he’s knows ‘all too well’

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User96 I can’t be the only one who thinks this is crazy, right? 

↳ User55 Def not, idk what’s going on but holy fuck they either need to stay together or get over eachother

↳ User87 i think y/n has been over Tom for quite some time now. She seems happy with charles

↳ User34 but is she really? Tom was the one to end things so she might’ve “moved on” but is wasting time with charles

↳ User66 no way, those two are so in love and you can see it in the way they look at eachother and talk about eachother. I mean just listen the song she just put out ‘ease my mind’

↳ User29 if you’re gonna bring that up, then let's also bring up ‘we can’t be friends’ i mean it’s all about how she’s waiting for Tom “wait until you love me again”

User10 Tom needs to leave Y/n ALONE

↳ User98 AGREED

Use09 she’s probably just another bitch using charles for fame and money, she should just leave him already cause he deserves so much better

↳ User77 not to mention she’s not as pretty as his exes 🤭

-=+=-

-=+=-

tomblyth

Liked by rachelzegler, bensonboone, 90,342 others

tomblythe the smell of you hair reminds me of her feet

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User40 wtf is that caption

↳ User55 OH GIRL LEMME TELL YOU. so this song is called ‘be my mistake’ and it’s essentially this guy telling the girl he’s fucking with that she will never be the girl he loves. Like “you’re great but shes amazing and beautiful” type of stuff

↳ User40 nah that’s sickening 😭

User76 i lowkey feel bad for his new girl, he’s obvs using her to get y/n back

↳ User56 yall not everything is about y/n

↳ User78 but it clearly is?! All the evidence points to it being about y/n and getting her back

User66 omg couples goals 😍

User90 that girl is so lucky to have tom like UGH i wish

-=+=-

-=+=-

-=+=-

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f1gossippofficial

130,593 Likes

F1gossippofficial Breaking: Charles Leclerc was recently spotted attending a brand event… without y/n? Rumor has it the two have separated 😱

Thoughts? 👀

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User49 OMG DID HE FINALLY DUMP THAT GOLD DIGGING BITCH 🤩

User12 nooo, mi parents 🙁

User56 honestly about time

↳ User44 wdym about time?

↳ User56 i feel like it’s been obvious that they’ve been unhappy together for a while. Tom is also a better match for y/n

↳ User44 uhm, they literally posted pics of eachother not long ago in a loving photo dump? Also tom was a manipulative person towards y/n and he drained the fuck out of her and made her miserable

↳ User56 instagram posts dont mean shit in the real world. And all this stuff against tom is alleged 

User32 now’s my chance 😍

User66 orrrr maybe they dont have to be together 24/7?

↳ User94 they always go to events together tho…

↳ User21 well y/n also has a job so maybe she was busy

↳ User50 idk man, doesn't look good for charles atm

-=+=-

y/n_l/n

Liked by francisca.cgomes, oliviarodrigo, and 784,483 others

y/n_l/n working on things 👍

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User77 NOW LOOK WHAT YALL DID! YOU TOOK HER SPARKLE

oliviarodrigo omg so excited bestie 🤭

User93 omg new music? 👀

↳ User33 breakup music? ☹️

↳ User10 do NOT put that into the universe ☝️

User65 yall i dont wanna be a bummer but… charles isnt in the likes…

↳ User80 why is this a big deal?! Maybe he’s busy 

↳ User34 charles is ALWAYS the first to like her posts, he’s never missed a post or been late

↳ User78 omg did they actually breakup?! 

User89 FUCK YOU TOM BLYTH! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID

francisca.cgomes my beautiful girl, love you so much ❤️

↳ y/n_l/n love you too 🩷

↳ User42 YALL SHE ISN’T USING THE RED HEART, ITS OVER 😭😫

Part 2

[starkwlkr]

you are my love | cillian murphy

barbenheimer series

“My beautiful boy, my little beautiful boy.” Y/n kissed her baby boy’s cheek repeatedly, earning a giggle from the boy. “My lovely beautiful boy, all mine.”

“Don’t forget me.” Cillian chuckled as he rolled over to face Y/n and Alexander. It was Christmas morning and the Murphy household didn’t have any big plans.

“We can’t forget about daddy. You two are my beautiful boys.” Y/n whispered, holding Alex close to her. “Good mornin’ my love.”

“It’s always a good morning with you two.” Cillian replied, pressing kisses to both Y/n and the baby.

Baby Alex giggled more and tried get his father to carry him. It was truly amazing seeing how Alex was growing everyday, but it made both parents sad. They wanted their little boy to stay little forever.

“Come on then, let’s go make mammy some breakfast then we can open some presents.” Cillian stood up from the bed, putting on his slippers and grabbing Alex from Y/n’s arms.

