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mintyys-blog · 24 days ago

Note

Omg wait hear me out viltrumite mark watching reader breast feed their child so of course he gets curious and wants a taste AHHHH THIS IS SO NASTY BUT I WOULDN’T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO WRITE THIS 😫🙏

MILK | viltrumite mark x wife! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: breast feeding, lactation kink, pregnancy kink, self doubt, smut.

MINORS DNI | this covers topics and kinks that may not be interesting or liked by many readers, please read the warnings before continuing.

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

The baby’s finally down for a nap, and you’re sitting at the edge of the bed, one breast aching and leaking slowly through your stretched-out shirt. You shift—gently, tiredly—and wince. The discomfort never ends.

Your chest is too full. You’re always full.

The baby barely drinks enough to keep up with your body’s production, and every time he unlatches early, you feel like something inside you’s betraying you.

You sniff. Blink. Bite the inside of your cheek. You shouldn’t be crying. You should be grateful.

But you feel like you’re failing. Your body’s producing more than your child needs. You can’t even stop it—milk soaks your shirts, your bras, your sheets. It stings. It leaks. You can’t move without wincing. You haven’t showered in days.

You barely remember what you looked like before motherhood. You feel used up.

Mark finds you like that.

Sitting there. Silent. Red-eyed but not sobbing. Your shirt is sticking to your skin from fresh leakage, and your shoulders are slumped in exhaustion. You don’t even notice him at first.

He stands there for a moment in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed—not angry, but deeply, deeply worried. Then he leaves. You expect him to come back with food or a fresh shirt.

Instead, he returns with someone else.

“A caregiver?” you echo, a little too sharp. “What—you think I can’t handle it?” Mark raises a brow. Unfazed. “I think you’re sleep-deprived, sore, and haven’t showered in four days.”

“That’s not—”

“You’re limping.” You open your mouth. Shut it again.

“I didn’t bring her in to take over,” he says quietly. “I brought her in so you could rest. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Your lip quivers. “I just… I wanted to do it all. For him.” Mark’s expression softens. “You already have.”

The hot water hurts at first—stinging against sensitive, overworked skin. But then it starts to relax you. Your shoulders drop. You let the water run over your chest, and you finally take a slow breath. It’s the first breath in days that doesn’t feel tight.

But you flinch when you touch yourself. Your breasts are sore. Heavy. Swollen. One of them starts to leak again under the spray, and you can’t help but cover your eyes and cry quietly.

You’re full. Again. You hate it.

You hate that you can’t even feel sexy anymore—just sore. Puffy. Leaking like a broken faucet. Every touch feels alien. Wrong. Like it’s not your body anymore.

You don’t hear the door open. But you do feel the familiar warmth at your back. Mark steps into the shower behind you, slow and gentle, arms sliding around your waist. You melt into him. No hesitation.

You let your head rest on his shoulder. His voice is soft. “How do you feel?” You glance down. At your chest. At the milk still trailing down your front. “I feel…” Your voice cracks. “…Full. And uncomfortable.”

Mark doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk. He just brushes your wet hair off your neck and kisses the side of your face.

Then he says, calmly: “Let me help.”

You stiffen slightly—half embarrassed, half confused. He gently cups one breast, thumb grazing the swollen underside. “You’re leaking. You’re sore. You’ve been hiding it.”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.” He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp. Not in pain—in relief. “I think you’ve been handling too much.”

You let him lower his head, let him kiss across the tender flesh, let him hold you steady as he slowly wraps his mouth around your nipple. And when he sucks, warm and slow, you whimper.

Not from arousal. Not from shame. But because it helps. It finally relieves the pressure. You clutch his shoulders, body trembling, eyes fluttering shut. He hums against your skin, gentle, attentive, drinking only as much as needed until you can breathe again.

When he pulls back, his voice is hushed: “Never be ashamed of what your body does to care for our child.” He kisses your cheek again. “…Or what it does to feed me.”

The water’s still running, but you don’t feel the sting anymore.

Just his mouth—warm and slow—pulling gentle streams from your sore chest, his large hands bracing your waist like you’re something fragile. Like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Like you matter more than anything else in the universe. And right now… maybe you do.

When he pulls away, the air hits your wet skin and makes you shiver. He sees it—of course he does. He always sees more than he lets on. His mouth is slick. His eyes are soft. He presses a kiss right above your heart, then reaches over to turn the water off.

“Come here,” he says, voice low and firm. And you don’t argue.

He towels you off gently, like you’re porcelain—careful with your chest, your thighs, your feet. When you wince, his brows knit like he’s the one in pain. You catch your reflection in the mirror and barely recognize yourself. Puffy eyes. Messy hair. Stretched skin.

But Mark? He sees you and smiles. With that quiet, worshipful sort of pride that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, like it’s just fact. Like there’s no room for doubt. “Mark…”

“You made life. You’re feeding him. And you’re still standing.” His hands come up to frame your jaw. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

He lifts you before you can protest.

One arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. You’re cradled against his chest, small and warm and exhausted. You tuck your face into his neck and let yourself rest for the first time in days.

He carries you back to bed, past the quiet nursery, past the nightlight’s soft glow. The sheets are freshly changed—he must’ve done it earlier, while you were too busy blaming yourself to notice.

Mark settles you down on your side, tugs the covers up over you, then slips in behind you, his body spooned tight to yours. And when you shift—just slightly, your chest pressing back into him with a soft wince—he notices.

His hand comes up and cups your breast again. Gentle. Familiar. Protective.

You hold your breath, expecting more. But he doesn’t move to touch you sexually. He just… rests there. His fingers soft. His thumb stroking idly along the skin, as if memorizing the shape of you like this. Sore, swollen, raw. Real.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmurs into your hair. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.” You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t leave yet…”

“I won’t.” He kisses the back of your neck.

Then, softly—like a confession: “I’ll always be here when you’re full. You never have to ask.” You exhale slowly. Finally. And fall asleep with his palm still resting over your heart.

It starts slow. It always does.

The baby’s asleep in his crib across the room, the soft glow of the nightlight painting golden shapes across your skin. You’re lying on your back this time, not sore, not struggling, finally feeling like yourself again.

Except—your body never stopped producing. You’re full again.

Your breasts are heavy against your chest, and even as you try to ignore it, you see the faint glisten of milk beading at your nipples through the too-thin sleep shirt you’re wearing. You bite your lip. You should pump. But the thought of doing it alone again—of dragging yourself out of bed—is enough to make you sigh.

Then you feel it. A hand. Rough, warm, possessive. Palming the side of your breast from under the shirt. You turn your head.

Mark is already awake, eyes locked on your chest like a predator who’s been waiting weeks for this moment.

“You’re full again, baby.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Dark and deep and just slightly hoarse from sleep. You feel his palm shift under the curve of your breast, thumbing the spot he knows always makes your body twitch.

“Was gonna let you sleep,” he murmurs, dragging the shirt up with one hand, his mouth trailing after it. “But you’re leaking again.”

He grazes the tip of your nipple with his teeth. You whimper.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Still making more than he needs. Still pumping it out like your body doesn’t care how swollen you get. Like it wants someone to drink from you.”

He slides his hand between your legs without warning. You’re already wet. He moans into your chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Your cunt’s soaked. You like this, don’t you?”

You nod, embarrassed. Thrilled. “I do,” you whisper. “I like when you… when you help.” He smirks.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, sinking two fingers into you while he suckles harshly from your breast. “I don’t ‘help.’ I own this body. You leak for me. You’re full for me.”

You cry out—hips jerking as he curls his fingers just right.

His mouth hungrily works your nipple, milk spilling onto his tongue as he grunts, insatiable. It’s not slow anymore. It’s desperate. Animal.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven. How the hell was I supposed to resist this for so long?” You’re gasping now, thighs shaking.

He switches breasts like he needs both—lapping up every drop you give him, even as his cock presses against your thigh, hard and hot and needy. You reach for him. “Please,” you pant. “I need—”

“I know.” He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock in one brutal thrust. “Shit—I know, baby. I’ve needed this too.”

He starts fucking you slow but deep—too deep—his hips grinding against yours with steady, punishing pressure. Every thrust pushes you further into the mattress, the thick weight of his body pinning you down like gravity itself.

But his mouth? It never leaves your chest.

He suckles you like he’s starving—groaning low in his throat when more milk spills past his lips and onto his tongue. His palm cups the underside of your breast, kneading and guiding it to him, and you swear the filthy sounds echo off the bedroom walls. Slurping. Suckling. Gulping.

He’s devouring you.

And he doesn’t even try to be gentle anymore. Not with his mouth, not with his cock. When you arch into him—needy, crying out his name in a gasping moan—he groans like he’s been waiting for it.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, his voice rough, fucked-out, possessive to the point of being feral. “All of this. Every inch. Every drop. This body’s mine, baby. Say it.”

You try, but all that comes out is a whimper.

Your body’s burning. Your skin’s sticky with sweat and milk, your cunt is soaked, and your breasts are leaking freely now—over your chest, your stomach, your sheets—each pulse of your orgasm threatening to spill even more from your overworked body.

“Mark,” you sob, eyes rolling back as he picks up the pace. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snaps, mouth wet as he switches to your other breast, drawing it in with a harsh, hungry suck. “You will. Gonna milk you ‘til you’re empty—fuck—‘til I get my fill.”

He grinds into you harder. Rougher. Like he needs to feel every inch of your body stretch around him. His hand slips down between your legs again, rubbing furious circles over your clit while he keeps thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That mess? That’s you, baby. You’re so fuckin’ full, you’re makin’ a mess all over my cock.”

You’re trembling now. Moaning. Breathless. Then your body snaps.

You cum—wet and messy—your thighs shaking, your pussy fluttering around him, gushing slick down his length while your milk leaks faster, heavier, like your whole body’s releasing at once. You cry out and clutch his shoulders, sobbing into his neck as everything pours out of you.

And he drinks it all. Groaning. Gulping. Consuming you like a man starved.

“Good girl,” he grunts, fucking you through the waves, still drinking like he can’t stop. “That’s it. Give it to me. Let me have it, baby.”

He doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t slow down.

Even as you twitch and cry beneath him, your body limp and overstimulated, he’s still buried in you to the hilt, hips rolling in deep, slow strokes, still grinding against that sensitive spot inside you like he’s trying to get more out of you.

“Still leaking,” he murmurs, licking his lips, eyes dark. “Guess we’re not done yet.”

You’re standing in the bathroom with shaking hands. The test is still warm in your grip. That tiny pink line taunts you like it knows you haven’t even fully recovered from the last pregnancy. Your baby is barely four months old. You’re still breastfeeding. Your body is still healing.

And yet— Pregnant. Again.

Your chest feels tight. Full. Not just from milk—but from fear. Confusion. Guilt. You didn’t plan this. Hell, you barely even had sex more than a few times since giving birth—and yet…

You hear the floor creak. Then a voice—warm, amused, and far too calm for how you feel. “You okay in there, baby?”

Mark. You swallow hard, panic twisting in your gut. You didn’t even lock the door. Before you can stop him, it swings open—and there he is. Still shirtless, sweatpants slung low, eyes immediately scanning your expression. He sees the test in your hand.

He freezes. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, voice lowering. You look at him. Then down at the test. Then back up, and finally—you nod. “I’m pregnant again,” you whisper. “Just a few months… after… I didn’t even think—”

Mark crosses the room in a second. He doesn’t say anything. Not at first. He just grabs your face—gently but firmly—tilts it up to meet his eyes, and searches your expression like he’s scanning you for damage.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

Your voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

And just like that, he wraps you in his arms. Not rough. Not possessive. Just there. Strong and warm and steady.

You bury your face in his chest. “I feel like I’m failing,” you whisper. “My body’s still messed up. I’m tired. I’m sore. And now this? What if I can’t handle it again, Mark?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just holds you. His chin rests against your head, and for a moment, the silence stretches long and quiet. Then—softly, with a low rumble in his chest: “You didn’t fail. Your body’s doing exactly what it’s meant to.”

