#you can’t just say that and think you won

[alagaisia]

This is true, and it’s especially true for the people that I think most is us probably encounter in our own social circles and daily lives. But I don’t think it’s true for everybody. Remember how there was that stat showing a spike in google searches for “did Joe Biden drop out” on Election Day?

I think it’s sort of like how you can’t know what you can’t know. If you don’t know that you’re missing information, you can’t go looking to educate yourself on it. And while most of the time when people talk about “living in a bubble” they tend to mean it in a bad faith, paradox of tolerance type of way, I’ve realized lately that it’s a concept that’s absolutely applicable in a lot of ways. Of course we make our assumptions about the world based on the very limited and biased sample size of people we interact with in our daily lives. You can’t talk about the benefits of being able to curate our dashes on tumblr and then say you think the people who interact with the same political posts as you make a representative sample of the American public.

I am someone who tries to be pretty aware of environmental issues in my personal habits. My family isn’t zero-waste, granola, organic everything, but we haven’t used a plastic shopping bag or water bottle since I was in first grade. As I start forming my own adult habits and thinking about having more control over my consumption, I’m identifying ways I could move towards more environmental consciousness. I know that I’m not doing the absolute most I could be doing, and that I think about this more than the people around me, but not by that much, right?

Except I work now for an organization that sends plays on things like proper sorting of recycling to teach elementary students two counties from where I live. The county pays us to bring these programs, because the residents are simply not recycling. I’ve gone along on one or two of the programs and seen kids ten and eleven years old participating in the interactive “help us sort the recycling” activity in the show who were terrible at it. Because it’s just not something their community thinks about. These aren’t rural areas, these aren’t devoid of civilization or waste management infrastructure, this is a suburb 45 minutes from the largest city in our state.

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around it, too, but trump did not win because more people voted for him. He won because record numbers of people did not vote at all. And we can blame that on individual leftists becoming cynical and disillusioned, but something like a third of the country has never voted in any election. There are people who are and always have been disconnected from and disinterested in the government and electoral politics and anything happening in this country.

And it’s wrong! I’m not saying it isn’t. Each of us has a responsibility to our communities, and the civic responsibility of voting and being at least minimally informed on what’s happening in the country is a part of living in a fucking society. It’s disgraceful. But many of those non-voters didn’t consider all of the available information and then choose not to educate themselves and not to vote. It simply didn’t occur to them. Just like the kids I encountered who don’t know how to recycle, a lot of people have grown up in families and communities where electoral politics were somebody else’s business, or for any number of other reasons I can’t begin to guess at, something that just wasn’t a priority. I come from a very politically motivated family, and I’m sure most of you do too. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t vote. I don’t know why each of them didn’t. But there are millions of people who don’t.

These problems have been building since long before 2016, but at the very least that election should have been a wake up call for the democratic party on a national level. What we needed and still need is community and individual level action on a national scale to reach non-voters and educate them on political issues and why this shit does actually affect them and does actually matter. Democrats need to stop folding to random criticism on things like fracking and instead have some fucking backbone, stick to their morals, and work to get votes through education and changing people’s minds and convincing them that these values are worth voting for, rather than changing their policies every other week based on what they think might appease people who are not going to vote for them anyway without a concentrated effort for a societal change of mindset.

Yes, there’s lots of information available, and people do have a responsibility to use that. Obviously there are plenty of people like the ones OP alludes to who are shirking that responsibility due to apathy. But those of us who know all of that know it because we are part of communities that care about accessing and acting based on that information. There are people who don’t know and don’t care and to whom it would never occur to seek that information out, because in their community, it doesn’t matter. And those are the people who I think the democratic party does have a real responsibility to try harder to reach. Politicians also obviously live in a social bubble where everybody cares about politics. But somebody needs to look at the numbers and realize that that’s just not true for the country as a whole. And then they need to do something about it.

I STILL sometimes see people argue that Trump's victory is the fault of Democrats for not being good enough at messaging, and not making it clear enough to Americans all the good Biden was doing.

I knew. Lots of people I know knew. I don't have a secret line to the white house. I'm around average intelligence. I'm not excessively seeking out news, constantly getting news updates. And yet I knew. And so did many others. The information was there for you to get at any time. It found its way to me without my actively seeking it out. Kamala Harris cannot personally come to your house and slap the tiktok out of your hands. You have to take a crumb of responsibility here.

[ch0llies]

ALL MINE | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

oneshot - chris x reader

you know you shouldn’t be here- not with him. You have a boyfriend, but when you lock eyes with Chris from across the club, all of that fades into the background. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and the second you step into his apartment, you know it’s wraps. It’s wrong. It’s reckless. But with his hands on your waist and his lips crashing against yours, you can’t bring yourself to care.

story warnings: smut, cheating, dom!chris x brat!reader, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, squirting, overstimulation, if any of these topics upset you... don't read!

word count: 5k

requested by @sturnluv0w3n - hope you enjoy!🧡

You feel his eyes on you.

Chris is watching. He always watches. You knew he’d be here. That’s why you convinced your girlfriend to come to this club. You wanted him to watch you.

You know it’s wrong. But that doesn’t stop you.

The bass thumps through the club, rattling your chest as you sway your hips to the beat, your fingers running lazily along the rim of your glass before bringing it to your lips. The drink is sweet, dangerously so, but nothing compares to Chris’s stare burning into your skin from across the room.

You don’t look at him. Not yet.

Instead, you tilt your head back, exposing the column of your throat as you down the rest of your drink in one slow, deliberate motion. The ice clinks as you set the glass down, your body moving fluidly, deliberately, as if the music itself commands you. You arch your back just enough to accentuate the dip of your waist, your fingers trailing along the hem of your dress as you lift your arms, stretching, teasing.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your friends are laughing beside you, oblivious to the storm brewing just a few feet away. And then your eyes finally meet his.

Chris is leaned against the bar, his jaw clenched, a drink swirling in his hand. His dark gaze is locked on you, heavy, intense, filled with something raw and possessive that sends a thrill up your spine. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his grip tightening around the glass, and you know you’ve won.

But this game is dangerous.

You can feel your phone buzzing in your purse- probably your boyfriend checking in, wondering if you’re having fun, if you miss him. And maybe you should feel guilty. Maybe you should step away, pretend Chris isn’t here, pretend you haven’t been craving this exact moment for weeks.

But instead, you slip away from your friends, weaving through the crowd as if you’re just going to the bar for another drink. You make sure they’re still distracted before you stop beside Chris, your fingers grazing the cool countertop.

“Didn't know you’d be here tonight,” you murmur, keeping your eyes forward, letting your nails tap against the bar, slow and teasing.

“Liar,” he mutters under his breath, leaning in just enough that his lips graze the shell of your ear. His scent wraps around you, making it even harder to think clearly.

“Careful,” you warn, but your voice lacks conviction.

Chris hums, his fingers brushing the small of your back, barely there but enough to send a shiver through you. “You really want me to be careful?”

No. But you can’t say that.

Instead, you turn your head just slightly, your lips a breath away from his. “Not here.”

His smirk is slow, dangerous. “Then let’s go.”

Your heart pounds as you glance over your shoulder. Your friends are still caught up in their own conversations, none of them paying attention to you. It’s now or never.

With a deep breath, you grab your phone from your purse, quickly typing out a message- something about needing fresh air, that you’ll be right back. And then, without another word, you let Chris lead you through the crowd, out the side exit into the cool night air.

This is wrong.

But with Chris’s fingers laced through yours, his gaze dark with promise, you know one thing for certain.

You’re not saying no.

Chris pushes open the heavy club door, and the crisp Boston night air rushes over you, cooling the heat still lingering on your skin. The city is alive at this hour- cars honking, neon lights flashing against the wet pavement, the scent of late-night food vendors wafting through the streets. But none of that matters. The only thing that does is him.

You watch as Chris steps forward, effortlessly flagging down a taxi with a sharp wave of his hand. The streetlights cast a glow over him, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his messy brown curls peek out from beneath his beanie. His facial hair is longer than the last time you saw him- just enough scruff to make him look even more sexy, even more tempting. Like the picture you’ve stared at too many times, touched yourself to too many times, the one you shouldn’t even have saved.

And fuck, does he look good.

He’s in all black- loose cargo pants hanging low on his hips, a snug black wifebeater that clings to his lean frame, an orange sweatshirt slung lazily over his shoulder. It’s effortless, careless, but so goddamn sexy it makes your stomach tighten. His white sneakers scuff lightly against the pavement as he steps toward you, his sharp gaze flickering over your face, reading you like he always does.

“You coming or what?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. Like he already knows your answer. Like he’s daring you to say no.

You glance over your shoulder- back toward the club, back toward the life you’re supposed to be leading. Your friends are inside, your boyfriend’s probably waiting for a text, but right now, none of it feels real. The only thing that does is Chris, standing in front of you, his lips curling into that smirk that always gets you into trouble.

You don’t respond. You just step forward, closing the space between you, letting him open the taxi door for you.

The cab door slams shut behind you, enclosing you both in a bubble of tension so thick you can practically taste it. Chris leans forward, rattling off his address to the driver like it’s second nature- like you haven’t been there before, like you haven’t already spent too many nights tangled up in his sheets, doing things you swear you’d never do again.

You settle into the seat beside him, the city lights flashing in blurred streaks outside the window. Taking a breath, you reach into your purse, pulling out your phone to use as a mirror. Your lipstick is smudged, just a little, so you twist the tube open and drag the color back across your lips, slow and deliberate.

Chris exhales sharply beside you, and you catch the way he shifts in his seat.

“Aye,” he murmurs, nudging your arm. “Knock it off.”

You arch a brow but don’t stop, pursing your lips together to even out the shade. “Why?”

Chris watches you, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he’s deciding something. Then, before you can react, he leans in- close enough that you feel the heat of his breath against your ear, his voice dropping into something dark, something meant just for you.

“Because I don’t want that shit all over my cock when it’s ramming between your lips tonight.”

Your breath catches.

Heat flashes through your body, pooling low in your stomach, and suddenly, the taxi feels a hell of a lot smaller. Your fingers twitch around the lipstick, but you quickly snap it shut, shoving it back into your purse as you sit up straighter, legs crossing instinctively.

Chris leans back, satisfied, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down to your legs before dragging back up to meet your gaze. “There ya go.”

Cocky asshole.

But you don’t have anything to say. Not when your pulse is racing, not when your thighs press together involuntarily, not when you already know you’re completely and utterly fucked tonight.

The taxi pulls up in front of his place, the familiar building looming in the dim glow of the streetlights. Your pulse quickens, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity.

Before you can even think about reaching for the door handle, Chris is already moving. He steps out first, slipping the cab driver some cash through the window, murmuring something low that you don’t quite catch. Then, he turns back, opening your door.

His hand extends toward you, fingers curled slightly in invitation. “C’mon,” he murmurs.

You slip your hand into his. His grip is firm, steady, and he helps you out of the cab, his other hand instinctively settling against your waist as you adjust yourself. The heels you’re wearing make it a little tricky, but Chris steadies you effortlessly, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Because he has.

You swallow hard as he leads you up the steps, unlocking the door with a swift flick of his wrist. And then-

The door slams shut behind you, and he’s on you.

Chris’s hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashes onto yours. It’s urgent, desperate, like he’s been starving for weeks and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. His fingers dig into your waist, pressing you back against the door as his lips move against yours- hot, demanding, possessive.

You barely have time to react before he’s tilting your chin up, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak. His breath is warm, his scent intoxicating, and every single thought of right and wrong evaporates the second he presses his body against yours, pinning you between him and the door.

“Knew you’d be back” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low, rough, edged with something dangerous, “You always come back to me, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes but tangle your fingers in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as he backs you into his room on his bed.

Clothes hit the floor, messy and frantic and within minutes you’re both left in nothing but your undergarments, like every other time before. Like nothing’s changed. And honestly, nothing has. This is just how it is with him.