“I think Alex said he wanted waffles for breakfast.” Y/n smiled cheekily at Cillian. She copied Cillian’s actions and soon the Murphy family was in the kitchen getting breakfast ready.

Y/n picked out a record and placed it on the record player. She had a tradition of always playing the Charlie Brown Christmas album so of course that’s the one she chose to play. When Alex heard the first few notes of the opening song, he smiled at his mother.

“Someone’s a Peanuts fan.” Y/n smiled back at her baby boy. “We could go into town, maybe take Alex to see the lights.” She suggested as she started getting out orange juice from the fridge.

“I think he’ll be mesmerized by them. My mam told me I used to stare at the lights on the tree as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.” Cillian explained.

“You’d like that, right?” Y/n walked towards Cillian and Baby Alex. She grabbed his tiny hand and lightly kissed it repeatedly, Alex bursting out into giggles.

After spending the day listening to Christmas music, opening presents and watching Christmas films, Alexander was exhausted. He was out like a light the second his mother put him down in his crib. Thankfully Alexander was an angel when it came time to go to sleep. After adjusting the baby monitor to the proper settings and leaving the night light on, Y/n walked back to the kitchen to help Cillian clean up.

“I can’t get enough of those little snores! I want him to stay a baby forever.” Y/n started picking up wrapping paper and tossing it into the bin.

“Change diapers forever? I’m not too fond of that,” Cillian teased, continuing with the dishes. “I can already picture you crying when Alex starts his first day of primary school.”

“Like you won’t sob at the sight of him with his school bag and his school uniform. Oh god, he’s going to be so cute in those little uniforms! Thanks for putting that image in my head! Now I’m going to cry even worse when that day finally comes.” Y/n playfully slapped Cillian’s arm.

“You won’t be the only one.” Cillian softly chuckled. Once he was done with the dishes, he dried his hands on the dish towel.

“Speaking of the future . . . I got offered a role. But I haven’t confirmed anything. It’s for DC comics.” Y/n said. It had been a while since she was back on a film set. She couldn’t even remember when her last day filming was.

“If you think I’m going to talk you out, you’re crazy,” Cillian turned to face her. “What role?”

“Harley Quinn. A Suicide Squad movie is being made. I got a script and the complete filming schedule. If I say yes to the role then I would start filming in April next year in Ontario.” Y/n explained.

“That’s great. But by the sound of it, you don’t seem convinced.” Cillian took notice of her facial expression. Y/n did want to return to her job, but the thought of leaving Alexander scared her. If she did say yes then it would be a disaster since Cillian and her would be away filming.

“Alexander needs me.” Y/n sighed. “I feel like I’m a bad mother if I go back to work. He’s just so little! Some mothers wait until their child is entering primary school and then they go back to work! What kind of mother will that make me?”

His expression softened, his hands coming to rest gently on her arms. “A mother who loves her son and her career. A mother who’s allowed to have both.”

She looked down, biting her lip. “But what if it doesn’t work? What if it’s too hard?”

“Then we figure it out,” he said simply. “Together.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her fingers curling around the fabric of his sweater. “I don’t want this to hurt us. What if it’s too much—being apart, both of us working? What if—”

“Hey,” he interrupted softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nothing is going to make me walk away from this—from us.” He let his hand rest against her cheek, thumb grazing her skin. “We’ll make it work, no matter what. If you take the role, I’ll support you. If you decide to stay home, I’ll support you. You have me either way.”

Her eyes glistened, the weight of her worries easing just a little. “You really think we can do this?”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know we can. We’ve gotten through everything else, haven’t we? We’ll get through this too—together. Because you’re my love.”

As if on cue, Alexander’s cries coming from the baby monitor on the counter interrupted them.

“I love you and Alex so much.” Cillian placed a kiss on her lips before leaving to comfort the crying child.

Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. Maybe it would be messy and complicated. But with Cillian by her side, she knew they’d make it work.

TAGLIST

@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @equallyshaw @agustdpeach @celesteablack @hnybitches @ietss @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekileypage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

[insidekatmind]

Rival Hearts~Sensei wolf

Request: yes!

The Sekai Taikai had finally arrived, the tournament that brought together the best dojos from around the world, an opportunity only the greatest sensei could seize. Glory awaited the victors, while defeat would be humiliating for anyone not up to the task. Among the most anticipated participants were two legends, who, despite their shared past, hated each other with all their hearts: you, the legendary "Cobra Queen," and Sensei Wolf.

Once, you and Wolf had shared not only the dojo but also a passion that burned like a wild fire. Your relationship had been intense, filled with love and rivalry, but in the end, between secrets and misunderstandings, it had collapsed. Every word of farewell had been heavy, yet necessary. Now, however, you were here again, side by side, but on the Sekai Taikai stage, with your rivalry resurfacing, stronger than ever.