You look up, confused. And what you see in his eyes startles you. Because it’s not worry. It’s not shock. It’s something darker. Deeper.

Pride.

“You’re carrying another one of my kids,” he says, voice dropping to a dangerous hush. “You think that makes you weak?”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to make your breath hitch. “It makes you unstoppable.”

You’re stunned. He lowers to his knees. Presses a kiss to your still-soft stomach. Then another. And another. His voice goes reverent.

“Didn’t even get a chance to stop making milk,” he mutters, smirking. “Fucking perfect. You were made to carry me like this. And you’re doing it again without even trying.”

You feel your knees wobble. “Mark—” He looks up. And the hunger in his gaze makes your pulse stutter.

“I’m never pullin’ out again,” he growls. “Not after this. You think I’m gonna waste another drop of what gets me this?”

He presses his mouth to your belly again, nuzzling, possessive. “I want you like this. Round. Full. Mine.”

You barely make it back to bed before he’s stripping you down, laying you out gently like something sacred. Except this time, he’s not fucking you to fill you. He’s fucking you because he already did.

And he’s going to worship every inch of the body that’s making his legacy again.

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moonlightdreamzz · 4 months ago

Text

One more time … before you go? — ENHYPEN ♡

SUMMARY. Remember that time you tried to get Enha to go one more round, even though it was going to make them late for practice?

GENRE. $MUT

AUTHORS NOTE. No Niki in this one … I’m simply just not ready yet 😭 this all started with Jungwon….as always. I #needthat so bad omg. I’ll add a keep reading later!!! I use mobile 99% of the time lmfaooo.

HEESEUNG

Heeseung is halfway dressed, his shirt unbuttoned, exposing the marks you left across his skin. He should be leaving. His phone has buzzed twice with reminders for practice.

But you? You’re making it impossible.

Lying there with that smug little smile, eyes heavy with mischief, legs tangled in the sheets like you belong to him and only him. His mind is at war—responsibility vs. pure, unfiltered desire.

He exhales, rubbing his jaw before giving you that look. The one that makes your stomach flip.

“You’re gonna make me late,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement.

You stretch, your shirt slipping just enough to tease. “Mmm. And?”

His tongue flicks across his bottom lip. He eats this up—the softness of your skin, the dreamy way you’re watching him like he’s the only person in the world. And that part of him that wants to ruin you for this? Oh, it’s winning.

“You’re dangerous, baby,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair before he leans in, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of you.

“If you think you’ll ever be able to tame me,” you whisper, dragging your fingers down his chest, “you’re wrong.”

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. “Guess that means I have just enough time to teach you a lesson about playing fair.”

His shirt slides off his shoulders. His phone? Ignored.

JAY

Jay grips the edge of the dresser, head bowed as he takes a very deep breath. He’s fighting demons—no, you.

Because you know what you’re doing. Lying there, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes that are anything but.

He should be walking out the door, but instead, he turns, slow and deliberate, raking his gaze over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You,” he starts, his voice lower than before, “are relentless.”

You tilt your head, pouting just enough to make him twitch. “What?” you murmur, dragging the sheets up like you’re shy—like you weren’t just begging for him an hour ago.

He exhales sharply, stepping closer, towering over you. “This. The games. The teasing.” His whole body is tense, like he’s trying so hard to keep his control. “You really think I have time for this?”

Your fingers graze the waistband of his sweats, featherlight, and his whole body stiffens.

“You always make time for me, Jay,” you whisper, biting back a smirk.

His jaw clenches. His hands tighten.

“Yeah,” he mutters before flipping you onto your back with one rough pull. “I do.”

JAKE

Jake’s halfway out the door—hoodie thrown on, bag slung over his shoulder. He’s already late.

But then you giggle.

Soft, sweet—dripping with amusement.

He turns on his heel, eyes narrowing. “What?”

You bite your lip, stretching out across the sheets, giving him a look that makes him twitch. “Nothing,” you hum, “just funny how you think you’re leaving me like this.”

Oh, you’re playing dirty.

“You’re unreal,” he mutters, dropping his bag as he stalks toward you. “Absolutely shameless.”

You hum, tilting your chin. “This is what you do to me, baby,” you breathe, dragging your fingers over his wrist as he reaches for you, “and you love it.”

His grip tightens. His breath hitches.

“God, I do.”

His lips crash against yours.

Practice? Long forgotten.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and desire flashing in his eyes. He’s trying to hold his ground, trying to convince himself that he’s leaving and that’s that.

But you’re lying there, playing your cards like you always do. That teasing little smile, the way your body moves under the sheets, bare skin on display—he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice low, almost warning you. “You know I have to leave.”

You stretch slowly, arching your back just enough to make him forget every reason he had for walking out the door. Your eyes are half-lidded, lips parted slightly as you hum, “So go.”

The playful, sweet tone of your voice has a fire starting in his gut, but he tries to remain composed. “Go, huh?” He swallows hard, the tension building between you two. His arms drop to his sides, but his fists are clenched, and he’s battling with himself, trying to stand firm. “You really think I’m just going to leave you like this?”

You smirk, pushing yourself up on your elbows, your gaze locking with his. “If you can,” you taunt, voice dripping with the kind of playful arrogance that always gets under his skin.

His eyes narrow, and his body shifts, as though he’s about to snap. “You really want to push me, huh?” His voice is deeper now, the usual calm replaced with an edge of frustration. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to touch you but knowing it’ll make him lose control.

“Is that what you want, Hoon?” you murmur, sliding the sheets down your body just enough to show him what he’s trying so hard to ignore. You’re too much of a temptation. “You want me to beg you to stay?”

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with something dangerous, something raw. He takes a step closer, his breath becoming shallow. He grips the edge of the bed, leaning over you. “I don’t want you begging for anything,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “But you’re making it damn hard to walk out of here. You know that?”

You let your fingers trail up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, the tension rolling off him in waves. “Then don’t,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear as you push against his chest. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

He shakes his head, the small movement full of frustration. “You’re too damn good at this, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck as he dips lower. “But I warned you—if you keep this up, you won’t be able to walk straight when I’m done with you.”

You shiver under his touch, your body burning with need as he pulls you toward him. His lips crash against yours, hot and desperate, with all the pent-up frustration he’s been holding back. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, your body flush against his.

“You’ve got five minutes, Y/N,” he whispers between kisses, his voice a mix of hunger and control. “But I swear, if you keep pushing me, you’ll never leave this bed.”

SUNOO

Sunoo stands by the door, his hoodie half-zipped, fingers curled around the strap of his bag, but he’s not moving. His eyes flicker to you, still sprawled on the bed, sheets barely covering the evidence of what just happened. He swallows, hard, but masks it quickly with a smirk.

“I know that look,” he muses, leaning against the frame with practiced nonchalance. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You shift, stretching just enough to make his gaze darken. “Me? Never.” Your voice drips with feigned innocence as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “But you really think you can just leave me like this?”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second. He’s eating up the way you’re looking at him—like he’s something to be worshipped. And he is, but God, you’re dangerous.

Sunoo clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he steps closer, the air around him shifting. “You’re so spoiled,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against your jaw. “Always wanting more.”

His voice is low, teasing, but you see the way his chest rises and falls, the way his grip tightens like he’s already lost the fight before it’s even begun.

You lean into his touch, your lips barely grazing his palm as you whisper, “I can’t help that I know what I want…and I always get it.”

His breath catches—just for a second—before he exhales a sharp laugh, his other hand finding your waist, pulling you against him in one smooth motion.

“You’re so lucky I like my punishment sweet,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours, “or else I’d make you beg for it.”

You grin against his mouth. “Who says I won’t?”

His eyes darken. His bag hits the floor.

Practice can wait.

JUNGWON

Jungwon stands at the edge of the bed, jacket in hand, hair still messy from what you just did to him. He’s trying—really trying—to leave. But his knuckles are white around the fabric, his feet glued to the floor, because the way you’re laid out in front of him? Bare legs tangled in the sheets, skin still warm and glowing from before? It’s taking everything in him not to crawl back into bed and ruin you all over again.

“I have to go,” he mutters, but it’s weak. Half-hearted. Like he already knows he’s lost.

You stretch lazily, rolling onto your side, the curve of your body on full display. “Mmm, do you?” Your voice is teasing, sweet and slow, curling around him like smoke.

Jungwon clenches his jaw, eyes dragging over every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory. Like he’s already regretting leaving.

“You really think you can just walk out after that?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Jungwon, baby, look at you. You’re not going anywhere.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, hands flexing at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” It comes out like a whisper, a confession, his resolve hanging by a thread.

You stand slowly, letting the sheets slip just enough to have him sucking in a sharp breath. “Am I?” you purr, stepping closer, your fingertips barely grazing his chest. “Then why do you look like you want to devour me all over again?”

Jungwon exhales through his nose, like he’s this close to snapping. His hands find your waist, grip tightening as his forehead drops to yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hum, your fingers trailing up to tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “But what a way to go, huh?”

His laugh is low, breathy—half frustration, half surrender. His lips brush against yours, teasing, lingering, almost giving in.

“God, you’re so spoiled,” he groans, but his hands are already pulling you flush against him, already betraying every excuse he tried to make. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

You smile against his lips. “You never do.”

And that’s it. That’s the final thread snapping.

Jungwon’s hands grip your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you into the wall with a heat that has your breath hitching. His lips find your neck, his voice rough, needy, wrecked.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he murmurs, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “How fucking crazy you make me?”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, a smug smile playing on your lips. “Tell me.”

Jungwon groans, his lips trailing lower, his body pressing you tighter against the wall. “You’re perfect. Perfect, and you know it.” His voice is almost desperate now, like he needs you to understand just how far gone he is. “I swear, you drive me insane.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Then show me,” you whisper. “One more time, Jungwon. Prove it.”

His forehead drops to yours, his breathing uneven, his resolve completely shattered.

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he rasps.

But his lips are already crashing into yours. His hands are already gripping, pulling, taking. And when he growls “Just one more” against your lips, you know—

He’s not leaving anytime soon.

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lovebugism · 10 months ago

Note

you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot.

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way.

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway.

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure.

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin.

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease.

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping.

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper.

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.

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unintentionalseductress · 6 months ago

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LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses.

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you.

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you.

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone.

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down.

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone.

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm.

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe.

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.”

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly.

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely.

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk.

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly.

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible.

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model.

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder.

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone.

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer.

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously.

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move.

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you.

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd.

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin.

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long.

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them.

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.”

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat.

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised.

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away.

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whorelaud · 7 months ago

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꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 hushed fantasies ¡

pairing brother's best friend¡nicholas chavez x fem¡reader

summary thinking you were messaging your friend, you accidentally sent your brother's best friend a thirsty paragraph about him, with Nicholas opening it before you get a chance to delete it. what you were not expecting was the leading conversation, causing realization to wash over you as he hints your desire is not one-sided after all.

contains suggestive, sexual tension, a bit of dirty talking, a brief kiss, flustered reader, cocky nic, hes also very freaky (uhh???)

a/n this is the silliest thing ive ever written i was giggling the whole time while writing it. likes and reblogs are v much appreciated!!!

word count 1.7k

You: the amount of self control i have is insane because why do i not have this mans dick in my mouth rn please i need nic so fucking bad its not even funny anymore he is everything i want in life id let him use me any day morning afternoon n night im available ugh i dont even get the ick when its him he was acting like a dad earlier yelling at us to grill the meat right and it was so adorable ill call you daddy u want me to call u sir i dont kink shame im down for whatever king omg stop he got hurt earlier and he GROANED???? i almost fell to my knees YAHOOO he definitely whimpers #needthat 10/10 i just know its thick ooh tip pink shade #d97e77 thats insane till my knees are bruised and my throats scratched my panties fell tears are rolling down my thighs OMG PLS can you feel my pain hes so bodangshis how does my brother look at him and not wanna fuck him id be all over him if that was my friend gahhhd!!! hes actually so sweet he kept speaking to me earlier so i dont feel left out of the conversation and i find that adorable do u think he slaps it before he cums oh my his girlfriends so lucky im ab to put her in a headlock ahaha this is gross no man should have this much of an impact on u unless their dick is big and the sex is absolutely amazing yooo what he probably knows how to please a lady id be hard if i had a dick rn STOPP he has a happy trail im gonna lose it hahah lets find out where it leads i dont wanna think ab that im going crazy literally pulling my hair out that should be u baby GIVE ME A CHANCE?!!!! thinking ab him makes me so nervous this is getting a little too srs ahaha okay im sorry hows life?!? i miss u :(

Sending that message, you were anything but expecting the response you got in return, not from the man himself, that’s for sure.

nic: oh?

nic: i think you got the wrong person

You audibly gasp, realization washing over you as you read over the message. That was, in fact, not for Nicholas, nor was it for anyone but your friend to see.