And tomorrow- tomorrow, you’ll pretend to hate yourself for this. But you know you’ll find yourself back in his sheets within the week.

Chris smirks against your lips, dragging them down your jaw, your neck, leaving heat in his wake as he hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. “Oh so we’re gonna pretend we won’t do this again, aren’t we?”

Your breath hitches, nails digging into his back, dragging over bare skin. He’s right. You both know it.

But you let yourself pretend anyway.

“Shut up and fuck me, Chris.”

He chuckles deeply, his breath hot against your skin. “You say that like I wasn’t already planning on it,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and pure filth.

His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and desperation, hands sliding down your body like he’s refreshing every inch of you to memory. His fingers toy with the edge of your underwear, teasing, torturing, making you squirm beneath him.

“Patience, ma,” he hums against your lips, but his own restraint is already fraying.

He presses his body flush against yours, his lips never straying too far, never giving you the space to think- to regret. His fingers slip beneath the fabric at your hip, teasing, dragging over the sensitive skin right above your crotch.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, a silent plea, but he just chuckles, reveling in the way you react to him.

“You’re restless already, ma,” he taunts, his voice low, teasing. “What happened to all that attitude?”

You glare up at him, frustration bubbling in your chest, but before you can snap back, he presses his hips into yours, rolling against you in a way that steals every coherent thought from your mind.

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening their grip on his skin, and Chris groans at the sting, his restraint snapping thread by thread.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head like he’s given up fighting it, like he can’t hold back even if he wanted to. His fingers hook into your underwear and begin to dragging them down.“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You whine as he drags your underwear down your legs at a pace so slow it’s borderline torturous. His fingers trail over your skin as he does, deliberate, calculated, like he’s testing your patience on purpose.

You know he is.

And you’re not about to let him win that easily.

Tilting your chin, you meet his gaze with a smirk. “Taking your sweet time, huh?” Your voice is laced with defiance, a challenge.

Chris cocks a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You in a rush?” he muses, settling between your legs, hands gripping your thighs, thumbs stroking teasing circles against your skin. “’Cause last I checked, you were just begging me to fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, feigning boredom even as your body betrays you, your breath coming in shallow, anticipation curling low in your stomach. “Yeah, well, I didn’t realize I’d have to wait all night for it.”

That does it.

Chris’s smirk vanishes, replaced by something darker, something more dangerous. His grip tightens just enough to make you gasp, his eyes locked onto yours as he leans in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“Keep running that mouth, and I’ll make sure you don’t get anything until you’re begging for it properly,” he murmurs, his voice a low, commanding growl.

A shiver rolls down your spine, but you refuse to back down, tilting your head with a faux innocent look. “I thought you liked a challenge.”

Chris exhales sharply, his patience barely hanging by a thread.

In an instant, his hand slides up your inner thigh, fingers ghosting over where you need him most but never quite giving in. His lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, before his teeth graze sensitive skin, making you arch beneath him.

“You wanna act like a brat?” he murmurs against your skin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above your chest. “Fine. But you don’t get to call the shots, ma. I do.”

Your breath hitches as his mouth travels lower, kissing down along your covered breasts, sternum, stomach, and hip bones.

His hands pinned your hips down everytime you tried to move against him, tried to chase what he’s withholding.

“Chris-”

“Ah-” His fingers dig into your skin, halting you completely. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You glare at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “You’re such an asshole-”

The sharp sting of his teeth against your thigh cuts you off, and you yelp, a mix of surprise and pleasure sparking through you.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning full force. “Try again, baby,” he purrs, his fingers resuming their torturously slow exploration. “Use your manners.”

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him win so easily, but when his tongue flicks over the newly bitten spot, when his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s in control, your resistance wavers.

You swallow hard, exhaling shakily. “Please,” you murmur, voice softer now, almost reluctant. “Please touch me, Chris.”

Chris hums approvingly, but he doesn’t let up just yet. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His mouth inches lower, his breath hot against your skin, goosebumps forming across your thighs despite the heat coursing through your body.

He presses a lingering kiss to your inner thigh and his fingers trace idle patterns along your skin. He was stalling, making sure you feel every second of his deliberate torment.

“You’re so easy to wind up,” he muses, his voice dripping with amusement.

You glare down at him, but the effect is ruined by the way your breath shudders when his lips trail closer -so damn close- but never quite giving you what you need.

“Chris,” you warn, your patience hanging by a thread.

He grins. “That’s not how you say it, baby.”

You grit your teeth, but you know how this game goes. You started it, and now you have to play by his rules.

“Please, Chris,” you try again, voice barely above a breath. “I need you.”

His groan is soft but full of satisfaction, like that’s what he’s been waiting to hear. Without another word, he finally gives in, flattening and dragging his tongue through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your entire body tense.

Your fingers immediately fly to his hair, gripping tight as your back arches off the mattress, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head tilting back as he settles between your thighs, his hands pinning them open as he works you over with a precision that’s nothing short of lethal.

Chris hums against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. “Always so sensitive,” he murmurs, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

You try to form a response but then he flicks his tongue against your clit just right, and your brain short-circuits.

Your hips jerk up, seeking more, but Chris is quick to put you back in your place, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you right where he wants you.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, pulling back just enough to meet your hazy gaze. His lips are wet with your slick, pupils blown wide, and you think he might just be enjoying this more than you are. “You don’t get to take what you want. You take what I give you.”

Your jaw clenches, frustration burning beneath the pleasure. “Chris-”

He cuts you off with another slow, devastating drag of his tongue, his pace infuriatingly controlled, like he has all the time in the world.

You let out a pretty and desperate string of moans, showcasing nothing but pure need for him. “Please baby,” you whimper, pulling at his dark waves lightly.

You feel him groan against you, pushing his head deeper into you. His nose was flicking patterns against your clit and he expertly plunged his tongue into your hole as you writhed against him.

Heat coils in your stomach, tension building, winding tighter and tighter, and just when you’re teetering on the edge-

Chris pulls away.

Your eyes snap open, disbelief and frustration surging through you as you look down at him, lips parted, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

Chris lifts his head, his mouth and chin practically dripping with your arousal. He wipes his mouth with his hand, grinning like the devil himself. “Told you,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, “brats don’t get to call the shots.”

You glare at him, rage and need simmering together into something dangerous. “I hate you”

He leans up, pressing a slow, taunting kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “No you don’t,” he murmurs against your mouth, his hands slipping beneath you, flipping you effortlessly onto your stomach.

He palms your ass, kneading the soft flesh with slow, deliberate movements, his touch just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to satisfy. His fingers drag over the backs of your thighs, teasing, spreading you open beneath him.

“Up,” he commands, his voice firm but smooth, like he knows you won’t disobey.

You bite your lip, stubborn, refusing to move at first just to see what he’ll do.

Chris exhales a sharp chuckle, his patience unwavering. His hand comes down against your ass in a sharp, stinging slap that makes you jolt.

“Up,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Still, you push back. “Make me.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it was the right thing, depending on how wrecked you wanted to be.

Chris clicks his tongue, then suddenly grips your hips and yanks you up onto your hands and knees, forcing you into position with little effort. His strength has always been infuriating, but right now, it just makes your stomach flip and core flutter.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again,” he muses, running a hand up the length of your spine, pressing down between your shoulder blades until your chest sinks into the mattress and your ass is high in the air. “You act like you don’t love it when I put you in your place.”

You scoff, breathless. “I don’t.”

Chris hums, dragging his hand back down your spine, teasing at the dip of your lower back. “Sure you don’t, ma.”

Before you can retort, he shifts behind you, pressing the long and impossibly thick length of himself against your dripping heat, running his tip up and down your folds without pushing in.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, a frustrated whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

Chris chuckles, smug. “What’s wrong?” he taunts, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel every inch of the underside of him, covered in your slick and hard against you. “Thought you didn’t want it?”

Your jaw clenches, stubborn. “I don’t.”

“Lying’s not a good look on you,” Chris murmurs, dragging himself over you again, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance before sliding away once more.

You let out a strangled noise, half frustration, half desperation. “Chris-”

“Try again,” he interrupts, his tone light, teasing, but still demanding submission.

You grit your teeth, unwilling to give in so easily. But when he does it again -runs himself over your soaked folds without giving you what you need- your stubbornness starts to falter.

Your forehead presses into the mattress, your hips shifting back against him instinctively. “Chris, please.”

“Please, what?”

You groan, your pride warring with your need. “Please. Just fuck me.”

Chris sighs, dragging his cock over you once more, reveling in the way your body shudders at the contact. “See, now that sounded almost sincere,” he muses.

“Almost?” you snap, exasperated, only for him to roll his hips against you again, making you keen.

“You can do better,” he murmurs, leaning forward, his chest pressing flush against your back, his lips brushing your ear. “Try again, baby.”

Your eyes flutter shut, frustration burning hot under your skin. “Chris, please, I need you. God- I need you to fuck me. Please.”

He smirks against your shoulder, his hand sliding down to grip your hip. “There’s my good girl. That’s more like it.”

Chris groans as he lines himself up, teasing you one last time by rubbing the thick head of his cock over your soaked entrance. His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin, grounding himself- grounding you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with anticipation. “So fucking wet for me. She missed me, huh?”

You don’t answer- can’t. Your breath catches as he finally starts to push in, stretching you inch by inch, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel every bit of him, feel every vein on him pulsing.

Chris exhales sharply, his head tipping forward. “Shit- still so fucking tight,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. His free hand slides up your back, pressing down between your shoulder blades to keep you exactly where he wants you. “Taking me so well, ma. Knew this pussy was made for me.”

A strangled moan escapes your lips as he sinks deeper, the stretch just teetering the line of too much, but the burn only makes you crave more.

“Yeah? You like that?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an underlying edge of desperation, like even he’s barely holding on.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, trying to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you so slowly, so completely. “Chris -fuck- p-please-”

He chuckles breathlessly, pulling back just an inch before pushing in again, just as slow, making you whine. “Already begging again?” His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “Thought you wanted to be a little brat.”

You let out a frustrated noise, wiggling your hips back against him, desperate for more, but Chris is quicker- his hand flies to your hip, holding you still with a bruising grip.

“Uh-uh,” he scolds, his voice pure sin. “You take what I give you, remember?”

Your head drops forward, a needy whimper spilling from your lips. “Chriiissss-”

“That’s right, baby. Say my name.” He groans as he finally bottoms out, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds himself there for a moment, letting you feel just how deep he is as his tip kisses your cervix. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Your walls flutter around him, and Chris curses under his breath, his composure fraying at the edges.

“Such a good girl for me when you wanna be,” he praises, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Bet you’d let me keep you like this all night, huh? Bent over, stuffed full, taking whatever I give you.”

You nod frantically, moaning at the mere thought, but Chris tuts, reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back just enough to make you gasp.

“Use your words, ma.”

“Yes- f-fuck, yes, Chris,” you cry out, your voice trembling. “Please, I need more. I need your cock. Please.”

Chris groans, his grip tightening. “That’s my girl.”

And then, finally, he moves.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, teasing, but it doesn’t last long. It never does. He pulls back and slams into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

A wrecked moan tears from your throat as he sets a ruthless pace, each thrust deep and punishing, his grip on your hips keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Chris is loud, vocal, completely unashamed of the sounds he makes as he fucks into you- deep groans, breathy curses, praises slipping from his lips between every sharp thrust.

“That’s it, baby- fuck, taking me so well,” he grits out, his voice rough with pleasure. “You feel how deep I am? Huh? Feel how perfect this tight little pussy is for me?”

You can only nod, gasping, moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know.

Chris smirks, pulling you back against him, forcing you to take every inch, every thrust. “Not such a mouthy little brat now, are you?”

You whimper, barely able to form a response, too lost in the way he’s completely wrecking you.