Your black kimono fit your body perfectly, a sign of power and authority. Cobra Kai was your dojo, your world, and you were the queen who ruled it. You didn’t need to say anything to be respected. People looked at you with admiration, but you knew the only thing that truly mattered was winning. And your rival, Wolf, would test you like no one else.

The moment you saw him, your heart leapt to your throat. He, with his unmistakable style, with his dojo, Iron Dragon, which had never lost its reputation. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with that same determination you had seen a thousand times in him. Only this time, there was no tenderness. There was only rancor.

When you approached, he lifted his gaze and his eyes met yours. That same look that had made you tremble once, now only gave you the feeling of wanting to destroy him. But you didn’t stop, you advanced with a provocative smile.

"I thought you retired, Wolf," you said, raising an eyebrow, "I didn’t think you were still capable of doing anything useful for your dojo. Or maybe you think coming to this tournament will help you regain some dignity?"

His smile was cold, sharp. "Ah, the queen of cowards. I see you haven’t changed, always ready to throw jabs. But it seems to me that the only coward here is someone else. Maybe you’re here just to escape the fact that your dojo is nothing without me."

His words struck you, but didn’t make you waver. "Iron Dragon is a thing of the past, Wolf. Now I’m the sensei of Cobra Kai, and I put my blood, my heart, and my determination into it. I don’t need an old wolf to prove who I am."

The tension between you was so thick that it seemed the whole room had frozen. The crowd around you was silent, waiting for the confrontation to begin. It was clear that neither of you would be willing to back down. This battle, somehow, had to be won, and the Sekai Taikai would be the perfect stage to prove it.

"Then prove it to me, Cobra Queen," Wolf said, his voice low and filled with disdain.

You smiled, but inside, the anger was palpable. You knew what it meant to have the last word. "With pleasure, Wolf. Prepare your dojo for the dust, because you won’t escape."

It was a conflict that went beyond a mere competition between dojos. It was the showdown between you and him, between two broken hearts and a past that couldn’t stay in the past. And now, the Sekai Taikai would be the stage for your final battle.

[meadowfics]

I apologize if you're not taking requests at this time. I just have to get it down before I forget lol.

What if Kang Dae-Ho and reader meet during the games and somehow survive and get married and have a kid who one day comes home from school wanting to play these children games they learned from their classmates/teachers (the games they played) and maybe it brings up the bad memories. Like kinda angsty but with a comforting ending something.

childhood dreams, adult nightmares

kang dae-ho x wife!mother!reader

seo-ah does not understand the effect of a childhood game on you

I am adding this to my, "kang family" series since this is such a good concept! thank you for requesting <3

warning: PTSD mentions, yes dae-ho and y/n were in the games in this AU before seo-ah and byeol came along :(

there is a link to see seo-ah's little cute sneakers to make your day <3

four years ago, you never thought you would live to see this life.

the quiet suburban home in the countryside in korea.

the warm smell of baby lotion and freshly brewed tea lingering in the air. the sound of your three-year-old daughter, seo-ah, giggling as she kicks off her tiny pink strawberry sneakers by the door.

the little girl's excitement was bubbling over after a long day at daycare.

you never thought you would survive at all to see this life,

or any life outside of comfort,

or any life outside of poverty,

yet here you are.

your hands tighten slightly on the baby carrier strapped to your chest, where byeol is sleeping peacefully, her tiny face nestled against your sternum, breaths warm and steady.

byeol's weight is small but grounding, a reminder that she is real. that this life is real, and you did survive the worst.

you and dae-ho had spent the day running errands, taking turns carrying byeol, rocking her, feeding her, going through the motions of parenthood with the quiet ease of two people who had built a home out of the wreckage of their past.

when you talked to dae-ho's oldest sister, and your sister-in-law, hana, a few months back, she suggested that seo-ah is at an age where she needs more social interaction with kids her own age.

so, dae-ho and you put seo-ah in morning daycare so she can play, start her learning, and make some new mini friends.

today had been a good day.

until seo-ah says something that freezes you in place.

"eomma, we played a new game today at recess!"

seo-ah announces, pulling her backpack off and tossing it onto the floor. the girl's cheeks are flushed with excitement as she bounces on her toes.

you smile, adjusting the strap of the baby carrier, watching as she pulls out a small piece of construction paper with crayon scribbles all over it.

"oh yeah? what game, baby?"

she grins, bright and carefree, completely unaware of the way your world is about to tilt on its axis.

"I think it was called... hm? wait! red light, green light! it was red light, green light!"

your breath catches in your throat.

your hands go still.

your entire body stiffens, as if your muscles are locking up, as if your nervous system is throwing every alarm at once, a tidal wave of ice-cold fear crashing down on you.

red light. green light.

breathe.

breathe.

you can't.

your ears ring.

your vision blurs at the edges.

your heartbeat thunders in your chest, loud and panicked, drowning out the warmth of the home around you.