You panic, putting your phone down to process what happened, needing a moment before responding. Right, you needed to do that.

But why did he see it so fast? He didn't even give you time to comprehend your message, the text switching to read in an instant.

Hell, it was midnight, and it’s been a long, tiring day for the both of you, having been out the whole afternoon, merely to come back to the hotel and spend more time with your other friends.

Everyone decided to end the night off early; early being a bit before midnight, with you heading to your room afterwards. Your brother and his best friend shared the room taking place next to yours, making it easy to reach out to him.

And for that, you were grateful since Nicholas was with him; meaning you got to see more of him throughout this trip.

You’ve had a crush on Nicholas for god knows how long, with it starting the moment your brother befriended him. You’ve technically gone through all the phases he experienced, hell, you saw him more than your own parents.

He was sweet, a little too sweet, perhaps it bothered you. Nicholas was very known among women, he knew how to attract a lady, showering her with praises until he eventually got what he wanted.

That made you extremely jealous, knowing you couldn't have him. He was forbidden, off-limits, someone you could only admire from afar.

And that stupid crush of yours led to this conversation, one you didn't want to discuss.

You: i didnt mean to send that to you

The text switched from delivered to read right away, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

nic: clearly

nic: i dont have a gf btw

Why did he feel the need to clarify that, and why were you relieved over hearing it?

You buried your face in your pillow, feeling heat reduce from your body. You’ve never been this embarrassed before, not around Nicholas. While you were weird sometimes, it was never this bad.

He wasn't supposed to know about this, nor discover it the way he did.

You: cover your eyes pls

You: this wasn't for u

nic: you sure?

nic: are there any other nics in your life?

Your stomach twisted at the message, hand coming up to cover your mouth as an audible gasp escaped your throat. How could he say that?

You felt all sorts of emotions wash over you, unable to process each one of them as you read the message over and over again.

You: what if there is

The question was risky, it could either end with him telling your brother, or him teasing you over it and brushing it off. Either way, you couldn't have him, so why not just fuck it and go with the flow?

nic: then that would be disappointing.

Your breath caught in your throat, vision going blurry as Nicholas’ bubble kept appearing and disappearing.

nic: id really hate that you feel this way about someone else

Oh my god, were you dreaming?

You could not believe your eyes. You turned off your phone, letting the dimness of the room seep through for a moment before you unlocked your device once again, heart skipping a beat when you realized it was real.

Nicholas, your brother’s best friend, might have been flirting with you, but that’s just in your head, right…?

You: ??? wdym

nic: you first

nic: was this about me, doll?

The pet name made you weak to your core, spiraling you over the edge as you put your phone down for a second. You took a deep breath, feeling your face heat up at how suggestive the boy sounded.

He sounded so desperate, you weren't sure if it was the tiredness, or him being genuine. Either way, you’re fucked, because you’re willing to do anything for him, even if it means breaking your heart.

You: what if it was

You: what will you do ab it

You felt nauseous as you waited for a response, groaning when the boy disappeared for a minute. Did you say something wrong? Why did he suddenly leave?

nic: then id risk it all

Speechless. Your mouth hung open, chest filling with lust as a breath heaved out of you.

You: are you saying this because you’re tired

nic: no

nic: god no

There was no ounce of self control in your body left. You almost screamed, overwhelmed by a new sense of emotions.

Is this how it felt? Because fucking hell.

You: it is

nic: it is what?

You: this is so embarrassing

You: why are you making me admit it you know exactly what im talking about

nic: baby

nic: jus tell me

You: no you suck im going to sleep

nic: WAIT no come here youre so cute

You blushed at the message, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. God, he’s such an idiot. And you were totally swooned for him.

You: i literally just sent you a message talking ab how much i wanna suck your dick what about that is cute

nic: oh? so you do admit it

You: …

You felt nervous, realizing how serious this has gotten. From a silly message turned into you contemplating whether this was a good idea. The last thing you were anticipating while typing that message was a confrontation, one from Nicholas; at that.

nic: you couldve told me yk

You: do you hear yourself

nic: ? what

You: nic you know this is wrong

You: youre gonna wake up tmr and forget all ab it

nic: you knkw

nic: yoirw so fucjinf hot

You came to a halt, noticing the amount of mistakes the boy was making. Your mind wandered somewhere else, feeling heat crawl past your neck, all the way to your face.

You: what are you saying

nic: fucking hell

nic: take the hint baby

You froze in your spot, tongue coming out to wet your lips, suddenly feeling heat travel to in between your legs. Don’t give in, don't give in, don’t give in.

You: what

nic: you couldve asked me if you were curious

nic: i wouldve happily showed you

That sent you over the edge. Your mind went fuzzy, unable to process the last few texts you received from Nicholas. He was being serious, dead serious, you were sure of that.

The texts you exchanged always revolved around your brother; usually Nicholas asking whether he was home or not. However, this one was different.

He was hinting something, something very risky that you were unable to resist.

You: dont say that

nic: what, you don't believe me?

You: nic

nic: give me five

You stared at the message on the screen, confused on what he meant. Your eyebrows furrowed with puzzlement, awaiting a message, merely to get nothing in return.

As you were about to shut your phone and go to sleep, it pinged, the notification startling you awake. You clicked on it immediately, mind going hazy as you read the message over and over again.

nic: open the door

nic: im outside your room

You didn’t hesitate as you got up, swiftly walking your way to the door. You unlocked it with haste, vision going blurry as you caught sight of Nicholas, who was standing inches away from you now.

He looked just as desperate as you were, maybe even more. And that was it, it was all you needed to pull him by the collar and cease the distance between you two.

The moment his lips collided with yours, you realized that maybe it’s worth ending up with a broken heart, because Nicholas tastes fucking addicting, and you found every way to make good use out of that obsession.

The possession of knowing he’s off limits, yet here he was, eagerly kissing you numb.

#nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x you #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #father charlie mayhew

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itoshiierae · 7 days ago

Note

Hii I’m so glad you’re taking requests bc I literally love ur writing sm omg but I was wondering if you could write about blue lock boys finding out about their girlfriend’s celebrity crush and getting jealous ? (Ness , sae, rin, kaiser) ^^

bllk boys getting jealous of your celeb crush

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: alexis ness, sae itoshi, rin itoshi, michael kaiser x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 notes: omg anon you had no right being this real with that request. celebrity crush?? jealousy?? drama??? this was basically begging to be written HAHAH. tysm for the love bby ilyyy hope you enjoy the chaos!!! <33

✮ ALEXIS NESS ✮

he finds out when he glances over and sees your phone wallpaper — not even scandalous, just a candid red carpet pic of your celeb crush. and without thinking, you go, “ugh, he’s so perfect.” ness gasps. like. ACTUALLY gasps then places a hand on his chest like you just betrayed your entire relationship and whispers, “you’ve known me for years and you never looked at me like that?? am i just your second choice now…?” he’s 75% joking, 25% spiraling — already staring at his reflection like a heartbroken lead in a k-drama, muttering things like

“maybe i should grow my hair out”

“do i need to start wearing more suits??”

you have to grab his face and tell him he’s cuter. your real celeb crush, your favorite boy. he melts instantly. clings to you like a needy cat, head tucked into your shoulder, voice muffled and shameless when he whispers, “say it again. no, seriously — say it one more time.”

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

✮ SAE ITOSHI ✮

hears about your celebrity crush mid-scroll when you sigh and go, “he’s so hot oh my god,” and all he gives you is a flat, unimpressed “okay.” nothing else. doesn’t look up, doesn’t blink — just sits there in deadpan silence for a full five minutes until he randomly mutters, “he’s overrated.” and from there it spirals. suddenly he’s critiquing the guy’s acting, fashion, jawline, and entire existence like he’s on a judging panel he never signed up for.

he swears he’s not jealous. but later that night, when you’re in bed and he’s holding you a little tighter than usual — arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear — it clicks. you lean in, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, and whisper, “you’re still my favorite.” he doesn’t answer. just exhales. slow. and laces his fingers through yours like that’s all he needed to hear.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

✮ RIN ITOSHI ✮

you mention your celebrity crush so casually — something innocent like “he’s totally my type” — and rin freezes. doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. just stares ahead like you handed him a breakup letter mid-match. you don’t even realize the shift until the silence drags.“..what?” you ask. nothing. just rin, sulking in high-definition. he mutters eventually, “i just don’t get it. what do you even like about him?” voice flat. tight.

he starts scrolling through his phone with more aggression than necessary, thumbs tapping like the app personally wronged him. you end up crawling into his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, whispering, “you’re the one i want, rin.” he exhales. finally… face buried in your neck, voice muffled and stubborn when he says, “don’t talk about him again.” and yeah… you don’t. mostly because it’s kind of hot when he gets like this.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

✮ MICHAEL KAISER ✮

you’re watching an interview and casually mutter, “ugh, he’s sooo attractive,” like it’s no big deal. but that’s all it takes. kaiser snatches the remote without warning, pauses the video mid-frame, and narrows his eyes at the screen like he’s preparing to file a lawsuit. “..you mean this guy?” suddenly he’s scrolling through google images like he’s in a forensic lab, judging every photo with brutal, surgical precision.

“his jawline’s not even that sharp.”

“he wears THAT to interviews?”

“my hair’s better.”

and just to prove it, he pulls up a selfie of himself and starts comparing side profiles like he’s submitting evidence in court. he’s cocky about it — smug grin, head tilted — but you can tell he’s riled beneath the surface. because next thing you know, his arms are wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you into his lap, lips brushing your ear. “you don’t need a celebrity crush when you’ve got me,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, possessive. so you test him. “maybe he has better hair.” kaiser pauses. smirks. grabs your chin with that annoyingly gentle grip and leans in until your noses touch. “say that again, ..liebling. i dare you.”

#rae’s anons 💌#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk x you #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x female reader #bllk headcanons #blue lock x reader #blue lock rin #rin itoshi headcanons #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #alexis ness #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #rin itoshi x reader

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neeeooon · 3 months ago

Text

when you’re on your period ;

blue lock x afab!reader

isagi yoichi

-> #panicking

-> that one boy in class who skipped the period video cause the word “blood” made him pass out, so now he knows next to nothing about periods

-> lived a peaceful life of fake-it-til-you-make-it until he started dating you

-> “hey, isagi? do you mind picking some pads up on your way back from practice?” “… like make-up pads?” “uh, period pads?” “period pads?” “… for blood?” “bl—“ and he sees stars

-> you have to sit him down and give him “the talk”

itoshi sae

-> feigns disinterest but is a total secret sweetheart

-> he’d drag his feet a bit when you ask him to grab ice cream for you, but will buy four pints of every flavor you ever mentioned liking

-> when sae returns with bags of ice cream, you cry

-> he freaks out a little, though he knew it was likely due to your hormones. “did i get the wrong kind..?” “YOURE SO CUTE I CANNOT STAND YOU.” “should i leave—“ “PLS HUG ME RN.”

itoshi rin

-> like isagi, he is clueless

-> you don’t have to have “the talk” but you do tell him that he’s going to be annoying to you no matter what he does for the next few days

-> he’s lowk offended but tries not to take it to heart. even when he grabbed a little too much of the blanket you were sharing and fell off the couch when you snatched it back

-> rin doesn’t fear many things. he has issues, yes, but none that count as a “fear”. he quickly realized he is very afraid of you on your period

-> he’d be hiding in the bedroom when you throw the door open and tackle him. “honey! let’s watch grey’s anatomy reruns!” “NOOOOO” as you drag him to the couch

bachira meguru

-> he grew up with a single mother. he knows what to do

-> knows before your period starts that it’s coming and stocks up on supplies: products, teas, snacks, towels, etc.