Chris leans down, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, his teeth scraping against your skin as his tip bruises your cervix with every thrust. “That’s what I thought.”

He doesn’t let up- if anything, he picks up the pace, thrusting into you harder, faster, his hips slamming against yours with a force that leaves you breathless. The sound of skin on skin, of your desperate moans and his wrecked groans, fills the room, the air thick with heat and need.

“Fuck, ma,” he pants, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he drags you back onto his cock, making you take him deeper. “You hear that? How fucking wet you are for me?” He lets out a sharp, breathless laugh. “So fucking messy.”

Tears well in your eyes, the pleasure so overwhelming it borders on unbearable. Your mascara starts to streak down your cheeks, your breath catching on sobs of pure bliss.

Chris catches sight of your reflection in the mirror across his room, and he groans at the sight- your wrecked expression, your parted lips, the black-streaked tears running down your flushed cheeks.

“Fuck- look at you,” he breathes, his voice full of awe and possession. He snakes a hand into your hair, yanking your head up so you’re forced to meet your own gaze in the mirror. “Prettiest little thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Your breath shudders, your walls clenching impossibly hard around him at his words.

Chris groans, his hips stuttering for a split second before he catches himself. “Yeah? You like that, baby? Like being my pretty little mess?”

You whimper, unable to do anything but nod, but Chris isn’t satisfied with that.

“You’re a big girl. Use your words,” he demands.

Your throat feels like it’s going to close from the pleasure, even if you wanted to respond to him- you couldn’t.

And he didn’t like that.

He suddenly pulls out completely.

A sharp cry rips from your throat at the loss, your body trembling, desperate, aching for him to fill you again.

“Chris-” you moan out.

He cuts you off with another sharp slap to your ass, his tone laced with amusement. “Such a fucking brat,” he muses, shaking his head. “I ask so nicely, and you still can’t just be good for me, huh? Can’t use your words like a big girl?”

You glare at him through the mirror, your frustration burning through the haze of pleasure.

Chris chuckles darkly at your fucked out expression, sliding a hand between your thighs, running his fingers through your slick folds. “Still nothing? Have I fucked you dumb, ma?”

Before you can snap back, he suddenly thrusts back into you, forcing you to take him all at once.

Your scream is cut off by his hand wrapping around your throat, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, his breath ragged. “Tell me, baby,” he growls, rolling his hips deep and slow, teasing you with every inch. “Does he ever fuck you like this? Huh?”

Your pride flares, and even through the haze of pleasure, you find it in yourself to be defiant. “Maybe.”

Chris freezes.

A sharp, wrecked moan rips from your throat as he snaps his hips forward with a brutal thrust, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Wrong answer, baby.”

He starts fucking into you with a pace so unforgiving it has you seeing stars, every thrust forcing you to take everything he’s giving you, no room to think, no room to do anything but feel.

Chris growls, his voice thick with possession. “Try again. Does he fuck you like I do?”

You sob, pleasure coursing through you so intensely you can’t even pretend anymore. “No- fuck, no one, Chris. No one does it like you.”

Chris groans, dragging his teeth along your jaw, his grip never wavering. “Yeah? Who makes you feel this good?”

“You -fuck- you, Chris,” you sob, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering you to the earth.

Chris lets out a wrecked, satisfied groan. His thrusts grow sharper, faster, each one hitting so deep it has your entire body trembling against him.

“Damn right,” he growls, his lips brushing over your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “This pussy? All mine.” His fingers trail down, pressing against your lower stomach, feeling the way he’s stretching you, ruining you, bulging through your abdomen. “You? You’re all fucking mine.”

A broken moan tears from your throat, your body arching into him, every nerve in your body alight with pleasure. The intensity of it, the force of his claim, has your legs shaking, muscles locking up as he fucks you harder, deeper, like he’s determined to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Chris notices immediately. “Aww,” he coos, his voice thick with smug amusement. “You shaking for me, baby? Shaking for this cock?” He thrusts even harder, dragging a strangled sob from you. “That’s cute.”

You whimper, your body completely at his mercy, overwhelmed, overstimulated- but fuck, you don’t want him to stop.

Chris chuckles, his free hand sliding down your stomach, pressing against your clit just enough to make your legs threaten to give out beneath you. “Look at you,” he taunts, shaking his head as he watches you fall apart for him. “Look at the way you’re breaking beneath me. No one will ever make you feel this good.”

You let out a broken, incoherent moan, barely able to form words, too lost in the way he’s absolutely ruining you.

Chris smirks, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss against the side of your throat. “He’ll never know,” he murmurs, voice laced with pure cocky satisfaction. “Never know the way your body aches for me.” He thrusts particularly deep, making you wail. “For me. Just me.”

Your entire body locks up, a shuddering sob leaving your lips as you teeter on the edge, pleasure building, threatening to consume you entirely.

Chris groans, his own restraint slipping, his voice wrecked with need. “That’s it, ma. Fucking take it. Take all of me.”

He fucks you harder, deeper, the force of his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge, shattering any remaining shred of control you thought you had.

His hand snakes between your thighs again, fingers finding your clit with deadly precision. He doesn’t tease this time- no more games, no more torture. He circles it fast, and hard, and firm, exactly the way he knows will ruin you.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he groans, his voice thick with possession, desperation. “Yeah, you are. Fuck- can feel you clenching around me.”

Your breath stutters, a wrecked, broken sob slipping from your lips. Your body is locking up, trembling, so close you can barely breathe. “Shit! Chris- I’m- I’m gonna cum-”

Chris grits his teeth, his own pleasure simmering just beneath the surface, but he doesn’t let up- not yet.

“Come on, ma,” he growls, his pace relentless, his fingers rubbing you faster, pushing you right to the brink. “Cum all over this cock. Let me feel it- let me fucking feel you.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes into you with devastating force, pleasure surging through you like an electric current, knocking every ounce of air from your lungs. Your entire body seizes, your back arching as wave after wave rolls through you, your walls clenching so tight around him it drags a wrecked groan from his throat.

Chris doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, fucking you through it, his fingers never leaving your clit, his cock still splitting you open with ruthless, merciless precision.

Your moans turn into whimpers, then sobs, your body jerking beneath him, overstimulated, too sensitive, too much.

Chris chuckles breathlessly, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “What’s wrong, baby?” he coos, flicking your clit with his whole palm now, making you jolt, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. “Too much?”

You can’t even answer- you’re writhing beneath him, pleasure and sensitivity colliding into something completely overwhelming.

Chris watches you fall apart with pure satisfaction, his cock throbbing inside you. “Fuck, baby, look at you. So messy. So fucking pretty when you cry for me.”

And then he does it again.

A sharp flick of his palm against your clit, perfectly timed with a deep, brutal thrust-

And you break.

A sharp cry rips from your throat as you squirt, your entire body locking up, your orgasm slamming into you again, harder, more devastating than the first.

Chris loses it.

“Fucking Christ, baby- fuck,” he growls, his hands flying to your hips, his grip bruising as he slams into you with reckless abandon. “That’s it. Fuck- yeah, cum for me. Squirt all over this cock. Just like that- just like fucking that. Holy shit, mama.”

He’s gone, completely lost in you, his movements erratic as he finally lets go. A loud, deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he spills inside you, his whole body shaking as he paints your insides white.

He keeps thrusting, fucking his cum deep inside you, milking every last drop, riding out both of your highs until you’re nothing but a shaking, writhing mess beneath him.

You’re gasping, sobbing, your body unable to take anymore, completely wrecked.

Chris presses hot, messy kisses along your spine, his breath still uneven, his hands stroking over your trembling thighs, grounding you.

“Fuck,” he pants, voice hoarse. “Fuuuccckk.”

You can’t even respond- you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Chris grins against your skin, smug, satisfied, completely in love with how ruined you are.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to the back of your neck before pulling out and watching all his cum spill out of you. “All fucking mine.”

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[imsofreakingtired]

omg hiiii!! i’ve been reading your blog or on the sevika tag and always end up back at your page so it’s time to make a request 😈

could i request for a hurt n comfort with reader who struggles with self worth and often results in isolating themselves with sevika comforting them? 🤗

hello hi :D ty for readingg! ...and oomph this one hits hard for me lmao

i always want you when i'm finally fine

content warning(s): blood, injury, heavy (ish?) angst, hurt/comfort

"will you let me, baby, lose on losing dogs? i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place by the ring, where i'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, i'll be there by their side"

~~~

You’re spiraling again. The sentence flickers like a dumb warning across your brain. Of course you are. You didn’t need the fucking news flash. 

You angrily rip off a piece of the tattered cloth with your teeth and press it against the wound in your side. It’s still seeping blood, but not as much as before. You bite down on the pain and let it take over, hold the reins, hoping it’ll distract you from the other things. The worst things. 

What was that, the third mission you messed up on? 

Nice going. Yeah, very nice going. You’re a great fucking help to Sevika. 

You press hard against the wound and involuntarily let out a yelp of pain. “Shut up,” you mutter to yourself. “Shut up.” 

You’re so fucking worthless. What if the crew got caught? 

“No one got caught,” you whisper aloud. “It was just a slip-up. Just a slip-up.” 

A slip up. How many more will there be before you learn your fucking lesson? 

You let go of the cloth, reach for the bottle of alcohol on the floor beside you.

What if things had gone worse?

You bite the cork out of the bottleneck and spit it across the room.

What if something happened to Sevika because of your SLIP-UP?

“FUCK!” 

Your head knocks back against the wall, eyes shut tight in agony. An explosion of hellfire spreads, bomblike, through your midsection. The alcohol dribbles down your side and into your waistband. 

Worthless. Worthless idiot. 

“Shut up!”

“Who are you telling to shut up?” 

You look up quickly. Sevika stands at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. You hadn’t heard her open the door. A cigarette dangles from her lips and the smoke curls in the dusty air as she walks down the steps and toward you. She crouches down in front of you and sees, for the first time, your bloodstained shirt. Her eyes widen slightly. 

“Shit. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were tagged?”  

You’re embarrassed that she caught you in this state, you’re furious at yourself that you let her catch you. So you knock her hand away when she reaches for you. “I’m fine,” you snap.

She scoffs. “Right.” When you don’t move your hands from your body, she stubs out her cigarette and grabs your hand, pulling it away from the wound. She frowns. “The hell did you do, throw liquor on it?” 

“I can handle it. Leave me alone.” 

“Can’t see well in this light,” she grunts. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Fuck off,” you hiss, and your voice is all the more fierce, because you can feel the tears rising in your throat when you see her concern—a concern, you think, that you don't deserve. And you’re panicking because if she sees you cry, she’ll know for sure that you are weak. She’ll see that you’re not worth her time. 

You expect her to get angry, storm off with a huffy “fine.” But she doesn’t. She assesses you calmly, one eyebrow raised, as if your emotions amuse her. 

“I’m fine,” you say again, blinking hard and avoiding her gaze. “Just—leave me alone.” 

At last, she stands, and you think bitterly that you’ve won. You wait until you hear the door shut behind her before you let out a deep, shuddering breath, a breath that was collecting like poison in the pit of your stomach since you let Sevika into your life, a breath that begged for someone to return it to your body. You wanted her to take care of you. You wanted it so badly. 

But you felt like you didn’t deserve it. 

The worst of the moment is over, and the tears do not come. You sit there with your back to the wall, listening to the throb of your heart, feeling the steady burn of pain in your abdomen droning through your body. 

Then the door opens again. 

Sevika comes back down the stairs, business-like, with a roll of bandages and a small bottle tucked under her human arm. Her mech arm carries a chemtech oil lamp. She kneels down again on the floor in front of you, setting down the objects.

“What are you—”

“Shut up.” She pushes the bottle to your lips. “Drink this.” 

You open your mouth and drink, because it saves you at least for a moment from talking. The whiskey is strong and hot going down. It tastes like Sevika. 

She cleans your wound and wraps it with a dexterity that came from having done it on herself countless times before. “Leave you alone?” she echoes back to you. “The hell I will.” 

When she’s done, she takes her cloak off and wraps it around your shoulders. Her sharp grey eyes, like the beam of a lighthouse that never misses the lonely boats drifting out in the dark sea, seek yours. 

“You’re my girl,” she tells you in a softer voice. “And I look after what’s mine.”