"eomma?"

seo-ah tilts her head, blinking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

she doesn't know.

seo-ah doesn't know.

act normal, y/n.

you force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"o-oh, yeah? who taught you that game?"

your voice feels distant, wrong, like it doesn’t belong to you.

"seonsaengnim said it’s really fun! we played it outside, and i won once!"

she beams, clearly proud of herself.

your stomach churns. nausea twists inside you like a knot pulled too tight.

images flash behind your eyes, unwelcome and cruel.

you remember when you won once, too.

except, you would have died if you didn't.

the sun beating down on your skin. the crack of gunfire. bodies collapsing around you, limp and lifeless. the screams. the silence.

stop. stop. stop.

"eomma?"

you snap back to the present, your nails digging into your palms as you force yourself to focus on your daughter.

on her soft voice, her curious eyes she got from you, the way she’s still waiting for your response.

before you can say anything, dae-ho’s voice calls out from down the hall.

"seo-ah, baby, use your inside voice! your sister's sleeping."

your head turns instinctively.

dae-ho is in byeol’s nursery, gently rocking her bassinet as he hums under his breath, soothing her. t

he sight of him...tall, strong, always steady...should bring you comfort.

right now, you don’t want him to see you like this.

you don’t want to trigger him, too.

"w-why don’t you go wash your hands before dinner, hm?"

you tell seo-ah, ruffling her hair.

she pouts but obeys, skipping off toward the bathroom, humming a song to herself.

as soon as she’s gone, you let out a shaky breath and press a hand to your chest, as if that will somehow slow the frantic beating of your heart.

you close your eyes. try to shake it off. try to remind yourself that this is not then.

this is not the games.

however, your body doesn’t understand the difference.

its been a while since you remembered those games. your brain tries to block that memory all of the time.

today, the memories were clear as day.

your legs feel weak as you make your way to the bedroom, setting the empty baby carrier down carefully before you sit on the edge of the bed.

your hands are still trembling, your lungs still tight.

you need to pull yourself together. you can’t let dae-ho see you like this.

you can’t—

“baby?”

your husband's voice is soft, but it startles you anyway.

you snap your head up, meeting his gaze.

dae-ho is standing in the doorway, brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable.

your stomach twists.

he noticed.

of course he did.

you try to muster a small smile.

“hey.”

he studies you for a long moment before stepping forward.

“what’s wrong?”

don’t tell him.

don’t tell him.

you don’t want to see that look in his eyes.

the same look he had the night you both finally got out, the night you collapsed in his arms, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, shaking so violently he had to hold you together.

the night before that when the rebellion happened. when you had to comfort a shaking dae-ho since the gunshots reminded him of his time in the marines.

he had worser PTSD symptoms than you did, if you had to compare.

however, dae-ho is patient.

he crouches in front of you, resting a warm hand on your knee.

"talk to me, baby."

you let out a slow breath, your throat tight.

“seo-ah told me that she--um--played… red light, green light today at daycare.”

he stills.

"it reminded me of.."

for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

dae-ho's fingers flex against your knee, his jaw tightens, his own breathing uneven. the ex-marine's eyes darken in a way that makes your stomach drop.

"oh."

you nod.

"yeah."

a heavy silence falls between you, thick with memories neither of you want to relive.

“i didn’t want to tell you,”

you admit quietly.

“i didn’t want to make you—”

“it’s okay,”

he cuts in gently.

“you can tell me anything.”

you can see it.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl into fists before he slowly unclenches them.

he’s not okay either. but he’s trying.

just like you.

he takes a deep breath, then reaches for your hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

“she’s safe,”

he says, and you can’t tell if he’s reminding you or himself.

“she’s here. alive. she’s okay.”

you nod, squeezing his hands.

"i know. i just—" you swallow hard.

"it still gets to me."

"i know, sweetheart."

his voice is so soft it almost breaks you.

he moves to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, is the only thing keeping you from spiraling again.

"breathe with me,"

he murmurs against your hair.

so you do.

inhale.

his chest rises with yours.

exhale.

dae-ho's arms tighten around you.

the two of you sit like that for a long time, breathing together, grounding each other.

you don’t know how much time passes before you finally whisper,

“do you think it’ll ever go away?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then, he sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"maybe not completely but we have each other, right?"

you close your eyes, nodding.

"yeah."

"and seo-ah. and byeol."

his voice is steadier now.

"we survived, baby. we made it. no one is taking anything from us ever again."

dae-ho's words settle into your bones, solid and warm, and you believe him.

you press your face against his chest, soaking in the quiet comfort of him.

the past will always be there, unfortunately, waiting for moments like this to creep in.

you are here alive with dae-ho. together.

alive.

kang family masterlist here