-> you get super depressed on your period, so bachira acts as a ray of sunshine, bringing light everywhere he goes. it doesn’t always make you feel 100%, but you never have the heart to turn him away

-> bundles you in blankets like a cocoon and wraps his arms around your middle. “does it hurt?” “mm, not as much anymore <3”

kunigami rensuke

-> kunigami knows it’s just a part of life, and though periods really freak him out, he’s never let you know that

-> “hey, babe? can you please grab a tampon from my bag? the second pocket!” “tampon… tampon…” he finds your emergency stash and just hand everything to you since you had a few separate brands and he can’t tell which is better

-> you find his cute cluelessness endearing and thank him with a cheek kiss before going to clean yourself up

-> he does lots of research after that and will gladly let you drag him around the house to help you with things or listen while you rant/cry/beg for snuggles

chigiri hyoma

-> he has experience helping his big sister out when they were younger (not by choice) so this stuff doesn’t sway him

-> chigiri has such a chill presence that you don’t find him annoying, which surprises you because you tend to hate everyone on your period

-> though he hates it, he’ll entertain you and your antics. “i’m dying.” “you’re not dying.” “i’m dying and the only way i’ll survive is with a kiss. and an extra large cheese pizza. and a churro.” “*sighs*”

-> he’ll help you with your skin care when you’re too tired and play with your hair when you ask

yukimiya kenyu

-> omg such a gentleman

-> somehow he knows more about your period than you do?? when you tell him your side hurts, he rubs a spot you didn’t even point at, and all your pain vanishes

-> “are you a wizard?” “what was that, sweetheart?” “you’re a magical period vanquishing wizard, aren’t you?” “uh, sure!”

-> would love to take you to dinner to relax but knows you wouldn’t be caught dead out of the house, so he cooks for you instead

karasu tabito

-> you aren’t entirely sure why, but he is great when it comes to that time of the month

-> he claims he’s an “empath” and at first you thought it was a cheap flirting tactic, but your mind changed when he was able to pick up on your moods without even looking at you

-> somehow never gets on your nerves. it’s like he knows exactly where the line is and knows to stay very far away from it

-> karasu absolutely spoils you during this particular time of the month. let’s you pick everything without complaint, even when you’d usually decide on where to eat or what to watch together

-> “how much longer do you think we can live on sushi and chocolate cake before we die?” “how many days are left in your period?” “about two.” “then about two.”

otoya eita

-> bro cannot be serious

-> hops on twitter and starts spamming how awful period cramps are, how the world would be a better place if the menstrual cycle didn’t exist, etc.

-> everything he does ticks you off, and he knows it. he finds it very attractive when he gets under your skin, even when you threaten to behead him

-> “i might shave my head bald.” “fine !” “and then paint my head pink.” “go for it !” “and tattoo ‘i <3 y/n on my face.” “NO.”

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mangooes · 1 month ago

Text

Cookies to share (or hoard in Sylus's case)

Sylus woke up with a low growl.

Last night’s business dealings were messy. Blood on his boots, cracked knuckles, and an annoying dagger graze across his side — not that it hurt, but it stung his ego. And to top it all off, when he rolled over to pull his kitten into his arms, the space beside him was already cold and empty.

"...She's gone," he muttered, voice still hoarse. Crimson eyes fluttered open to the dim golden light creeping in from the curtains. A faint scent lingered in the air.

Sugar? Vanilla? (Name)?

He blinked once before sitting up lazily, white hair messier than usual. That’s when his gaze landed on the nightstand. A small box, neatly wrapped with a crimson ribbon — his favorite color — sat there proudly, beside a folded note written in a familiar curly scrawl.

“Morning sleepyhead ♡ I made cookies last night while you were passed out — I hope you like them. I worked super hard on them, so if they’re burnt it’s because I was thinking about your face and got distracted (you’re welcome). P.S. Share with Luke and Kieran. Or don’t. I won’t tell. – Your wife 💋”

Sylus stared at the note, a soft puff of a laugh slipping through his lips. His heart squeezed.

He opened the box.

Rows of uneven but beautifully golden cookies—still warm with her love. The edges weren’t perfect. Some had slightly crooked smiles drawn in chocolate chips. But to him?

They were perfect.

His hoard.

“Share with Luke and Kieran, huh?” he mused, popping one into his mouth. “...No.”

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

The front door clicked open as (Name) stepped inside, grocery bags in hand, humming to herself. She didn’t even get three steps in before a pair of strong arms snaked around her waist from behind.

“Welcome home, kitten.”

She yelped. “Ah! You scared me!”

“Mm. Good.” He leaned down, burying his nose into the crook of her neck, sighing contentedly. “You smell like flour. And frosting. You make cookies for another man, sweetie?”

She snorted. “You’re such a jealous beast!”

His crimson eyes glinted. “Am I wrong?”

She turned to face him, poking his chest. “I asked if you liked them. The cookies.”

A slow smirk curled on his lips. “Liked them?” he whispered. “I’m hoarding them, sweetie. No one else gets so much as a crumb.”

“You didn’t share any with the twins?” she asked, half-guilty, half-amused.

“They can get their own wives to bake for them, if they ever marry one.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a single, slightly crushed cookie — saved, no doubt, from earlier that day.

Before she could react, Sylus took a small bite from one side, the cookie still warm from his touch. Then, with wicked smoothness, he leaned in — cookie still between his teeth — and held it out to her.

She blinked. “Are you—”

“Go on,” he purred. “You worked hard on them, didn’t you?”

Face red, she leaned forward to take a bite from the other side. Their lips brushed in the middle — a shared cookie, a shared moment, a shared blush.

As she pulled back, Sylus smirked. “Mmm… tastes better on your lips.”

She shoved his chest playfully. “You’re the worst!”

He caught her wrist and reeled her in again, voice low and teasing in her ear, “No, kitten. I’m your worst. And your favorite.”

I baked cookies today! :3 so i wrote this chpt inspired by it and dang baking is rlly hard. ANYWAYS THE NEW TRAILER WOHO SYLUS BIRTHDAY MY BABY BOY'S BIRTHDAY SDAKDNSAKJDNAK IM SO EXCITED OMG OMG OMGOMG

#lnds #love and deepspace #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #lads sylus #sylus

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radishaur · 2 months ago

Text

ꕤ helping hand ꕤ

Warnings: brief mention of Sabaody & Marineford in Luffy's part Genre: fluff Characters: Luffy, Zoro, & Law Summary: How they realize they have feelings for you (acts of service edition) Author's Note: We're back finally omg. Zoro's part of this stumped me so hard because I wanted to keep the idea I had for him for the next installment of this series so sorry if this one falls flat! I kind of hate it, but I promise all the Zoro fans out there will be well-fed in the next segment. ;_; I'm so glad you guys have been enjoying them so far. I hope you guys enjoy this one and as always happy reading! masterlist

Luffy always acts on instinct which makes it all the more pure when he does something nice.

If he sees something that reminds him of someone or wants to do something nice, he'll just do it. He's also surrounded by people who are constantly doing the same for him. However, I think someone really going the extra mile to do something meaningful for him would most likely make his heart flutter and cause him to re-evaluate how he feels about you.

Storms are a common occurrence out on the sea, especially while traveling in the Grand Line. They've had their fair share of wild storms, sometimes with weather phenomena beyond belief, but Luffy loved them all.

Caution to the wind, he was always sitting on the mast, right on the Sunny where he belonged. Nami hated it, always yelling at him about how one of these days he would fall in and something bad would happen, but he knew Zoro would always go and get him, so did it really matter?

So, when he was sitting on the Sunny as he always did and another storm began to start, he simply shoved his hat further onto his head and ignored at all of the crew's attempts to get him to come down and head inside.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, Luffy!" Nami scolded, yelling from her place on the upper deck as Luffy continued ignoring her.

He simply laughed, turning to look at her over his shoulder as the crew scrambled around trying to ready the ship for the winds and rain. "If I fall, Zoro will just come and get me!"

The man in question was still dozing on the deck, seemingly unbothered by the onslaught of rain pelting him. Nami glared, walking down the stairs and hitting him on the head hard enough to leave a welt and the two of them began to bicker. Luffy laughed again, always enjoying his crew's antics and trusting that they would figure everything out. They always did.

He catches your eyes as you're starting to run around the deck, grabbing furniture and rushing it inside with Sanji's help and you flash him a reassuring smile. He returns it, watching as you pick up the foldable table Robin was reading at not a few minutes ago before running inside. He feels warmth spread across his chest and he tells himself that it's his sign that everything will be fine. And it is for a while until a particularly harsh wave crashes against the side of the Sunny as he's watching you grab the last of the furniture. He loses his grip, his balance thrown off by being twisted around and looking the wrong way, and before he can catch himself he's splashing into the sea, sapping all his strength in an instant.

The cold water rushes around him, pulling him further and further down into the water and he can feel his vision blurring the longer he stays in the water. He vaguely sees someone jump into the water causing a splash above and then Zoro's familiar green hair is swimming towards him. All he can manage to do is give him a weak smile before Zoro grabs him and hauls him back up to the surface of the water. Eventually, he's laid out on the deck of the ship, the crew immediately crowding around him as he coughs out water from his mouth.

"You idiot, this is exactly what I said would happen!" Nami chides, hitting him on the head this time instead of Zoro.

He groans, complaining half-heartedly. "But Zoro got me just like I said!"

Nami bickers with him for a little longer until he has enough strength to sit up. He reaches behind him to grab his hat and pull it onto his head once again but is surprised when he's met only with the cold skin of his neck instead of the familiar well-worn straw. His hand goes to his head next, wondering if somehow he was already wearing it and it hadn't fallen off his head while he was in the water, but all he's met with is his wet messy hair.

"Where's my hat?" he asks, turning to Zoro.

Zoro cracks open his eye from where he settled in to resume his nap and looks like he's about to give some snarky reply before he stops. His mouth snaps shut and his eye widens slightly as he seems to remember something.

"I don't know," he says, causing a wave of anxiety to crash through Luffy immediately. "I just pulled you out of the water. I didn't see your hat. Isn't it around your neck?"

Luffy stands up then, running over to the side of the railing to look for it. The waves have picked up in intensity so despite his best efforts, he can't find any signs of his hat. He looks over his shoulder, the rest of the crew besides Zoro oblivious to his panic, too busy resuming their clearing of the ship's deck. He once again catches your eyes and you immediately sense that something is wrong, like you always seem to be able to do when it comes to him, and you run over as Zoro curses under his breath and gets up himself.

"What's wrong Luffy?" you ask, concern evident as you meet him.

He looks back out at the water, still desperately searching for any hint of yellow or red as he responds. "My hat."

It doesn't explain anything, but you know him well enough to fill in the blanks, immediately looking at him and noticing its absence and putting the rest together. By now, it seems that Zoro has informed the rest of the crew as the ship is coming to a halt and everybody has begun to look out to the sea for his hat.

He moves back toward the figurehead, thinking that maybe it caught on the Sunny's head before he fell but has no luck. He can feel a pit forming in his stomach at the thought of him losing his hat forever, of not being able to keep his promise to Shanks, but then he hears your shout.