~~~

thank you @lez-zuha for the req :)

[rosiecosy]

the joker

(seventeen x reader)

thank you to the anon who requested this! i hope you enjoy!

"welcome back to another episode of going seventeen!"

the staff's voice boomed through the speakers as the members sat in their seats, waiting for today's game to be announced.

"i swear if it's carnival again, i'm leaving," jeonghan muttered, slumping in his seat.

everyone not-so-quietly agreed. but before the complaints could continue, the staff revealed the game.

mafia.

with a secret role.

silence.

"what kind of secret role?" jeonghan asked, already thinking of ways to cheat.

the staff handed out the role cards—one mafia, one doctor, one detective, the civilians, and one joker.

"what does the joker do?" dino asked.

the staff grinned. "the joker wins alone. they don’t care if the mafia or civilians win—as long as they survive."

the members turned to look at each other.

"oh," woozi said. "so you want us to die."

round one

they started discussing immediately.

"i think it’s hoshi," vernon said.

"what?!"

"you’re being too loud."

"i’m always loud!"

"exactly," vernon deadpanned.

hoshi sulked. "you guys suck."

meanwhile, she stayed silent. she wasn’t mafia. she wasn’t a civilian.

she was the joker.

which meant she had one goal—survive.

and what better way to survive than to act completely, painfully average?

so she did what any normal civilian would do—she accused mingyu.

"mingyu looks suspicious."

mingyu’s jaw dropped. "i literally just breathed."

"exactly," seungcheol said, nodding. "too calm."

mingyu groaned. "i hate this game."

and just like that, he got eliminated.

round two

the next morning, the game resumed. when they opened their eyes, they saw joshua sitting quietly with his arms crossed.

"wait…" dino furrowed his brows. "are you—"

joshua sighed. "yeah, i’m dead."

seungkwan gasped. "who killed joshua?!"

woozi rolled his eyes. "obviously, the mafia."

"wow, they really went for an easy target," jeonghan muttered, sipping his tea.

joshua turned to glare at him. "excuse me?"

she sat back, watching. she didn’t care who won—as long as she wasn’t eliminated.

so she did something risky.

"guys… what if there’s no mafia?" she said suddenly.

the room fell silent.

seungkwan gasped. "what are you saying?!"

"i mean, what if it’s all a trick? what if the staff just told us there was a mafia but secretly… there isn’t one?"

chaos. immediate chaos.

dino: "huh?!"

woozi: "shut up."

seungcheol: "oh my god."

jeonghan: "wait… that’s actually genius."

and just like that, they forgot about her.

round three

it was down to four people—her, seungcheol, jeonghan, and seungkwan.

one mafia. one civilian. one detective.

and her—the joker.

she needed one more person to go before the final round.

so she turned to jeonghan and whispered,

"it’s seungcheol."

jeonghan’s eyes narrowed.

he turned to seungkwan. "it’s seungcheol."

seungcheol: "what?!"

"he’s been too quiet."

"that’s just my personality?!"

seungkwan nodded. "true. he’s always the fake leader in mafia."

seungcheol got eliminated.

she smiled.

one step closer to victory.

final round

three left.

jeonghan. seungkwan. her.

one mafia. one civilian. one joker.

seungkwan squinted. "wait… who’s lying?"

jeonghan pointed at her. "it’s her."

she gasped. "you’re really gonna betray me like this?"

"you literally started this whole thing!"

seungkwan turned to her. "are you mafia?"

she gave him the most innocent look ever. "do i look like a liar?"

"…yes."

"…fair."

jeonghan sighed. "look. let’s be logical."

"oh my god," woozi mumbled from the ghost section.

jeonghan continued. "if i was mafia, would i have gotten rid of seungcheol?"

"yes," she said.

jeonghan blinked. "wait—"

too late.

seungkwan eliminated him.

the staff clapped. "congratulations! the civilians win—"

"actually."

the staff paused.

she grinned.

"i was the joker."

seungkwan froze. "wait… does that mean…"

"she won," woozi groaned.

jeonghan looked personally offended. "you backstabbed me."

she shrugged. "that’s the game."

seungkwan fell to the floor. "i can’t believe this."

the members screamed. mingyu threw a pillow at her. jeonghan stormed off.

but all she did was sit back, smile, and say,

"well… see you next episode."

[jiminomenon]

assistant! reader gets jealous

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 893

tag(s): winrina lore revealed, y/n gets jealous, rina being confused abt the entire thing, giselle’s a snitch, the first time y/n gets jealous

from my series: the devil wears prada

y/n should not be upset. she knew that.

jimin had friends. jimin had history. that was just the kind of person she was—someone who attracted attention effortlessly, someone who had people wrapped around her finger, past and present. y/n knew all this. she had always known it.

but somehow, none of that made it easier to watch minjeong lean in close, whispering something in jimin’s ear that made the supermodel laugh, the sound soft and sweet in a way that was reserved for people she actually liked.

y/n hadn’t thought much of minjeong at first. she knew she was one of jimin’s closest friends, another model who had built a name for herself in the industry. they had worked together plenty of times, and from what y/n had seen, they got along very well.

but that was all she had thought—until she overheard aeri teasing jimin about her past with minjeong, and suddenly everything made sense.

“still can’t believe you two never made it official,” aeri had said, laughing as she clinked her wine glass against jimin’s.

“please,” jimin scoffed, lips curling into a smirk. “it was fun, but minjeong and i both knew what it was. no hard feelings.”

“none at all,” minjeong had added, grinning. “but it was a good time, wasn’t it?”

y/n had gripped her drink a little too tightly then.

and now, as she watched them from across the room, she was gripping her tablet in the same way, her fingers tightening every time minjeong so much as brushed against jimin’s arm.

she should not be upset.

but she was.

y/n’s mood did not improve by the time they got back to jimin’s penthouse.

she knew she was being ridiculous, knew that her cold silence was both immature and completely unnecessary, but she could not bring herself to act normal. she hadn’t spoken a word since they left the event, and she had no plans to start now.

but, of course, jimin had other plans.

“okay, what is your problem?”

y/n didn’t even look up from her tablet. “i don’t have a problem.”

jimin let out a sharp laugh, placing her hands on her hips. “oh, so you’ve just suddenly decided to stop talking to me for no reason?”

“mhm.”

jimin narrowed her eyes. “y/n.”

silence.

“y/n.”

still nothing.

“you’re seriously acting like a child right now.”

y/n finally exhaled, closing her tablet with a thud. “i just don’t have anything to say to you.”

“oh, please,” jimin scoffed. “you always have something to say. so what is it?”

y/n crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. “it’s nothing.”

jimin stared at her, expression unreadable, before something flickered in her eyes. “wait.” she smirked, slow and knowing. “you’re jealous.”

y/n’s jaw clenched. “i’m not jealous.”

“you’re totally jealous,” jimin said, grinning like she had just won something.

“i—” y/n inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. “i just think it’s interesting how you didn’t tell me that you and minjeong used to—” she gestured vaguely, ”—do whatever you did.”

jimin rolled her eyes. “because it wasn’t important.”

“wasn’t it?” y/n shot back, tilting her head. “you two sure looked important to each other tonight.”

jimin groaned, running a hand through her hair. “oh my god, y/n.”

“what?” y/n challenged.

“we’re just friends,” jimin stressed. “it was never serious. it’s not like we were in love or something. it was just fun.”

“oh, so i’m supposed to be okay with watching you flirt with your ex-fling all night?”

“i wasn’t flirting,” jimin defended.

“right,” y/n deadpanned.

jimin exhaled sharply, her patience clearly wearing thin. “you are being so—” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “you’re mad over nothing.”

y/n scoffed, shaking her head. “whatever. it doesn’t matter.”

“it does matter,” jimin argued. “because you’re mad, and i don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

y/n faltered at that, lips pressing together.

jimin sighed, stepping closer. “for the record,” she said, voice softer now, “minjeong and i are just friends. i don’t care about her like that anymore.”

y/n looked up at her, hesitant. “you sure act close.”

jimin raised a brow. “and? you and i are closer.”

y/n swallowed, warmth creeping up her neck. “yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin flicked her forehead lightly. “obviously. you’re the one i keep around, aren’t you?”

y/n rubbed her forehead with a pout. “that hurt.”

“you’ll live.”

a beat of silence passed between them before jimin shifted on her feet, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “listen, i…” she exhaled sharply, clearly struggling with her next words. “i guess i should have told you about minjeong before tonight. i didn’t think it mattered, but…” she hesitated before finally sighing. “i’m sorry, okay?”

y/n blinked. “that’s… not really an apology.”

jimin scowled. “ugh, fine. i’m sorry for not telling you and for talking to minjeong in a way that made you upset. there. happy?”

y/n studied her for a moment before a slow smirk curled her lips. “that was painful for you, wasn’t it?”

jimin scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. “whatever. are you coming or not?”

y/n chuckled, finally following after her. “yeah, yeah. lead the way, supermodel.”

“you’re never letting this go, are you?”

“nope.”

[eclipixels]

i might have baby fever rn but i can’t stop thinking abt isagi and reader having a son that’s almost an exact copy of isagi in appearance nd being that one meme that’s like “nine months in my womb making me suffer and you look like your stupid dad!” 😭

Ctrl C + Ctrl V

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

[1,149 words]

      There is no way, you thought, as you stared at your few-hours-old newborn, cradled in your arms.

      Your baby looked just like your husband. Not just in the usual way that babies sometimes resemble their fathers—no, this was almost uncanny. The way the little human looked up at you with the same big blue eyes, blinking sleepily, and that same slightly clueless but endearing expression made you wonder if you had actually just given birth to a clone.

      It was almost comical. The same messy dark blue hair that refused to be tamed, the same pout when something didn’t go their way, the same chubby cheeks you had spent years pinching, the same nose that scrunched up just slightly when they yawned. Even the shape of his tiny ears mirrored Isagi’s.

      How? Just—how?

      You had spent nine long months carrying this child. Nine months of swollen feet, back pain, cravings at ungodly hours, nausea that never quite left, and nearly ripping Isagi’s arm off during labor. And for what? A miniature version of him. A tiny, living, breathing replica of your husband, complete with his wide, dumb grin.

      You squinted at your son, shifting him slightly in your arms as he let out a soft coo, his small fingers wiggling in the air. Then, your gaze flickered over to your husband, who was practically vibrating with excitement beside you, looking like he was about to explode from sheer joy.

      You scowled.

      Then back to your son.

      Then to Isagi.

      It was like looking at the before and after of a single person. One with slightly more experience in the world and the other just discovering it.

      “Nine months,” you muttered under your breath, your voice laced with disbelief and just a hint of betrayal. “Nine months in my womb making me suffer, and you come out looking exactly like your stupid dad.”

      Your baby gurgled happily, the sound strikingly familiar, and you swore you heard Isagi’s idiotic laugh echoing in that tiny giggle. That was the last straw.

      Your husband laughed at your deadpan expression, feigning offense. “Hey! You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

      You shot him a look before sighing dramatically. “Unbelievable.”

      Isagi, who had been eagerly waiting for a chance to hold his son, reached out with grabby hands. “Come on, let me hold him!”

      You hesitated for just a second—after all, this was your hard work, your baby, your little bundle of exhaustion and joy. But then, seeing the almost puppy-like expression on your husband’s face, you relented, gently placing your son into his father’s arms.

      Isagi’s grin stretched impossibly wide as he carefully cradled the baby, holding him up like he had just won the World Cup.