"I can see it!"

He runs over to the stairs, eyes following your point out to sea and finally, he sees his hat. It's a little far out, but it's there, floating on the water's surface amongst the waves. He looks back just in time to see you hauling yourself up onto the railing, throwing your jacket onto the deck before jumping headfirst into the icy cold water. He hears some shouts of protest from the crew but you've already disappeared into the water, oblivious to their cries.

"What are they thinking?" Usopp calls as he begins climbing the ladder up to the crow's nest. "The waves are so powerful, will they be ok?"

A new kind of panic wells inside of him at Usopps words. He knows that you're strong and he's seen you swim before on the few rare beach days the crew gets, but he also knows that the ocean is a force to be reckoned with, waves and currents pushing and pulling with intense force. He runs over to the railing once more, keeping his eyes trained on his hat and waiting to see you pop up next to it. The rest of the crew joins him quickly, everyone waiting with bated breath as you swim under the water.

Eventually after what feels like minutes but was most likely only a few seconds, you do pop out of the water right next to his hat. You grab it in your hand and turn to face the ship, waving your hand with a smile. His relief is short-lived, however, when a giant wave comes crashing down right on you, pulling you under the water. He hears someone scream your name and it takes a few seconds before he realizes that it's him screaming. He wants to jump in and save you like his instincts are telling him but he feels so helpless, just like on Sabaody, just like at Marineford, because you're right there and he can't help you.

Thankfully, before his body can move and doom himself to drowning, Zoro is jumping in after you. Once again, he's left waiting, wondering if this is how the crew always feels when he's gone overboard and needed to get saved. Seconds tick by before the water breaks once more and there you two are. Zoro begins paddling over to the ship and you're coughing water out while clutching his hat to your chest.

When you're finally lifted onto the ship, all you can do is lean against the railing, still holding his hat to your chest. You finish catching your breath as Robin comes over holding your jacket. You smile up at everyone, first at Robin and then at him. You lift the hat up towards him. "I got it, safe and sound."

The crew breathes a giant sigh of relief, seeing you and your humor still intact. Robin leans you forward and lays your jacket over your shoulders while Nami begins to criticize you for jeopardizing your health. All he can do is stand in front of you, paralyzed as he watches you recovering from your swim. The breeze picks up again and a particularly strong one causes you to shiver, clothes still soaked with seawater.

"Come on, let's go inside. We don't want anyone catching a cold," Nami says, ushering everyone inside.

You stand up with Robin's help and before you go inside, you step towards him. You're holding the hat out to him, more firmly this time as your strength from fighting the water comes back.

"Here," you offer, "The string is broken, so you'll need to fix it but otherwise it's in good condition."

He picks it up, brushing his hand over the familiar three slashes in the top that Nami had carefully sown up all those years ago and he's filled with such gratitude for you. You risked your life to go and retrieve his hat after his carelessness, had held it so close to you as if it was something precious, knowing how important it was to him that you would throw caution to the wind, so it's with a smile that he finds himself placing the hat on your head instead of his own.

"You wear it for now. Consider it my thanks!" he says, his sunny smile radiating the warmth that's spreading across his own chest at the thought that you would risk so much for what most would consider just a hat.

As he heads inside and Sanji begins to serve dinner, he can't help the flutter in his heart every time you look at him in his hat. It suits you so well that he can't find it in himself to take it back from you until you settle it on his head before heading to bed. From now on, he finds more excuses to give his hat to you, and every time it makes his heart stop. He realizes quite quickly why he's feeling this way and it only encourages him to give you his hat even more. The person he loves deserves it, after all.

Zoro really values the actions of others. It's easy to say things without following through, so purposeful actions or a promise kept means everything.

Zoro never says anything he doesn't mean, but he certainly doesn't say anything he doesn't intend to follow through on. Actions prove everything to him and he values the fact he's on a crew that feels the same. I think someone sharing that same devotion to showing care and intent through your actions, especially if it's something for him, would be huge and make him realize his feelings for you.

Zoro isn't one to hold back, but especially not when he fights. He gives everything he has to give, plus a little bit more. In order to be the best, he'll push himself well past his limits. He doesn't see the issue with it, always willing to sacrifice himself for the team because the best should be able to take it. To handle the weight of the world.

Normally, this method works out, but it also leads to him getting wounded more often than he likes to admit.

He always lets Chopper treat his injuries but doesn't always strictly adhere to his recovery plans. Before his injuries truly have a chance to fully heal, he's already off to his next battle or training session. Over time, those injuries turn into something much worse and that was exactly what happened in the Straw Hat's most recent fight.

He'd gone into the battle with a strained muscle in his arm and all it took was for him to put a little too much power into a swing for it to turn into a full-on tear. Chopper had given him a long lecture after the fight and was still getting on him about properly resting this time around as he finished treating him.

"I put a wrapping on the affected area to keep it compressed. You need to rest and keep the area elevated as much as possible. Ice it for 15 minutes every few hours," Chopper instructed as he began rooting around in his medicinal cabinets for something, "I'm serious this time. If you keep pushing yourself you'll cause irreparable damage."

Zoro nodded, humming lowly in agreement as he twisted his arm, trying to get used to the bandages. After a few more seconds, Chopper found what he was looking for and grabbed a small metal tin. He got down from the desk and gave the container to Zoro, who opened it to find a green salve inside.

"That should help with the recovery process. If you apply it once a day it should speed up the healing. I would apply it myself, but it works best when you apply it with skin-to-skin contact which my hooves can't do. You'll have to ask someone else to help," Chopper explained.

"I'll just do it myself," Zoro said, getting up to leave.

"Zoro," Chopper said, the seriousness of Chopper's voice forcing him to stop. All it took was one look from Chopper for him to get the message. He sighed, relenting easily. "Fine. I'll ask someone."

The rest of the day was as close to normal as he could possibly get. He slept on the deck, argued with Sanji (sans swords), and ate dinner with everyone like any other day. He'd almost forgotten he was injured until he went to do his nightly training and received a nasty glare from Chopper that forced him to reconsider.

It was his own personal hell to not be able to train himself like he's used to, but what was even worse was knowing he'd need to suck up his own pride and ask someone to rub ointment all over his arm the next day.

There was only one person on the ship he'd even consider asking, so he wasted no time the next day ci coming to find you.

He knew the most likely place to find you was in the library with your nose in a book and he was pleased when he found you there, all by yourself. He made his presence known by clearing his throat and you smiled at him as you set your book down and gave him your full attention. "I don't suppose you're here to read a book?" you teased.

He rolled his eyes, not even deeming to give a response as he crossed his arms to prepare himself. "No, I'm here to... ask for a favor."

"A favor? Sure, what is it," you asked, any pretense of teasing gone.

Zoro took the chair next to you and placed the container of ointment in front of you. You frowned, not understanding.

"Chopper gave me some stuff to put on my arm, but he told me I needed someone to help me," he explained, a frown pulling at his lips as he continued. "I'd appreciate it if it could be you who does it."

At this, you smiled. Zoro felt his cheeks warm as you shifted your body to face him. "Alright, sure. I can help you."

You never failed to surprise him with how easily you came to his aid. He started to unwrap his arm as you grabbed some of the salve with your fingers. When he finished unwrapping his arm, he held it out to you in an offering. You took his arm in your free hand, your touch more gentle than it ever needed to be with him, and began to rub the mixture into his arm.

"So, why exactly do you need help with this?" you asked to break the silence.

"Something about skin-to-skin," he grumbled, enjoying the feeling of your fingers massaging his skin more than he liked to admit. "Chopper said it heats up or something. Speeds it up."

"Well, I'm happy to help," you hummed, grabbing some more of the mixture and moving to a new spot.

It was cold at first, but the skin of your palm against his arm made it bearable. The longer you rubbed, the more it heated up and the more aware of your touch he became. He couldn't help the way his heart picked up the pace and he only prayed you couldn't feel it.

What the hell was up with him?

When you finally finished, you wiped your palm off and closed the tin, handing it back to him. "How long do you have to do this for?" you asked, already getting back into your book.

"A week or something," he sighed, already missing his regular routine after only one day.

"Gotcha. Well, I'll be here tomorrow if you need me," you said, giving him one last smile before continuing to read your book.

Once again, here you were offering him an olive branch. He felt his stomach flip as he left the room, but he told himself it was his nerves. That being read by you so easily caught him off guard.

For the next week, he came down to have you apply his ointment for him and every day you did it without complaint. Sometimes, he'd stick around, content to enjoy your company over sleeping on the deck. Sometimes, you'd tell him about your research and any progress you'd made while other times he'd doze off while you read your next bit of literature.

Soon enough, his last day of rest comes along and while you're applying his rub, he knows he has to say something.

"Thank you," he mumbles, clearing his throat before continuing, "For helping me."

"Of course. I'm always here for you," you reply, your voice light with the smile that lights up your face.

"Why?"

The question slips out before he can think better of it. He flinches, his immediate reaction to pull away, but with your firm grasp on his arm, he can't get far. Your brows are furrowed and when you look up at him he can't help but get nervous, because the truth is that he does want to know. He can't understand why you always drop everything for him, with a devotion he's only given and rarely received, and why it makes his stomach flip and his heart clench.

"Why?" you repeat, the slightest laugh in your voice as you grin up at him. "Because we're a team. I'd do it for all of you."

He can't help but feel disappointed in your answer, but he doesn't know why. He's about to brush it off and continue when you beat him to it.

"But also... I guess I do it because I can't help but want to. There's just something about you that I can't say no to. When you ask for help, what else can I do but give it to you?"

Zoro is silent for a moment as he lets your words sink in. You continue on like you haven't just bared your soul to him, like sharing something so vulnerable with him wasn't difficult in the slightest. Something about those words made him feel like he was floating, his heart soaring amongst the clouds.

"I feel the same," he says, forcing himself to respond after a long minute of silence.

For a moment, he could swear you clench his arm a little tighter, but your touch is feather light before he has time to process, so he writes it off as his imagination.

After that, he parts ways with one last final thank you, but his thoughts linger on your answer to his question long past that. He mulls it over until he feels like he's lived the moment a million times. It's not until days later that he realizes why your devotion to him makes his heart skip a beat and the realization only makes his feelings worse.

Law is the king of acts of service. This is where his true feelings absolutely shine if you're willing to read between the lines.

I also think this is what means the most to him. Growing up in the circumstances he did, he holds actions in a much higher regard than words or empty promises. I think having someone go out of their way to do something nice or considerate for him, and him actually wanting to do something back in return, would speak volumes to him and would make him consider his feelings.

Law likes to think that he takes good care of himself, but as he struggles to read the same page of his latest reading of choice as the words blur together from exhaustion, he has to concede that the evidence is really stacked against him.

He sets the papers down on his desk, leaning back slightly in his chair and rubbing his hand down his face and against his eyes, trying to will them into focusing when he hears a knock on his office door. A quick glance at the clock indicates that it's a few hours past dinner time and that almost the entire crew should be asleep.

"Come in," he calls out, exhaustion evident in his voice as he straightens back up in the chair. "What is it?"

The door opens and he's immediately met with your warm smile.

"Captain," you greet, peeking into the room with one hand opening the door, "I thought you might still be up."

Your smile softens the edges of the headache that's quickly forming in his head and he knows that you don't interrupt him unless you have something important, so he sits up in his chair even straighter and you take that as your signal to come in. You push the door open and he smells the soft scent of food waft over to him as the door pulls in the air from the hallway. He can feel his stomach churn, realizing just how hungry he is.

The source of the smell becomes immediately apparent when he looks up at you from where he was absentmindedly straightening the papers he set down. In your free hand is a plate piled high with what he assumes is the dinner the crew ate no more than a few hours ago.

"I was on clean-up duty today after dinner, so I made you a plate before I go to bed," you explain, coming over to his desk and carefully placing it on the little space not occupied by books or papers. "You never came out to eat so I thought you'd be hungry."