      “He’s so tiny,” Isagi breathed, his voice filled with awe. His hands that were almost broken a few hours ago (courtesy of you) handled the newborn with a tenderness that made your heart melt. He was so good at being a dad.

      The baby let out a soft babble, tiny hands reaching out, fingers curling toward Isagi’s face. Your husband immediately leaned in, letting the little fingers brush against his nose before pressing a series of noisy kisses to your son’s chubby cheeks.

      “I hate you.” You tell Isagi as he pouts, it looks as if Isagi was the one who gave birth, not you.

      “At least someone loves me right now,” he declared proudly as he turned to face the baby in his arms, making exaggerated kissing noises. “Isn’t that right, B/n?”

      You scoffed, but the fondness in your gaze betrayed you. “Unfair. He’s supposed to be my baby.”

      Isagi turned his wide eyes toward you, feigning shock. “Our baby, you mean.”

      You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over. “Debatable.”

      Isagi gasped in mock offense. “Hey! What are you insinuating? I thought you loved me.”

      “Not right now, I don’t.”

      Your husband let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head, ”Can you believe her, B/n?”

      Your son, oblivious to the playful banter between his parents, let out a tiny sneeze. Both you and Isagi immediately snapped your attention back to him.

      “Ack, was that a sneeze?” Isagi asked, his voice rising in pitch with alarm.

      “It was just a tiny sneeze, calm down,” you reassured him.

      “What if he’s cold? Does he need a blanket? Should I hold him closer?”

      You groaned. “He’s fine, Ichi. Babies sneeze.”

      Isagi narrowed his eyes at you, skeptical, but ultimately sighed in relief when the baby simply yawned and nestled deeper into his arms. A moment of silence settled between you both as you watched your son, his tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. The weight of the moment seemed to sink in fully for the first time, this was your family now.

      Your husband let out a breathless chuckle, shifting to sit beside you on the hospital bed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He gently pressed your son back into your arms, making sure you were comfortable before leaning in close, his chin resting lightly against your shoulder.

      “He’s perfect,” Isagi murmured.

      You sighed, glancing down at your son, tracing a finger along his soft cheek. “Of course you’d think that when he looks just like you.”

      “I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

      You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small, tired smile that tugged at your lips. “Let’s see if you still think that when it’s your turn to wake up for late-night feedings and crying.”

      He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Anything for my little clone.”

      You playfully shoved him. “Your clone? You’re not helping your case.”

      Isagi just grinned, unbothered, eyes twinkling with mischief before ever so softly whispering. “Maybe the next one will look like you.”

      You froze, your entire body stiffening. Your gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing. “Next?”

      Isagi burst into laughter, clearly amused by your reaction. “Just saying, we make cute kids.”

      You groaned, resting your head against the pillow. “Give me at least a year before you start talking about ‘the next one.’”

      Your husband chuckled, leaning over to nuzzle against you and the baby. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you.”

      You sighed in exasperation, but there was no real annoyance behind it. As much as you liked to tease him, you knew, deep down, that there was no one else you would rather be doing this with. There was no one else you’d rather be the father of your child. Your baby let out a soft sigh, snuggling closer against your chest. You wondered if at least he’d get your personality if not looks. You whispered a soft, ‘I love you’ to your baby before tilting your head towards the man you were bound to spend the rest of your life with.

      “I love you, Ichi”

      “I love you, too,” Isagi replied warmly, “and you too, little one.”

A/N: Made the meme for this fic 😭

[blondemrk]

idk if ur taking requests but if u are (if ur not then ignore this lol) just an idea but what about like an angsty academic rivals with nct dream (specifically mark or haechan😏 or ot7) me personally i love angst which is a big part on why i like ur writing! u write angst so good!

SECOND PLACE

p renjun × fem!reader w.c 1.3k t.w angst

the weight of disappointment sat heavy on y/n’s chest as she curled up on the empty stairwell, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

she had promised herself she wouldn’t cry.

not over this. not over him.

but the words still echoed in her head, sharp and cutting.

“one point? one? and you let him beat you?”

her mother’s voice had been cold, laced with something worse than anger—disappointment.

“if you can’t even do this right, what’s the point of all your effort?”

she stood there, fists clenched, throat tight, unable to say anything. because what could she say? that she had tried? that she had studied until the words blurred together, until exhaustion made her fall to her knees sitting down.

y/n wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, staring at the floor through blurred vision, her mother’s words looping in her head like a cruel, endless refrain.

“one point? one? and you let him beat you?”

it wasn’t fair.

it wasn’t fair that her worth was measured by a stupid number, by a name that wasn’t hers at the top of the rankings. it wasn’t fair that no matter how hard she tried, it was never enough.

a choked sob slipped past her lips before she could stop it, her body trembling from the sheer effort of keeping it all inside.

“y/n?”

she froze.

the voice was hesitant, uncertain. but she knew it instantly.

renjun.

her head snapped up, her teary eyes meeting his startled ones. he stood at the bottom of the stairwell, clutching his bag strap, brows knitted in something that looked dangerously close to concern.

she quickly wiped at her face, turning away. “go away.”

he didn’t.

instead, he climbed the steps slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid she might shatter if he got too close.

she hated that.

hated that he was seeing her like this—small, broken, defeated. hated that of all people, it had to be him.

renjun, her competition. renjun, the name that always sat just above hers on every score sheet. renjun, the person her mother compared her to like he was some unattainable standard.

“what happened?” his voice was quieter now, softer.

she let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “what do you think happened?”

renjun didn’t answer right away. she could feel him watching her, thinking, trying to piece together something she wasn’t ready to say out loud.

“…was it about the rankings?” he asked carefully.

y/n’s hands clenched into fists.

it was humiliating. the way her failure felt like it was written all over her skin, like he could see right through her.

she exhaled shakily. “it’s stupid.”

“it’s not,” he said, and something in his voice made her look at him again.

he wasn’t smirking. he wasn’t gloating. there was no trace of the arrogant satisfaction she had come to expect from him whenever he won.

he just looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, she realized that maybe he wasn’t the enemy she had made him out to be.

“did someone say something to you?” renjun pressed, eyes darkening.

y/n hesitated.

it was on the tip of her tongue, the truth. that her mother had ripped her apart over a single point. that no matter what she did, no matter how close she got, she would never be enough.

but the words wouldn’t come.

because saying it out loud made it real.

so instead, she swallowed hard and muttered, “it doesn’t matter.”

renjun was quiet for a long moment. then, slowly, he lowered himself onto the step beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

y/n stiffened. “what are you—”

“if you’re gonna cry,” he said simply, “i’m not leaving you alone.”

she turned to glare at him. “i’m not crying.”

renjun raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “right. and i’m failing calculus.”

despite herself, y/n let out a small, broken laugh.

she wiped at her face again, exhaling shakily. “you don’t have to do this.”

“i know,” renjun said, glancing down at his hands. then, softer, “but i want to.”

y/n didn’t know how to respond to that.

so she didn’t.

she just sat there, in the quiet of the stairwell, with the only person who had ever truly been her equal. and for once, she let herself breathe.

y/n didn’t know how long they sat there.

for once, there was no competition, no battle for the top spot, no carefully chosen words meant to get under the other’s skin. just silence. heavy and suffocating, but oddly comforting in the way only renjun’s presence could be.

she hated that it was him sitting beside her.

because wasn’t he the reason she was crying in the first place?

wasn’t it his name on top of the list, the one she had spent years chasing but never quite reaching?

her mother’s voice echoed in her head, sharp and cutting.

“you let him beat you?”

y/n’s throat tightened again, but she refused to cry anymore. not in front of him.

renjun exhaled beside her. “you know…” his voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure if he should say the words out loud. “you don’t have to tell me. but if someone made you feel like losing by one point is a failure… they’re wrong.”

she scoffed. “easy for you to say. you won.”

renjun frowned. “you think that makes it easier?”

y/n turned to him, confused. “what?”

his fingers curled against his knee, his posture suddenly tense. “you think i don’t know what it’s like?” he muttered. “always being expected to win? always having to be perfect?”

her breath caught.

renjun never talked about things like this. he was always composed, always smug in his victories. but right now, there was no arrogance, no pride in his voice—just something bitter and tired.

“i—” y/n started, but he cut her off.

“you think i enjoy this?” his voice was sharper now. “beating you by one point? watching you kill yourself trying to catch up?”

y/n flinched. “don’t act like you let me lose.”

“i don’t,” renjun said, and the way he said it made her stomach twist. “i’ve never gone easy on you. i never could. because you—” he hesitated, exhaling shakily. “you’re the only one who’s ever made me work for it.”

she didn’t know how to respond to that.

because she had spent years believing renjun was just another obstacle, another name to surpass, another reason she was never enough.

but now, looking at him—really looking at him—she saw something else.

not an enemy.

not a rival.

just a boy who understood.

she looked down at her hands, gripping them tightly in her lap. “it’s my mom,” she whispered.

renjun stilled beside her.

y/n forced herself to keep going, even though her voice shook. “she—she yelled at me. said i should have beaten you. that i should have tried harder.”

the words hung heavy between them.

renjun’s jaw clenched. “that’s bullshit.”

y/n let out a hollow laugh. “maybe. but it doesn’t change anything.”

renjun was quiet for a long moment. then, to her surprise, he reached out—slowly, hesitantly—and covered her hand with his.

y/n froze.

“i mean it,” he murmured. “you’re not a failure, y/n. not to me.”

something inside her cracked.

because those were the words she had been aching to hear, the ones she had never gotten from the person who was supposed to love her unconditionally.

and somehow, somehow, they sounded right coming from him.

y/n blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “you’re really bad at comforting people, you know that?”

renjun let out a quiet laugh, squeezing her hand just once before pulling away. “yeah. but i figured you’d appreciate honesty more than bullshit.”

she did.

god help her, she did.

for the first time that day, the pressure in her chest eased, just a little.

and for once, being second place didn’t feel so lonely.

loved this req so much omg

@chenlezip @mrkified @polarisjisung @narcisstict @holyhaech

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@waynes-multiverse

This was so wonderful and a beautiful valentine treat!! You and @luci-in-trenchcoats and @zepskies are all out here inspiring me with these headcanon fics. 💗 Also I may have hyper-fixated and wrote a lot 😅, but these were all just so glorious ❤️

Dean

I really loved that for Dean you made it a thing that he "doesn't know how to be romantic." or that he believes that he "isn't romantic." Because it kinda fits that Dean doesn't understand that romance doesn't always have to be super big gestures but can be just giving someone your last bite of pie (HA) or just remembering the kind of coffee your significant other likes or lending a gentle ear when your significant other needs that. And I love that you highlight that the reader knows this, but Dean doesn't. That the reader can see those wonderful little things that Dean does for her and no other man ever has. Also so jealous because I want Dean to make me a mixtape 📼

But I love Dean's take on romance in his section: the chick flick, the fairy lights, the snacks, and the box of chocolates. It is very him and oh so perfect 😍

"Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart."

Soldier Boy

Aww yeah, here we go, our man is pulling out all the stops *rubbing hands together* 🤣 This one was so good, because yes, Ben knows what romance is supposed to look like, he just doesn't always put in the effort (I say it gently because I love this grumpy old man with my whole heart) LOL

But when he does- LOOK OUT LADIES 👀🔥

Everything you wrote for him is so perfect- "Of course" the lingerie and a dress that is his signature color, and the fancy resturant, the horse drawn carriage, the roses- All so on brand for him.

I loved:

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife. Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views. You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting! But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen. But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

Because we all know that man would one million percent be possessive of his woman and fall into that traditional view of a woman being a trophy, but oh my sweet baby corn sometimes the feminist inside of me kinda goes just a tad on hiatus 😂 And then when she comes back, she usually thinks that she can fix him lol

Beau Arlen

I still have not gotten to see Big Sky yet, but each time I see something for this beautiful "cowboy sheriff" I remind myself that I need to lol.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Oh goodness, I love the idea that he gets his girl something each day to make her feel "loved and wanted." That is just the sweetest thing in the whole world 😍

This day is all about his endless love for you. Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

This is exactly how I'd feel. I love the romance but at the same time I would literally feel like I've done absolutely nothing to deserve that and how can I make it up to him?

He’s moved, and it moves you. Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

I'm crying. I just thought you should know 😭

Russell Shaw

Out of all of these, I think that Russell's was my absolute favorite. (Ben I still love you, please don't take this the wrong way 😂)

But I loved everything about this one because the way you portrayed the reader.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place. You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated. Still…

If this isn't me every freaking year I don't know what is 🤣 Half price chocolate the day after is always the best thing about Valentine's Day lol

But I like that the reader was a little disappointed at the beginning even though she was trying not to be. It was very realistic and makes so much sense, especially because she's in a long distance relationship and watching all the couples around her getting showered in gifts.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

Love this for Russell, because I think it fits anyone who is in a relationship with him. He gets called away on a whim to do a crazy job that he can't really talk about. Of course he's always going to leave his significant other "wanting more."

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

AND HE SURPRISED HER?! I LOVE THIS!! 😍😍😍

Girl, all of these were perfect and fit each of these characters!!! But for the love of goodness all of these had me:

P.S. If there is still room of your taglist can you possibly please add me? You're such a wonderful writer! 🥹👉🏻����🏻💗

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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[infiniteeight8]

Stephen is desperate for Tony to love him back, to the point that he uses his knowledge of Tony to manipulate him into a relationship. (Potentially manipulates things so Tony and Pepper break up? Or this could be after that?) After all, he knows he'll treat Tony right, what does it matter how they get to this point. The ends justify the means, right?

I love this prompt so much. 😃 So much potential here. *rubs hands together*

This is a “they won on Titan” AU. So Pepper and Tony are, prior to this fic, engaged. I did a google for how long Pepper has known Tony and landed on almost 20 years, since she says she’s been curating his art collection for ten years in Iron Man 2 (2010) and Infinity War happens in 2018.

-

Stephen knows the instant Tony lands on the Sanctum’s doorstep. By the time the armor is retracted and the Sanctum’s doors have swung open for him, Stephen is already halfway down the stairs. Tony stalks into the foyer and the doors quickly close behind him. A protective gesture, Stephen’s connection to the Sanctum tells him. “Tony. Is everything okay?”

“The wedding’s off,” Tony says shortly. He starts pacing.

Stephen’s heart lifts. “I’m sorry,” he says carefully. 

Tony snorts. “Don’t be. I’m the one who called it off. Pepper’s probably still trying to call me.”

“What happened?” Stephen positions himself so that Tony will pass close to him on his traverses of the foyer, but doesn’t try to stop him.

“I took your advice,” Tony says, “and talked to Pepper about DUM-E and U. About what they would need if something happened to me.”

“I take it that didn’t go well.” It never had in any of the futures Stephen had seen. 

“Understatement of the year.” Tony raises his hands and scrubs them through his hair. “Pepper has known me for nearly twenty years. She was around when DUM-E literally saved my life! She’s known him and U almost as long. How can she not get it? How did I not realize that she doesn’t get it?”

“If you explained—”

“No,” Tony cuts him off, as Stephen knew he would. There’s a line to tread here; Stephen can’t risk making Tony feel defensive of Pepper. “If she doesn’t get it after all this time, she never will. And frankly, after what she said, I’m not interested in giving her the chance.”

Stephen winces. “That bad?”

Tony stops pacing and turns to face Stephen. “She said, and I quote, “Tony, I know you’re attached to these things, but this is really too far. They’re machines, not children.’”

Stephen lets himself look as appalled as he feels. That was one of the more extreme options. “She called them things?”

Tony barks a harsh laugh. “Yeah. And when I told her that I made them and they have thoughts and personalities of their own and that as far as I’m concerned that does make them my kids, she asked if I’d thought about having real kids. Like we weren’t even talking about the bots anymore, like that conversation was over.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Stephen says gently. “I can’t imagine how anyone could meet either DUM-E or U and not understand that they’re people.”

“Me neither,” Tony deflates. “But I’m starting to think that you and I are two of a kind there. I mean, did the other wizards recognize Levi?” Tony waggles his fingers in belated greeting and Levi waved a corner at him. 

“The Ancient One once called Levi ‘fickle’,” Stephen says dryly.

“Yeah, no, she clearly didn’t understand them at all,” Tony agrees. He sighs and takes a heavy seat on the Sanctum’s steps. “I thought I was finally going to get my happily ever after, you know?”

Stephen sits beside him. “Would the kind of white picket fence life that Pepper wanted really have made you happy?” he asks. It actually had, in some of those futures. But Tony could be just as happy, often happier, living a different life with Stephen.

“I don’t know,” Tony says. “But I was willing to try.”

Levi flares out and wraps around Tony’s shoulders, giving him a kind of hug where Stephen can’t, not quite yet. And if the action pulls Tony against Stephen for a moment or two, well, so much the better. Levi has been on board with Stephen’s plan from the beginning.

Tony laughs and pats the fold of cloak curled around him. “Thanks, Levi.” He turns to Stephen, almost close enough to kiss. They aren’t there yet, but Stephen can’t help thinking about it. Tony goes on, oblivious. “Want to come hang out with the bots with me? I’m feeling the need for some quality time.”

Stephen smiles. “I’d love to.” 

Everything is going exactly as planned.

[midnightjewel]

Super Bowl

Obviously, as a girlie from a football family we’re having a Super Bowl party (even though our team hasn’t been since the 90s smfh) my bf is a big eagles fan and as much as I love my girl Tay, I’ve gotta root for the eagles this year! (And keep in mind that as I’m writing this, the game hasn’t even started yet so I know nothing)

So who are they rooting for this year?

Characters Included: Bakugo, Kirishima, Denki, Sero, Shinsou

Bakugo

- 100% going for the chiefs just to piss Denki off

- He went as far as to buy a jersey just for this game and has been wearing Chiefs merchandise all week just to get a rise out of him

- Truthfully he’s not even a Chiefs fan (I think he’s a Tampa Bay fan) he just wants to make people mad and he’s living for every second of it

- Definitely has a yelling problem when some controversial calls are made that he doesn’t agree with. Not just for the Super Bowl but for any football game that he watches

- I can’t lie he has probably broken something in the dorms before when his team lost

- Probably gets mad (like very mad) when Taylor is shown for two seconds and is earning side eyes from everyone. He probably tweets about it too tbh

- Will probably be getting into a fist fight with Denki tonight after shit talking

If you’re his gf:

- Does not care who you’re going for but if it’s opposite of him you’re not safe from his teasing

- Probably makes you get him a plate of food tbh (weather you do or not is completely up to you)

- If you laugh at him while he’s raging he’ll become more frustrated but tbh it’s so hilarious you can’t stop

Kirishima

- Chiefs because of his hair (and Tay Tay)

- Definitely bought a jersey like Bakugo but he didn’t do it with the intentions of pissing Denki off he’s just doing it for fun

- Not a regular Chiefs fan either, probably a Miami Dolphins fan

- Honestly loves that Taylor Swift is being incorporated into football because he was a casual listener of hers before but has been recently getting more into her music

- Honestly argues with Bakugo when he yells at the TV for Taylor being shown and they’ve gotten into some pretty heated discussions about it while everyone just sits there awkwardly

- is obsessed with Super Bowl snacks and food, when he’s not sitting on the couch intensely watching, he’s in the kitchen getting a plate of snacks and food (his 5th plate of the night)

- Is hopeful that Kendrick will bring out Taylor for bad blood but knows that it’s not a realistic expectation (is hopeful though)

- Slight chance that he’s wearing a shirt that says “Go Taylor’s Boyfriend” tonight and he is absolutely unashamed about it too

If you’re his gf:

- Respects whoever you want to root for and doesn’t mind friendly competition if it’s opposite of what he chooses

- Probably an accidental mansplainer when it comes to girls and football as if you don’t know what’s going on (he means well I swear)

- Probably asks you if you could get him a drink or something to eat a few times while he’s watching the game but if you don’t want to that’s fine with him! In fact, next commercial break he’s getting you both something from the kitchen

- Never ever is violent about a football game especially not in front of you, if anything he’s the one breaking up fights which you find totally attractive

Denki

- A die hard Eagles fan (if you know football you’d probably think I’d pick the LA chargers but no a die hard eagles fan)

- Cried when they won in 2018 and cried even harder when they lost in 2023 and it didn’t help that bakugo was absolutely ridiculing him after the Chiefs beat them

- Has been posting things like “it took the avengers two tries to beat Thanos” or something like that referring to the loss of 2023 and tonight

- Definitely has been wearing the merch all week leading up to the Super Bowl. Hats, Scarves, Gloves, Jerseys, Hoodies, SHOES

- Absolutely has a huge Eagles banner in his dorm room

- Has broken a remote before I can’t lie

- The type of person to scream “What the fuck are we doing?!” When his team makes a mistake. And also the type of person to clap really loud and act like an eagle when they score a touchdown

- He will probably be pacing behind the couch tonight (so nervous he can’t even sit down)

If you’re his gf:

- Please (even if you’re not a fan) just root for the Eagles with him, it would mean the world to him

- You ofc know how passionate he is and you always try your best to comfort him if things aren’t going in his favor. Back rubs, reassuring words, bringing him a little snack, etc.

- Will probably pout a bit if you’re going for the opposing team but you’re his queen and he loves you unconditionally no matter how tense the game becomes

Sero

- Despite the rivalry between his team and the eagles (which has caused some arguments between him and Denki) he’s going for the eagles tonight

- Definitely a Dallas Cowboy’s fan (same) and can’t even defend them anymore

- Probably wants to switch teams but his whole family and himself are too deep into it now with the amount of money spent on merchandise

- He just accepts fate that they regularly suck and hopes that one season he’ll be able to enjoy watching them play

- like I said, due to rivalry he normally HATES the eagles but is making an exception for this game as he is probably a Chiefs hater

- Loves munching on snacks that are brought to the party and will probably tell Bakugo or Denki (or both) to “calm the fuck down” at some point tonight

- Excited for the halftime show and is probably vibing with Shinsou and Kirishima while Bakugo and Kaminari passive aggressively stare at each other in the kitchen while getting food

If you’re his gf:

- You two just snuggle up on the couch and get ready for the shit show between Denki and Bakugo tbh

- Vibes with you during the halftime show and makes sure you’re eating the delicious food that’s been made, he would hate for you to miss out if you’re so invested in the game

- Towards the end you two definitely have to attempt to break up the fist fight between Denki and Bakugo

Shinsou

- Honestly going for the eagles tonight (and not because Denki wouldn’t leave him alone to pick a side)

- Doesn’t mind the chiefs but I can see him going for the eagles as he sees them as the underdog in this situation tonight

- He’s probably a casual watcher of football but is also probably just a chill Ravens fan or something

- Probably has maybe one jersey or a small poster in his room of the ravens but is a casual fan

- Doesn’t care who wins or loses and he’s honestly just here for the vibes which is a good way to act

- Will casually share his disagreement with a controversial call or two but mostly just sits back and takes it all in

- Tbh is probably still in the common room only because of the halftime show with Kendrick Lamar. Not like us was a song that he may have been hardcore vibing with last year so he’s hopeful that he’ll sing it

- Probably finds is amusing when Denki and Bakugo are almost getting into a fist fight. Probably recording it tbh and just laughing and quietly saying “yo what the fuck” behind the camera while laughing as Bakugo is cackling at Denki being mad and Denki is insulting Bakugo to the point where he stops laughing and they end up slightly fist fighting before being broken up by Sero and Kirishima

If you’re his gf:

- You two are most definitely snuggled together under a blanket awaiting the big show between some of your friends

- Doesn’t care who you’re going for! Eagles? Cool. You guys are definitely matching. Chiefs? That’s fine with him too! There for the food? So is he. There to watch for Taylor? He’s grinning as you happily point out that they’re showing her

- Gently caressing your face as you fall asleep on his shoulder and gets ticked off when the guys wake you up with their loud and unnecessary bickering

[quintessenceofdust88]

Of course some 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Diana baby! ♥ Here are 30 sentences of tsunami for you, direct continuation from my fuck it friday, and it comes with the promise that the last chapter will be up at Tuesday by the latest (but I really really wanna have it out tomorrow!) ♥

- 🌊

“Vivie, that is so beautiful, pixie,” Tommy tells her, because he’s a firm believer in always praising her daughter for her efforts (actually he’s a firm believer in giving Genevieve everything he’s never had growing up, but that is neither her nor there). But he’s afraid he’ll have to burst her bubble at least a little bit. “But… you know Daddy is not going to see Mr. Evan, right? We don’t work together, sweetheart.”