The meal is simple, but it makes his stomach growl loudly. You smile softly at him and he clicks his tongue against his teeth, the sound only serving to embarrass him and prove you right. He swallows, the fluttery, warm feeling in his chest making him stumble over what he should say. After a few moments of drawn out silence, you seem to take his lack of response as your sign to go.

"Don't stay up too late, ok?"

You're gone before he can say anything back and he finds himself internally kicking himself for just sitting there like an idiot. He sighs, diving into the plate of food after his stomach growls once more. When he's finally about to sleep hours later, he decides to be responsible and brings the plate into the kitchen for the morning crew to take care of. He places it on a counter in the kitchen just as another plate catches his eye.

Walking over, he sees 3 rice balls, carefully wrapped to preserve them, sitting on a plate next to a little note. He recognizes the handwriting as yours almost immediately and he picks it up to read it.

An early morning snack for our hardworking Captain <3

His fingers pinch the edge of the note hard enough to make a dent as he feels heat crawl up his neck and across his face. His eyes linger on the little heart you scribbled at the end of the note and the clenching he feels in his stomach is not at all related to his hunger. He eats the snack, grateful that there's no pickled plum filling, and pockets the note before leaving.

This little routine continues for a few weeks. You don't always appear at the same time, but you always do eventually, knocking on his office door and bringing him a plate of whatever the crew's eaten without him. He also finds himself looking forward to your little notes, the collection of them growing in one of the drawers of his desk. You write something different every night, but there's always that little heart at the end that sends the same warm feeling through him even though he knows it will be there every time.

Tonight, however, he finishes his reading a lot quicker. He's been noticing that happening more frequently, his eyes not blurring so much and allowing him to read everything at a steady pace instead of having to read the same lines over and over. He doesn't want to admit that it has anything to do with the fact that he's now eating at least twice a day consistently, but he is a doctor and he knows it does. With nothing else to read, he decides to bring his plate to the kitchen early and head to bed.

He's surprised when he finds the light on in the kitchen and even more surprised when he sees you still awake, back turned away from him as you hum to yourself. You're not wearing your boiler suit, instead wearing what looks like your pajamas as you mix something in a bowl, completely unaware of his presence. He sets the plate down and clears his throat, watching as you jump slightly before turning around, one hand on your chest as the other grips the counter. You let out a shaky breath of relief, the same honey-sweet smile you always give him melting onto your face as you look at him.

"Oh, it's just you. You scared me," you say, laughing slightly as you calm yourself down. You take a glance at the clock and then look back at him. "You're here early."

He frowns, not needing to look at the clock to know how late it is. He knows that he doesn't usually make it to the kitchen until much later, but he also knows that the crew ate dinner hours ago and that it's well past when you should be asleep, so he doesn't bother answering you, opting instead to answer with a statement of his own. "You're up late."

You smile at him again, always do, and begin mixing the contents of the bowl together once again. He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter as he waits for you to explain.

"Just making your snack," you explain, voice soft as you finally set the bowl down, satisfied with it.

He frowns, finally catching the mixture and recognizing it as the filling of his rice balls. He also sees the steam rising as you have some rice cooking and the sheets of seaweed paper laid out, ready to be molded around the rice.

"Why now? It's late," he continues, something in his gut telling him that he's still missing something here.

He knows he's right when he sees you bite your lip and catches the nervous way your gaze flicks over to him. You always meet him head-on, so to see you avoiding him even slightly makes his heart clench, and not in a good way. He narrows his gaze slightly and you open your mouth, about to say something when you're interrupted by the telltale beeping of the machine telling you the rice is done.

You shut your mouth, lips pressed into a line as you quickly start pouring the rice out and getting ready to mold it. He waits for a few moments, wanting to see if you'll say anything on your own, but quickly realizes you won't. If it was anyone else, he would have lost his patience long ago, but he can't seem to get mad at you like he does the others. You give him so much patience, much more than he's ever deserved, so he takes a different route.

He says your name firmly and watches as you sigh, placing the spoon with the filling in it back down into the bowl as you turn to look at him, guilt written across your face. You only stare at him for a few moments before you finally answer him, turning to resume making the rice balls as you do.

"I'm not on clean-up duty today so I had to wait until they were done. It wouldn't be fair to make them stay up late and clean up after my own personal mess, so whenever I'm not on clean-up duty I always just wait."

He doesn't know why it never occurred to him that you would be going so far out of your way to make his late-night/early-morning snack, but the realization smacks him across the face now. He feels more stupid than he's felt in a long time for not realizing that of course you wouldn't always be on the nightly kitchen duty and even angrier at himself that it took him coming into the kitchen early to realize that you prepared all the food by yourself and that it wasn't something you easily pieced together out of dinner's scraps.

But, along with his anger, he feels the familiar twitch of his heart as it thuds against his ribcage. The warm feeling blooms in his chest once more as the idea that you go out of your way to do something nice for him every night, losing precious sleep in the process, settles on him. He's grateful you aren't looking at him, too absorbed in shaping his rice balls to notice the way his ears flame up and the way his grip tightens on the counter behind him.

He swallows, forcing his mind to quiet down as he directs his attention to you once again.

"Here, all done," you say, picking up the plate and taking the few steps necessary to cross over and hand it to him.

He takes the plate and finds himself speechless again, much like he was the first time you brought him dinner in his office, and he hates that he can't just force the words thank you out of his mouth as you turn to begin cleaning the bowl you used out in the sink. He grips the plate and just stares at it for a little while longer before finally picking one up to eat. He takes his time this time, trying to savor what he now knows is something you make with extreme care and at the cost of your own schedule.

When he looks up, you're sitting on the counter just watching him with a satisfied smile on your face and he decides that he has to at least say something.

"What were you going to write?" he asks. He sees your face scrunch up and your head cock slightly to the side out of confusion and he realizes that he'll need to explain. He can feel his cheeks heat up as he forces himself to clarify. "On the note. What were you going to write?"

"Oh," you say, the nervous smile returning to your face as you look off to the side. You bite your lip again, seemingly debating something before coming to a decision and reaching behind you.

He doesn't know how he hadn't seen it earlier, but in your hand is a small piece of paper, the same one you always write your notes on. You push yourself off the counter and hold it out to him, motioning to the now-empty plate still in his hand. "I'll trade you."

He accepts, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the paper and you grab the plate, turning to wash it in the sink. He looks down at the paper and his heart almost explodes.

Tried a new filling today, let me know if you like it. Don't worry, they're still made with love <3

He stuffs the note into his pocket quickly, feeling his face set aflame. He makes the decision to leave, save himself the embarrassment of you seeing him all worked up, so he clears his throat and makes his way to the doorway. He can feel your eyes on him, burning a hole into his back, but he can't bring himself to face you, so he simply lifts his hand and grunts out a goodnight before walking off.

As he passes his office, he finds himself slowing down. There's a nagging feeling in his chest again that's telling him it's not enough. He wants to say thank you, to express how much it means to him that you would do something like this for him, to tell you that he's noticed it helping him, making his day a little easier and the nights not so long, but he knows the second he opens his mouth that none of that will come out and he's left feeling frustrated all over again. He almost gives up, shoving his hands into his pockets to head to bed, but the feeling of your note he stuffed inside earlier gives him an idea.

He heads inside his office, grabbing a piece of paper and quickly writing his own message down on it. It's short, with no cute little heart to accompany it, but he hopes it gets the message across. He stares at it, the simple thank you he'd managed to write staring back at him, and he shambles it into your room before he can think twice about it.

The next morning, you greet him with an especially large and heartwarming smile and he feels the urge to write you another one, if it means you'll look at him like that again. There's an itch in his chest, gnawing at him all day as his heart stutters every time he thinks about the smile on your face and the image of you in the kitchen making him food. At night, he finds himself unable to read his papers once again, but this time his eyes are focused and his mind isn't foggy. No, this time he just can't stop thinking about you and he knows exactly what that means, the innocent flutter in his chest just another piece of damming evidence to his own feelings.

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful!

#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #radishaur writes

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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 months ago

Text

Post It - Part 4 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings: once again, this is all fluff. (as always tho, special shout out to @lestapiastrisgirl for always listening to me whine and brainstorm at 2am 🙌🏻)

pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.7k words

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -Master List

youusername posted

892,032 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, yourmother and others yourusername taking a little detour... hannahstjohn omg have so much fun! 😉 >>>yourusername see you in sazuka, Hanny 😘 >>>user029 oh hannah knows something...that winkey face doesn't lie. >>>user000 AND SHE'LL BE IN SAZUKA yourmother this is how i find out you're not coming back to boston?! >>>yourusername i called you yesterday! you didn't answer! >>>yourmother it was 3am my time silly girl!!! >>>yourusername oops! user992 lando in the likes AGAIN >>>user332 and quick too!

The engine of the private jet hummed softly in the background, the low thrum of the white noise quietly filling the luxurious cabin. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, illuminating everything around you in a bright glow. You were tucked away in a window seat, legs stretched in front of you while your laptop balanced on your lap.

Across the small aisle, Lando lounged on the bench seat while he watched you intently. You were engrossed in reading something on your laptop, stopping every once in a while to tap away at something on your phone before your eyes darted back to the screen. He had no idea what you were doing but watching you do it was fascinating. The way you bit at your bottom lip when you were concentrating, the way your brows tilted together as your eyes tracked across the screen, the way your fingers moved so deftly over the keyboard. It was all a mesmerizing dance, something that Lando could watch forever.

After finishing up post-race notes and analysis, Lando sets his own laptop aside before stretching out his leg to tap your leg with his toe. You look up, surprised, almost as if you had forgotten he was there.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his gaze. Lando was still pinching himself, waiting for the dream of you agreeing to go to Japan with him for the week to be over, but it seemed as if this was all real.

“Research.” You respond, eyes darting down to the five tabs you have open on the screen in front of you.

“Research?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Osaka, silly. And Kyoto. It looks like we could totally take a day trip to Kyoto if we wanted to. It’s only like an hour away by train and there’s this temple, well…” You pause, shrugging, “There are a lot of temples but this one in Kyoto is stunning. And the bamboo forests-” Your mouth snaps shut suddenly, ears going a bit pink.

It takes every ounce of control Lando has in his body not to lean over and kiss you, the look on your face is so cute. “Whats wrong? No bamboo forests?”

You shake your head, closing your laptop before setting it aside. Tucking a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of the haphazard bun that was piled on top of your head away, you’re eyes dart away from Lando’s gaze. You hated when you went off on tangents like that, it always led to people thinking you were a bit…weird. Not to mention the fact that you just realized you’d started planning over a trip that Lando had already been planning for who knows how long.

“Nothing.”

Lando narrows his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

He reaches forward, grabbing your hand before tugging you up and out of your seat. “C’mere.” Lando murmurs as he continues to pull until you’re close enough that he can grab you by the waist and pull you down onto his lap.

You let out a small sigh, leaning your head onto his shoulder. It’s weird, you think, as your body melts into his, the warmth of his muscles seeping beneath your skin. It’s weird how Lando’s only just barely come into your life again and already you’re fitting together like it’s been years.

You’d been up late last night about it, wondering how this man had so quickly nestled himself under your skin but then you had remembered the countless hours you’d spent with him on FaceTime. You’d learned about his family, his siblings, the pressures of being in a brutal sport like F1. You’d told him about the mask you felt you always needed to wear, the pressure you felt to be perfect and ‘on’ at all times for the followers and fans you met in real life. It was something he could relate to, even though his fame was on a totally different level. But that shared connection, of both of you being sure that neither wanted you for the fame and money your chosen careers came with, had bonded you in a way that neither of you had experienced before.

You felt at ease, comfortable, safe when you were within arms length of him and while it kind of freaked you out at how fast it was all happening, something inside your soul had felt so settled over the last few days, it was hard to deny.

“Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to kiss it out of you?” Lando says, lips dusting over the sensitive skin on your neck.