Genevieve looks at him as if Tommy’s being particularly obtuse. He briefly thinks that, if she’s mastered this look by this point, he’s already praying for himself during her childhood. She crosses her little arms and huffs at him. 

“I know you don’t work together, Daddy, Mr. Evan works with Christopher’s daddy!” She tells him. “But you’re going to his house, aren’t you?”

Tommy looks at Sal, completely at loss, but his best friend is no help. Sal looks back at him with a shrug, clearly making an herculean effort to hold back his laughter, and Tommy glares at him before looking back at Tommy. 

“Baby, why would I be going to his house?” He asks, completely baffled. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to Evan Buckley’s house. It’s not like he hasn’t low-key stalked the man’s social media and the last three days and been even more charmed by what he saw. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about asking the other man out at least ten times since that day.

But Tommy can’t, because he can’t hold Evan accountable for the things he said under the effect of anesthesia. Tommy doesn’t know what scares him the most about bringing it up: Evan being honest and telling him that of course he didn’t mean it, he’s straight, what is Tommy even thinking, or Evan being too polite to say that and date him out of a sense of obligation.

(The thought that maybe Evan did mean it never crosses his mind. But apparently it crosses Vivie’s.)

“Because, Daddy, mr. Howie said you should, remember?” She tells him, and for once in his life Tommy curses her absurdly good memory. “He said you should check it if mr. Evan meant it or if he was just being silly!”

“Wait, wait, silly about what? What did Buckley say?” Sal asks, his gossiper vein clearly showing, and Genevieve is answering before Tommy can stop her. 

“About wanting Daddy to ask him out!” She says, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “He said Daddy should, as a thank you, but Daddy said he didn’t mean it because he was too sleepy!”

Sal smirks like he has just won the lottery, and Tommy would strangle him if he wasn’t hurt. Tommy’s cheeks blush impossibly red, and he runs a hand through his face, wondering how he can tell his five-year-old to shut up without traumatizing her. 

“Did he now? Isn’t that interesting?” Sal says, crossing his arms and smiling smugly at Tommy, who flips him off mentally. 

“It’s not, because he was under heavy painkillers and probably wouldn’t know the difference between me and Margot Robbie at that moment.” Tommy grumbles.

“Dude, that’s flattering yourself” Sal scoffs at the same time Vivie pipes ‘Who’s Margot Robbie?!’, and Tommy very maturely chooses to ignore both of them. But he should have known there’s no stopping his determined little matchmaker. --- I hope you like it and have a wonderful week, sweetheart!

[make me write]

[brain4stew]

Forsaken survivors w a event!reader??Where reader only stays when there is a certain holiday/event like christmas??

How interesting! I will see what I can do with this ask of yours anon! 🫶

(Again, note to self that, I do not know the exact personalities of the characters, so I have a feeling some if not most and all of them will become rather… OOC.)

But anyway, headcanons/something under the cut! ;

• The survivor lobby is filled to the brim with Christmas decorations, and Christmas spirits.

• (007n7, Guest 1337 and Builderman took the time to do it together, they don’t exactly trust the others with decorating.)

• You may ask where you come in, however, you come in quite late! Somewhere awfully close to Christmas! So let’s skip to there!

• Every survivor is excited for Christmas, wondering what they will get as Christmas presents. Chance made bets to almost everyone about what they’ll get… (No one risked doing bets with him.)

• You appear, well… Out of nowhere. You’re wearing your Christmas outfit. (you choose for yourself, as I don’t know what you’d want. However I personally would wear a Christmas onesie.)

• Everyone were confused, curious and of course, weary of you. But, after seeing you were mostly harmless, they were quite happy you were there with them!

• Elliot has even asked you to help him cook and bake food for Christmas! Which, you agreed too! (You both managed to get yourselves covered in flour at least once…)

• Noob is just curious, asking where you came from, who you are, what you are- hold on a minute, what you are?? WHY ARE YOU ASKING THA-

• Guest 1337 is keeping an eye on you, being weary of you, as you appeared out of nowhere. He’s happy, of course. But, him who has been out on WAR… Can you really blame him for being weary?

• Two Time… Is just Two Time. They’re curious about you, yes, but, what they’re the most curious about, is where you came from, and if you have- or had, any similar experiences as them. (Spoiler, you most likely don’t.)

• Chance, he… Just wanted to make bets with you, and play card games with you. (What a shame for him, you won most of the time.)

• Builderman has asked you if you wanted to make something, probably from wood, or anything of the sort, to make more Christmas spirit’s(?)

• 007n7, he is talking to you, asking what you think C00lkidd would like as a gift, as he tells you how C00lkidd is like. (You ended up becoming confused and struggling to figure out the perfect gift…)

• Shedletsky… Well… You had to keep him from going into the kitchen, and having to help him by reminding him to not eat too much fried chicken.

• By the time you have to leave, however, everyone was disappointed, they liked your presence! Please don’t leave them just like that…

• You told them that you’ll most likely be back the next Christmas, or another holiday. Before, you disappear.

• Let’s just say that, everyone can’t wait for you to come back. They already like you with how little time they had with you!

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 46

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 600

Masterlist

———————————————————————

I turned my back on her that day.  

She tried calling me afterward, but I didn’t answer. She sent me a message saying she needed to talk.  

I replied that I didn’t want to speak with her anymore.  

I had gone further than I ever thought possible—out of love and, worse, out of revenge.  

Alexia pieced me back together that evening, as shattered as I was. She insisted I take a two-month break, and she was right.  

I listened. One of our friends had moved to Costa Rica and was thrilled to host me for a month. I planned to extend my trip to the U.S. for three weeks afterward, a much-needed breath of fresh air.  

---

The day of the elections arrived, a sunny Sunday. I’d helped with the final preparations while staying in the background.  

That morning, I went to my local polling station to vote around 11 a.m.  

Lucy was there. My heart clenched, and I avoided her gaze.  

One of my former running mates approached me.  

“So, it’s the big day!”  

“Apparently!” I replied with a broad smile.  

“I swear, Bronze hasn’t left this polling station all morning!”  

I could feel Lucy’s eyes on me, watching my every move.  

I grabbed the ballots and cast my vote for our slate.  

When I approached the ballot box, Lucy was standing just behind it.  

I looked at her wearily, and she refused to break eye contact.  

“I think I can guess how you voted,” she teased with a faint smile.  

I forced a polite smile in return.  

“Vote cast!” announced the clerk.  

I turned and walked away without a final glance at Lucy. I wanted to seem strong, but it was so hard.  

---

That evening brought the long-anticipated results. We gathered in the town hall’s lobby.  

Lucy won the election with 51% of the vote—a razor-thin margin.  

Julie, who had replaced me, was elected as a councilor. Relief washed over me for stepping away from the fray.  

Our team was disappointed but proud of how close we had come.  

I thanked everyone and shared a drink, but I left early, eager to escape.  

As I walked toward my car, I heard her voice behind me.  

“Ona…”  

I turned, startled.  

She stood there, stunning in a black dress. Having just won her third election, she radiated confidence, though a trace of sadness shadowed her expression.  

I caught my breath.  

“Congratulations! I hadn’t had a chance to say so.”  

In truth, I’d avoided her all evening.  

“Thanks… It’s a great victory. Ona, I’m really disappointed things ended up like this between us…”  

Why bring it up again after such a painful election?  

“It’s just the way things are, Lucy. I can’t explain it rationally. Leaving is going to be good for me.”  

She seemed worried now.  

“You’re going to her, aren’t you?”  

I looked surprised, unsure what she meant. She continued, slightly annoyed:  

“You’re going to her—in Canada!”  

So, she thought I was going to Alessia.  

“That’s none of your business, Lucy. But yes, I’m crossing the ocean.”  

I kept my answer deliberately vague. She didn’t need to know my plans.  

“When exactly are you leaving?” she asked in a whisper.  

“I’m taking the morning train to Paris on the 8th, in a week.”  

She seemed to wrestle with her words, looking lost. Then she lifted her head.  

“Well, I wish you all the best, Ona. I just wanted to…”  

Her sentence trailed off.  

She pulled herself together.  

“… I need to get back inside. I wish you all the happiness in the world!”  

And with that, she walked away hurriedly.  

[t1red-twilight]

through the ages

part 4

content/warnings: gn!reader, season 5, relationship troubles, bad boyfriend alert, medium angst, i’m a jemily truther

notes: jesus reid how i love you

word count: 3.1k

masterlist series masterlist s. r. masterlist

prev. part

the hum from the jet was quiet. the noise was something you had gotten used to at this point. you were trying to read the book you’d brought with you, but you couldn’t focus. everything in your brain was moving a million miles a minute.

across the aisle was spencer, who was demolishing hotch in a game of chess. after a few moments, hotch’s hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose and spencer’s hand shot up in a fist victoriously. “i won! again!” he said it out loud, but he was looking at you.

you exhaled out a laugh and tried return to reading your book. although, you could still hear spencer quarreling with hotch to “just play one more round.” evidently, this didn’t prove to work when he sat down on the couch next to you. he leaned his cane against the edge of it. you were sideways, with your shoes on the ground with your feet up.

it didn’t take him long to realize that you weren’t really reading. “it’s taken you longer than normal to read that page,” he commented. “what’s up?” you shut the book abruptly. socrates would just have to wait.

you exhaled as calmly as you could, and pressed your palms into your eyes. “it’s nothing,” you responded.

“well, clearly it’s not nothing. do you want to talk about it?” spencer answered.

“it’s nothing, it’s just-“ you sighed. “it’s just that ian said he can’t make it to this thing i have on saturday.” with your tone flat and even, you tried to make it seem like it really wasn’t that big of deal. it was though, to you.

spencer’s brow knit together. “thing? what thing?” you didn’t really want to tell him about it, you didn’t like making things about yourself, and big events surrounding yourself were not your forte.

you swallowed and tried to keep your composure. you definitely couldn’t cry right now, and not in front of the team. “i graduate this weekend. he said he would be there, but he just flaked on me and i don’t know why.” you paused, before continuing. “it’s not that big of a deal, though.”

spencer’s eyes widened. whether or not he was offended, you couldn’t tell. you forced your shoulders to relax and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “you’re getting your phd this weekend?” he spoke loud enough that you could tell that morgan was now tuned in to the conversation. “what time? i want to go. if that’s alright,” he stated.

you gave him a crooked smile. “it’s this saturday on campus at 4. you don’t have to go. it’s not a huge deal.” you waved your hand, trying to brush it off.