When you dip your head, fully intending on kissing him first, you’re surprised when he pulls back. Lando chuckles, swiping his thumb over your frown before shaking his head. “Don’t try to distract me. What’s going on?”

You hesitate only for a few moments, feeling silly at the weight of the anxiety sitting in the pit of your stomach. “I…” You start, leaning your head into the way Lando’s cupping your jaw. “I just realized that you probably have the entire trip planned and I was being a little bossy. This was your trip first, I’m happy to tag alone with whatever you want to do.”

Lando shifts you in his lap so he can see you better. “Well first of all, this isn’t my trip.” He says before his lips whisper over your jaw. “This is our trip so you get as much say in this as I do. Whatever you want to do while we’re here is what we’ll do, pretty girl. All I want is to be with you.”

Your heart hammers at his words, the sincerity in them has something squeezing in your chest. Lando’s pupils are blown wide as he looks up at you. He hadn’t really meant to be so…honest with you, it had just kind of slipped out. He’d never felt so protective over someone else’s wellbeing before and while he thought it should be freaking him out, it didn’t. It felt normal almost. Like the noise in his head was quiet when he had you to focus on, to be concerned about.

When you lean down a second time, Lando lifts his chin up to meet your lips half way. With Lando finishing second yesterday and all the media that came with it, you two haven’t had much time alone together. Most of your ‘alone’ time so far had been with the public just right outside your bubble. Here, in the privacy of the empty jet, you could allow yourself to be more free with your affection. It felt like Lando relaxed in this environment too. He laughed quicker, touched you more, allowed his eyes to wander easier.

You flourished under the attention because you knew he didn’t want anything else from you. He had his own career, his own fame. You were decidedly less famous than he was, for sure, but the feeling was the same. Not knowing who wanted to be in your life for what you could give them in return was an exhausting way to live. When Lando was with you, he knew you didn’t have ulterior motives and you felt the same.

Your lips met his in a soft but confident touch that quickly deepened into something more urgent. It was a silent affirmation between you both, an understanding that didn’t need words to confirm, just the heated press of two bodies molding together. It was just two souls, two completely different worlds, merging and finding solace in each other’s presence.

Lando’s hands move, cupping your face as his thumbs trace the delicate curve of your cheekbones. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body radiating through you, a comforting heat that chased away any lingering anxieties. The kiss grows more passionate, a silent conversation spoken not in words but in touch. It’s a blend of tenderness and desire, a slow burn that ignites a fire within you. You tangle your hands in his curls, fingers clutching for anything to bring him closer to you, even though you were already impossibly close.

He groans softly, a low rumble in his chest, his lips moving against yours with a newfound urgency that sends pleasure curling low and deep in your belly. Lando drops his hands back down to your hips, shifting you again so you’re straddling his lap now, knees digging into the soft cushions of the jet’s seat. Experimentally, you roll your hips deeper into his lap, pulling another low moan from Lando’s lips. You can’t help but smile against his lips, enjoying the way he feels hard against you, knowing that it’s your lips, your body, your mouth that’s doing that to him.

Lando pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips. His eyes are dark, like the ocean right before it storms on a dark summer night, intense in a way you haven’t really seen them before and it has your breath catching in the back of your throat. “God.” He whispers thickly. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A shiver runs down your spine, a delicious mix of pleasure and anticipation. You lean in again, your lips brushing against his. “Then maybe,” You murmur, voice barely audible, “You should show me.”

He grins in that wicked and cocky way he’s well known for. “Oh, I plan to.” He whispers as he drops his mouth back onto the hollow of your neck. He licks a long, heated line against your exposed collarbone and you immediately tilt your head back to give him better access. The whimper that leaves your lips is dangerous and has Lando grinding up into your core, desperate for more friction. His hands slip beneath the thin cotton of your t-shirt tracing the curves of your body, lingering on the sensitive skin that he’s never seen before.

He’s moments from attempting to remove your shirt from your body when the speaker system crackles to life, alerting you to your impending approach to the airport in Japan. With a deep sigh at the interruption, you scramble off of Lando’s lap before the flight attendant comes back to prepare the cabin for landing. Lando clears his throat, adjusting his joggers as best he can while starting after you as you settle back into your seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, patting the seat beside him.

“They wanted us to get in our seats for landing.” You reply, looking at him as if he’s got three heads.

“Yes, this seat right here is yours now. Get back here.”

“So needy.” You tease but you obey without any more fight.

“I have a feeling I’m always going to be needy for you.” He whispers in your ear before nipping at your earlobe. You barely swat him away as the flight attendant slides the cockpit door back open, smile on her face.

“Welcome to Japan, you two!” She says brightly with no indication that she has any idea of what had just been going on in the cabin moments before.

“What do you mean you’re not going to eat sushi with me while we’re here?” You stare at Lando incredulously later that day.

Lando wrinkles his nose in a way that makes it look like he’s just smelled something extremely funky and shakes his head, “Sushi is fish. Fish is disgusting.”

“You are an absolute child.” You laugh, shaking your head.

After the jet landed and your bags had been whisked away to the hotel for you, Lando had swept you off your feet and took you to your first destination: Osaka Castle. The grounds were practically deserted, probably because it was a Monday afternoon, so it felt like you had the entire place to yourself. The cherry blossoms were just beginning to burst open, the pink and white of the famous trees providing the most gorgeous backdrop to the photos both you and Lando were taking.

You continued on down a path towards the one of the many traditional Japanese gardens leaving Lando behind to continue to whine about how awful fish is. Reaching into your bag, you pull out your Nikon camera that you hadn’t used since you landed in China. Your fingers itched to put it to good use now, the scenery of the castle grounds were practically begging to be photographed.

“That is a gorgeous camera.” Lando remarks as he comes up behind you. You’d stopped on the path right at the edge of small lake. On a small bluff right behind it rose the white tiered castle that was one of Osaka’s most well known landmarks. A breeze flutters through your hair, spinning spare strands up in its gusts and whipping a few over into Lando’s face.

“My baby.” You coo, smiling over at him.

Lando sets his chin on your shoulder from behind, lip sticking out in a pout. “I thought I was your baby.”

You snort, rolling your eyes before lifting your free hand to frame his face. “Don’t worry, the camera won’t replace you, pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” He murmurs, lips dusting the shell of your ear.

“Knock it off.” You chuckle before lifting the camera to frame a shot.

“Is that the new Nikon?” Lando asks, fingers reaching out to brush the body of the camera as he whistles long and low.

You nod, confirming his suspicions, before snapping a few test shots to figure out how best to use the late afternoon sun that’s casting gorgeous golden rays over the entire park. “I bought it as treat to myself when I hit 10 million followers on Instagram.”

The moment the words leave your lips your heart stops.

Fuck.

You turn around to see Lando’s brows furrowing in confusion. “10 million?” You can see the gears turning in his head. You both know you have just over 2 million followers and you had said ’10 million’ so confidently, Lando was sure it hadn’t been a mistake.

“Shit.” You whisper.

“What…I’m confused.”

Heaving a sigh, you decide you need to come clean. You’d become so relaxed around Lando you had just let the biggest secret you’ve ever hidden out into the open. “Have you ever heard of the photography account Pretty Little Lens?”

Lando’s eyes go wide as he nods. “Yeah, I’ve followed it for years. Their work is spectacular but no one knows who it is. The mystery behind who’s running that account has entire subreddit’s dedicated to it.”

You nod, tucking your camera back into your shoulder bag before taking Lando’s hand, pulling him over to a bench a few feet away. “I’m Pretty Little Lens, Lando.”

For several moments, Lando just blinks at you as he tries to process the secret you’ve just spilled. “You’re…you run Pretty Little Lens? The most secretive art account on pretty much any social platform in the last ten years?” His chokes out, voice full of disbelief.

You had started the account, with the full blessing of your parents, when you were 16 as a hobby. Two years later you had built up a huge following. You had decided from the get go though that you’d remain completely anonymous. You didn’t want to draw attention to yourself, preferring your art to speak for itself instead. Even now, almost ten years on, the only people on the planet that knew the identity behind Pretty Little Lens were your parents, your art agent, and your PR manager.

And now Lando.

“That’s me.” You say, trying to keep your voice light. You knew the kind of following PLL had on socials, how people devoted entire accounts to trying to figure out your identity. So far, you’d been able to evade the spotlight with your art and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

Lando blinks, rubbing the palm of his hand over his jaw. You shift uncomfortably next to him, starting to get freaked out by his silence. “Lan, say something.”

The anxiety of him judging your art, your decision to hide behind the anonymity of the account, especially when you are a pretty well known influencer as it was, set your teeth on edge.

“I have one of your prints hanging over my bed, a few in my living room too.” He says. You’re caught off guard by the admiration shining in his eyes. “I’ve followed you since I was 18…”

The fact that Lando, the man that you could feel your heart already falling for, had been a fan of your work for years, set something deep and meaningful tightening in your chest.

You’d never shared your passion for photography with anyone. You had a degree in it, sure, but as far as everyone outside your tiny little PLL bubble, everyone thought you just got that to be able to say you had a degree. No one thought you actually used it. Not even your professors in college were aware you were PLL. That had been an awkward day in class when you had been the subject of an entire lecture on landscape composition and lighting.

“Well, I’m glad you like my work.” You say weakly.

“Like your work?” Lando scoffs, still a bit unbelieving that he had solved a literal world wide mystery that millions would kill to know. Standing up from his spot on the bench, Lando pulls you to your feet as well. “Baby, I have been obsessed with Pretty Little Lens for years. Years.” Before you can protest, Lando is pulling you into his arms. “Part of why I got into photography was because of your account.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at the way he’s looking at you, all wonder and awe filling those pretty green blue eyes of his as they sparkle down at you. The smile that spreads across his face is so genuine, pleasure skitters down your spine in response.

“You’re kidding.” You breathe, a wash of disbelief crashing over you. “You started photography because of me?”

Lando nods, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looks at you for a moment, taking in the way that you’re looking at him, totally awestruck. It was a lot to wrap his mind around in such a short time. He’d been following PLL for ages and to find out the girl that he was falling for was the one behind the account? Wild. It made him look at you in a completely new light, like you two had been tied together by an invisible string for years now, the universe just waiting for the right moment to bring you together.

“It’s true.” He murmurs, his voice husky. “Your work is…it’s more than just pretty pictures. It’s like you have this insane ability to capture the feelings that you were experiencing behind the lens when you took them.” He looks down bashfully then and chuckles. “I have notifications on for whenever you post something new, you know.”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer. There aren’t many people around to witness this public display of affection, not that either of you really care about what’s going on beyond your own little bubble. “I remember seeing your shots of the Banff in Canada last summer. The way you captured the sun reflecting off the lake in the middle of the mountains like that? It was…stunning.” Lando drops a kiss onto your nose before nuzzling into your your neck.

Warmth spreads through your chest, a strange feeling of pure joy at finally being able to share your secret with someone beyond your parents and agent. It felt like you were letting someone see you bare for the first time, like someone was able to see the real you that you kept hidden from everyone else. You had thought you’d feel exposed, raw, an a plethora of other negative emotions but instead, all that bubbles up inside your chest is relief and happiness that you can share this bit of yourself with someone else.

“I don’t know what to say to that. I never thought I’d ever actually tell anyone besides the people who already knew.”

Lando chuckles, a low and appreciative sound that has goosebumps pebbling your bare arms. “You don’t have to say anything.” He murmurs before brushing his lips against yours in a quick show of casual affection. “Just know that your work is incredible and that I’m proud of you.” He pulls back slightly, a hint of mischief on his face. “And,” He adds, “now that I know your secret identity, I expect exclusive access to all future content before it’s published.”

You laugh, a light and airy sound that echoes through the garden. “Is that so?” You tease, brow quirking up.

“Absolutely.” He says, voice firm but with a gentle teasing edge to it. “Those are the rules now. I give you kisses, you give me photography tips.” He leans in, lips brushing against yours again. “We could even collaborate. If you want.” He whispers, breath warm against your skin.