“it is a huge deal! why can’t he be there? that seems like a big event that a boyfriend should be at.” his tone started to rise, but he seemed to have caught himself. as he spoke, you noted how he tucked his hair behind his ears. his fingers were so deft and dexterous- stop. you can’t think that way.

you swallowed again, and shrugged. sitting in brief silence, you tried to think of what to say that wouldn’t alarm him too much. you cracked your knuckles and the buzz of the jet seemed to ring litter and louder in your ears. “i wasn’t even going to go in the first place. he managed to convince me, and now, all of a sudden, he can’t go? what’s up with that?” your eyes clenched shut and you bit the inside of your cheek.

when you opened your eyes, spencer’s expression had changed. his lip was pulled between his teeth, and his brow dropped together again. it also felt as if a migraine was forming behind your eye socket. this was just like ian; he loved to leave you high and dry. especially when he knew you had committed to something. what was he even doing anyway? whatever. it didn’t matter anymore.

spencer scooted in closer to you. his mouth opened once or twice as he thought of what to say. with the way his fingers were fidgeting, you could tell that he was fighting annoyance of some kind. “that’s stupid. i’m sorry. i will definitely be there,” something in his voice was reassuring. it was steady and warm and it cradled the air around you.

you looked at your feet and blinked vigorously again. your arms wrapped tighter around your knees as you struggled to keep yourself together. suddenly, you felt a gentle tap on your kneecap. looking up, you saw spencer smiling ardently at you. your ears heated. “i’ll be there. i promise.”

at this, you returned his smile as best you could. a tear escaped you eye and trailed down your cheek, but his hand removed itself from your knee and swiped it away with his thumb. “i’ll be there,” he whispered again. a comforting look swam in his dark eyes.

his hand stayed on your cheek for maybe a little too long. you leaned into it, but as you did, he removed it. you saw as he wiped the wetness from the year onto his slacks. he looked away, before returning his gaze.

you took one of your hands and held it out, albeit a little shakily, and nudged his elbow with it. he understood what you wanted. spencer grasped your hand calmly with his. there were callouses from the cane, but there was no universe in which you would ever mind. (regarding the cane, you were at ease knowing he could be out in the field again with you all. but mostly because he provided you peace of mind.)

his thumb stroked back and forth on the back of your hand slowly. you laid your head on the back of the couch, and you felt him look away. for a few seconds you forgot the deep disappointment you were trying to quell. spencer was going to be there. and somehow, that was enough.

-

the rest of the week came and passed. the line waiting for your diploma was incredibly long. this was one of the reasons that you didn’t want to attend, but you’d be lying if you said that it was the only reason. when you entered from the hallway and into the main basketball arena area that all the graduation ceremonies were held, you were not expecting anyone to show up.

you couldn’t tell if that thought was a hope or a disappointment. your heartbeat, fast and hard, almost sunk to your stomach. no one had shown up for these things for you in a while. it was something you had just gotten used to.

suddenly, there was a waiting motion you saw out of the corner of your eye. you brushed it off, assuming that it was for someone else. but, then the waving got more and more extreme. so, you finally looked over. the butterflies in your stomach fluttered harder and harder when you saw what you did.

there sat spencer, his posture perfectly upright. you couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted to see you, or if he was just trying to avoid the uncomfortable arena seats. the from on your face couldn’t hide itself. while the butterflies still remained, a sense of relief washed over you.

when he noticed that you had saw him, his fingers waved in a tentative way. then, you noticed them. there sat, not only spencer, but derek, hotch, penelope, jj, prentiss, and even rossi. you hadn’t expected him to invite the team, and you definitely did not assume the rest of the team would show up. you looked up at them, a cautious wave aimed back at them. most of all, was hotch smiling?

you turned away quickly, try not to see you like you were embarrassed. your feet became very embarrassing as you tried to hide the worm rising to your cheeks. at this point, you weren’t even upset that ian didn’t come. this is something that you were unfortunately used to. but he had said that he had things going on, what reason would you have to not believe him? maybe you were just overreacting. things happen.

a moment from about a year ago rang in your head. you could tell spencer is not excited that you were going on a date with him. hell, it was your job to understand what was going on if people’s heads, even if they were attempting (poorly, and spencer‘s case). you could tell that he did not want you to go on that date. and honestly, you didn’t want to either. you just determined that your friendship with spencer was far more important than possibly ruining it. you couldn’t tell why he was upset about it though.

the line moved extremely slowly. it seemed that the people in front of you had earned many, many extra sashes and ribbons or whatever they were. perhaps you would be more worthy of such a crowd if you had actually participated in school events. but you knew that you would never had the time for that.

your turn approached. shoulders pushed back, posture fixed. after all, you didn’t want to look sloppy. this was still something that you had worked immensely hard for. after all, no matter what, this was something that you deserved. despite what would happen or wouldn’t happen later, you were definitely buying yourself a pint of ice cream to celebrate.

yes, you were deserving of a crowd. No matter how much you wanted to deny it to yourself. this was something that you would worked your ass off for.

you looked back over to your little peanut gallery. your heart filled with warmth. you smiled, the most genuinely that you had that night. whether or not they meant it, they still showed up. that meant something.

you gave a shaky smile, and gave a thumbs up to them. awkward, but the nerves in your body did not make you feel the need to care in the sights at all.

finally, it was your turn. you heard your name called, and began the slow track up the stairs. the stairs were not steep nor long, but it felt like was the longest journey that you had made in your life. you were done. hopefully, you would never have to go to school again.

the feel of the accomplishment in your hands was surreal. all of the nights that you felt like dropping out, all the nights where you felt like doing your homework would kill you, it had paid off. how could this even be real?

the ringing in your ears subsided, you heard the cheers. you looked over your shoulder to see that the team was all standing. somehow, even far away, you could see the brightest smiles. spencer‘s face, however, looked like he was almost crying. warmth tread up to your cheeks. the love that filled your body was immense but not overwhelming. it felt right, somehow.

you followed the trail back to your assigned seat. your hands shook as you anticipated with this conversation with the team would be like. you knew them, and you knew that it wouldn’t go awry. they had always been nothing but supportive.

when that time came, your shoulders had slightly tensed, and your hands had gone numb, but just barely at the fingertips. the first thing that happened, was aaron otchner pulling you into the tightest hug that you had ever experienced. this kind of affection, was something that you were not used to experiencing.

when you looked up at him, he was smiling the biggest smile he would ever seen him express. he muttered something that only you could hear. “i’m so proud of you.” after a moment of fighting back more emotion, you mouth a thank you. it was all that you could muster.

when you pulled away, you saw spencer. he was grinning ear to ear. “i guess i’m not the only doctor on the team now,” he teased. “i’m glad.”

“good job kid,” derek stated. “i was going to buy you flowers, but that felt like a little bit too much.“

spencer’s adam’s apple bobbed, and his mouth opened as if he was going to speak. after a minute, he did. “i brought you something,“ he said. out from his crossbody bag, he pulled out a sash. it said something like, “best doctor on the team.” you had no idea where he would’ve got it from, but you knew that penelope was definitely involved in it. the glitter gave it away.

suddenly, your phone started buzzing. you held up one finger to the team, and turned away to pick up the phone. you saw that it was ian’s contact. he stepped away a few feet so that no one could hear it.

“hey baby,” he started. “i’m sorry i couldn’t make it. this is so good for you.“ you pinched the bridge of your nose. good for you? alright, captain obvious. if it was so, “good for you,” why couldn’t he have made it?

he went on for a second about, opportunities, or something, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to listen wholly.

your face scrunched up in displeasure, but you were glad that he couldn’t see it. “yeah. maybe it’ll make me eligible for a pay raise at the bureau.“

ian let out a sound almost a kin to a scoff, before he babbled on. “that’s not what – never mind.” you knew that that’s not what he meant. the hint of condescension in his tone greatened. “well, baby, if that’s what you want.”

“look, i really have to go. i have things to do.” there was that scoff from him again. “bye, ian.”

“sure, babe. finish whatever it was you were doing. bye.” you hung up rather aggressively after that. wherever he got the audacity sometimes, you had no clue. you two had good days. and those good days, they were there.

you turned and walked back to the team. As soon as you were there, noticing the looks of confusion maybe even concern. you kept a smile on your face.

penelope spoke first, “there’s a burger joint across the street? why don’t we go there?”

spencer nodded in agreement. “that sounds great, garcia.” a chorus of affirmation from the team followed. sugary soda and greasy fries. could definitely help you get your mind off things.

“that sounds wonderful.”

the team took the quick jaunt across the street to the burger restaurant. you and spencer were behind the team, speaking in somewhat hushed voices. you could’ve sworn that you had seen emily glancing back at you and spencer every now and then.

there was a chill in the night air. it hadn’t made you too particularly cold, but you still retreated into yourself. spencer looked over at you, “do you want my jacket?“

you shrugged. “we’ll be there in just a second. i’m not that cold.” despite your refusal, he shrugged off his blazer and handed it to you. you knew how he got about these things, so you just put the suit jacket on.

it was warm. and, not to mention it smelled like that fresh linen smell that you so associated with spencer. subtly, you tucked it closer to yourself. something about it filled you with a sense of calmness and security.

the burger joint looked like every stereotypical burger joint. the booths were red, and there was a fifties theme. it felt more like a diner than anything. derek held the door open for you, saying, “after you, doctor.” spencer chuckled at this.

when you got to the booth, everyone rushed to take a seat. the only spot left was the one next to spencer, but you didn’t have a problem with that. it felt as if everyone was sneaking glances over to you. was there something on your face? it was probably his blazer that you were wearing.

after orders were taken and food was delivered, everyone settled into quiet conversations. occasionally there was some talking with the entire group, but mostly people were talking in pairs.

jj and emily were sitting much too close for comfort, at least not casual comfort. you nudged spencer with your elbow and motioned over to them. for a moment, he looked kind of confused. eventually, though, he caught on. “what do you think?“ you mumbled.

he paused for a moment. “i don’t know. they’ve always been kind of close, don’t you think?“ you shrugged at this, then held your hands in defeat.

“i don’t know,” you repeated after him. “whatever you think.” you stuffed a couple more fries in your face. if you were being honest, they were a little salty. but hey, rossi insisted on paying for everyone later so you weren’t going to complain.

“what was that call about earlier?” spencer questioned, rather bluntly. you blinked like a deer caught in headlights. had he heard what ian was saying? spencer looked away briefly, but quickly resumed eye contact. something swam in his eyes. you couldn’t quite tell what it was. out of everyone on the team, he was the most difficult to read. there were times that he was more “readable,” but this was not one of those times.

you stumbled over your words for a moment. what were you supposed to say? that your boyfriend had said something absolutely annoying and insufferable, and you didn’t want to even think about him?

you swallowed the fries that you stuffed in your mouth. “you heard that, huh?” he nodded, but didn’t say anything just yet. you continued. “he just, uh, said that he was sorry he couldn’t make it.“ it technically wasn’t a lie.

spencer bit the inside of his lip. “well okay, then,” he replied. he very clearly wasn’t buying your excuse. “he still should’ve made it.“ he spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure that you were supposed to hear it.

“i think he said something about a family emergency,“ you said, waving it off. ian‘s family didn’t live in the dc area. hell, he wasn’t even in contact with most of his family. “don’t worry about it. It’s not that big of a deal.” you looked away, trying to keep casual. a deep anger quelled in your gut, but you couldn’t let spencer know that.

spencer craned his head to meet your eyeline. this time the tone his voice felt sympathetic. “are you sure?” he asked.

you nodded your head quickly. “yeah, shit happens.“ you shrugged. you pushed down the tears that bubbled in your throat. “it is what it is.”

next part

[jewishbarbies]

there was a tiktok of Ilona Maher absolutely recking players on the field and in the comments someone said it was stupid the right was so focused on men in women’s sports when clearly women in women’s sports can handle themselves, and so many women got fucking pissed because “she’s strong but she’s not MAN strong”, and i just wanna know how fucking strong do these dumb bitches think men are. if you put Ilona against any man in my family ever, she would genuinely crush them. in every possible way. what, do you want her to be strong enough to arm wrestle Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime or something?? what are y’all basing your “man strong” off of? the fact that you have no muscles and your husbands work construction? fuck off, fucking TERFs.

[oscars-thighs]

What in the rpf is going on with charles and max