The suggestion sends a cool shive down your spine. The idea of collaborating with him, of sharing your passion with him was intoxicating and intriguing. You’d never worked with anyone before, not since college and certainly not where PLL was concerned. Lando though? Lando was the first person you’d ever considered sharing creative process with, the first person that actually made collaborating sound appealing.

“I’d like that.” You whisper back, your lips curving into a smile against his jaw.

He dips his head then so he can kiss you again. It’s soft and tender, somehow different than any other kiss you’d shared yet. It wasn’t cautious or questioning, it was confident and solid while still managing to remain full of promise and anticipation. The mix was a drug and Lando had injected it straight into your veins.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the castle grounds, you and Lando stroll down the path hand in hand, the secret of who was really behind Pretty Little Lens now a shared treasure between the both of you. The world around seemed to fade away. The bustle of the city, the demands of Lando’s F1 career, the pressure that you felt to be perfect every moment of every day, it all faded into the background as you allowed yourselves to tumble head first into the magic that was brewing between you two in the most unexpected way.

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cameronsbabydoll · 10 days ago

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omg please can you write about scc!rafe and reader's daughter getting her first period and reader is like in FULL mama mode like getting pads for her, helping her go to the bathroom and showing her exactly what and whatnot to do and rafe is just so mesmerized by her being on a whole other level of motherly 🥹🥹 im in desperate need scc fluff rn

scc!reader comforting her daughter when she gets her period for the first time ⋆˚✿˖°

warnings: menstruation (first period), light blood mention

a/n: i’m on my period rn so this is so ahhwhshsh!!!

you knew something was wrong the moment your daughter came quietly into the kitchen with her head down. she never walked that slow unless she had a stomachache or bad news, and this time, it was both.

"mom… i think something happened."

your brows pinch as you kneel down in front of her, brushing her hair back. "what is it, baby?"

"i was in the bathroom and… there’s blood."

your heart squeezes — not out of worry, but because you know exactly what that means. her first period. your little girl.

“okay, okay,” you say softly, instantly kicking into mom-mode. “you’re okay. c’mere.”

you scoop her up into your arms, even though she’s getting too big to carry, and bring her straight to the bathroom. rafe watches from the hallway, concerned until he sees the calmness on your face.

you’re soothing her gently, pulling out the pads you’ve had tucked away for this moment. you’re sitting on the edge of the tub, showing her exactly how to use one — “sticky side down, just like this, honey” — while reassuring her that everything she’s feeling is completely normal. you even let her pick out her comfiest pajamas and tie her hair back for her, give her a heating pad, pour a glass of juice, and pull out one of those little self-care face masks you bought for sleepovers.

she’s still a little embarrassed, a little scared, but she’s smiling now. you’re praising her like she just won an olympic medal — “you’re growing up, sweetheart, and i’m so proud of you.”

rafe’s standing at the door with his arms crossed, eyes soft. he hasn’t said a word. he doesn’t know what to say, it’s a new kind of awe. not the same as when he saw you hold your babies for the first time, or rock them to sleep. this is different. this is watching you guide your daughter through the most confusing, scary moment of girlhood like it’s second nature. like you were made for it.

when your daughter finally dozes off with a heating pad on her belly and a big pillow tucked under her chin, rafe catches your arm gently in the hallway.

"you’re..." he trails off. “you’re such a good mom.”

you scoff, brushing your hair back. “she was scared. i just did what—”

“no,” he cuts in, eyes searching your face. “you made her feel safe. i couldn’t have done that.”

you blink at him, heart thudding.

“just sayin’,” he adds, quietly. “she’s lucky. we both are.”

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gf2bellamy · 3 months ago

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Hi i was wondering if you could write a fic where bau!reader is cheering spencer on at his baseball game?

softball — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of a guy throwing sort of rude remarks at spence ( just like in the scene ) a/n: i rewatched the scene to write this and omg i forgot how silly it is i love them all so bad theyre literally family ( also i miss blake ) i had so much fun writing this i hope you like it !! <3 ( also i literally know nothing about softball so if anything is wrong i'm vv sorry </3 )

The warm afternoon sun bathed the softball field in golden light. You walked beside the bleachers, your sneakers crunching against the gravel path, with JJ at your side. Her son Henry skipped ahead, his tiny hand clutching hers, his excitement obvious as he pointed at the players warming up on the field.

Ahead, Spencer stood by the chain- link fence, deep in conversation with Derek, who was already dressed in his baseball uniform, adjusting his grip on his glove.

Spencer, in contrast, looked hesitant and nervous.

His eyes darted toward the field, where players were tossing balls and stretching, and you could see the uncertainty written all over his face.

“Hey!” JJ called, drawing their attention.

Spencer turned, his brows furrowing slightly before his expression shifted into surprise. Practically the entire BAU team was gathered behind you—Hotch, Rossi, Garcia, Alex and even little Jack standing beside Henry.

“What are you all doing here?” Spencer asked, his voice laced with disbelief. His eyes flickered over each of you.

You stepped forward, grinning up at him as you held out a black cap. “Came to support you, of course.”

He turned it over in his hands, examining it, before slowly placing it on his head. The cap sat awkwardly over his curls at first, but he adjusted it carefully, pulling it down until it fit snugly.

“There,” you said, tilting your head as you studied him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now you look the part.”

Spencer huffed out a small, amused breath but didn’t argue.

Ten minutes later, the game was in full swing. Derek was already at bat, sending the ball flying across the field with a powerful hit. The crowd erupted in cheers as he sprinted toward first base.

You clapped from your seat on the bleachers, sharing an excited glance with JJ.

You watched as Spencer stepped up to the plate, his movements hesitant as he selected a bat from the rack. He gripped it tightly, his knuckles whitening as he took his position. His stance was awkward, his feet too close together, and he shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

Just before the pitcher threw the ball, Spencer turned his head, searching for something—someone.

His eyes found you.

You gave him an encouraging look, your lips curving into a soft, reassuring smile as you nodded.

Spencer swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tightened his grip on the bat. He squared his shoulders as he turned back toward the pitcher.

The opposing player wound up and threw the ball.

Spencer swung—and missed.

You bit your lip, fingers curling around the edge of the bleacher.

It was okay. He just needed to get a feel for it.

The second pitch came. Spencer adjusted his grip, focused his gaze, and swung.

Missed again.

The sound of the bat slicing through empty air was met with a few sympathetic murmurs from the crowd.

You exhaled softly through your nose, feeling a twinge of nervousness for him. You could see the frustration creeping into his posture, the way his shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened.

Rossi, stood up from the bleachers as he clapped his hands together. “It’s all right, kid. You got this. Just keep your eye on the ball.”

Spencer rolled his shoulders before repositioning himself. The third pitch came. He swung—and missed once more.

A sharp whistle blew, signaling the end of his turn. Spencer sighed, pushing his hair back under the cap as he stepped away from the plate.

Time passed, and the game continued. The team erupted in cheers when Derek hit a line drive into the outfield, sprinting around the bases with that signature confidence of his.

You clapped along with everyone else, letting out a light laugh when he slid into home base, grinning like he owned the field.

Your attention drifted back to Spencer. He stood off to the side, a bat in his hand, tossing it lightly into the air as if trying to distract himself.

Except, instead of landing smoothly in his grip, it fumbled and hit the dirt with a dull thud.

You had to bite your cheek to suppress a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him further. He bent down quickly, picking it up like nothing had happened, his cheeks tinged with pink as he went back into position.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. There was something so endearing about Spencer Reid—genius, FBI profiler, and yet utterly out of his element on a softball field.

You stood up from the bleachers, brushing off your jeans as you made your way over to the chain-link fence that separated the stands from the field. Leaning against it, you called out to him, your voice light and teasing.

“Need a hand with that bat, or are you just practicing your juggling skills?”

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly as he realized you were watching him. He straightened, brushing a stray curl out of his face as he walked closer to the fence, the bat dangling loosely in his hand.

“I, uh, didn’t realize anyone was paying attention,” he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” you said with a grin, resting your arms on the top of the fence. “And I have to say, your juggling could use a little work. Maybe stick to profiling for now.”

He let out a small, self-conscious laugh, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I’m not exactly cut out for this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the field. “I mean, I can calculate the trajectory of a ball in my head, but actually hitting it? That’s a whole different story.”

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Hey, you’re doing better than you think. It’s just a game, Spencer.”

He glanced over at Derek, who was currently showing off with a series of exaggerated practice swings, much to the amusement of the rest of the team. “Yeah, well, Morgan makes it look easy,” Spencer muttered.

“Derek’s had years of practice,” you pointed out. “You’re just starting. Cut yourself some slack.”

Spencer sighed, leaning against the fence on his side so that you were face to face, only the metal links separating you.

Your heart softened. “You don’t have to be good at everything, Spencer. It'’s okay to just have fun.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his brown eyes searching yours as if trying to find some kind of reassurance. Finally, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fun, huh? I guess I can try that.”

“That’s the spirit,” you said, reaching through the fence to give his arm a playful nudge. “And hey, if nothing else, you’ve got the best cheering section here. We’re all rooting for you.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and for the first time since the game started, he looked genuinely relaxed. “Thanks,” he said, his voice warm. “That… means a lot.”

Just then, Derek’s voice boomed across the field. “Reid! You’re up again! Stop flirting and get over here!”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and he quickly straightened, adjusting his cap. “I, uh, should probably go,” he said, glancing back at you.

You laughed, waving him off. “Go on. Show them what you’ve got.”

Smiling you went back to your seat. When he stepped up to bat, he glanced over at you one more time, and you gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up, earning a small chuckle from him.

JJ, Penelope, and Alex all exchanged knowing glances.

When Spencer turned his back to get into position, you caught them looking and furrowed your brows. “What?”

JJ smirked, leaning in slightly. “Oh, nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing at all,” Penelope added, eyes twinkling.

Alex just shook her head, biting back a small, amused smile.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest was undeniable.

And when Spencer stepped up to bat once more, he stole one last glance at you before squaring his stance. His eyes lingered for just a moment, and you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

But then, from the opposing team’s dugout, someone called out, “This guy can’t hit.”

You frowned, your expression twisting in annoyance.

That was unnecessary.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed.

Derek, standing near home plate, lifted a hand and called for a time-out. He turned on his heel and strode toward Spencer, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he leaned in to say something.

You let out a small breath of relief.

Rossi, seated just below you on the bleachers, leaned back slightly and smirked. “Shoot him another one of your good luck smiles. Maybe he won’t miss this time.”

Your eyes narrowed, heat creeping up your neck. “Funny,” you muttered, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep yourself composed.

Rossi chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, and the rest of the team exchanged knowing glances.

Derek finally walked back to his position, and Spencer turned around once more—his eyes searching for you almost instinctively. You met his gaze, and despite the slight nervousness still lingering in his stance, you smiled at him, giving him an encouraging nod.

“There you go,” Rossi muttered under his breath, and you shot him a glare, though it held no real heat.

You ignored him, keeping your eyes on Spencer as he adjusted his grip on the bat, exhaled, and squared his stance once more.

The pitcher wound up.

The ball came flying toward him.

Spencer swung.

And missed.

You bit your lip, fingers curling slightly as you watched him adjust.

The second pitch came.

Another miss.

You swallowed hard. You could tell he was getting in his own head.

And then, just as the pitcher lined up for the third throw, that same player from earlier muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “This guy’s got nothing.”

Your head snapped toward him, irritation bubbling up in your chest. Oh, shut up, you thought, resisting the urge to march over there yourself. You shot the player a glare, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

Then, the third pitch came.

For a split second, time seemed to slow.

Spencer swung—

Crack!

The unmistakable sound of the bat making solid contact echoed across the field.

The ball shot into the air, soaring far past the infield.

For a second, Spencer just stood there, wide-eyed, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself. He blinked at the bat in his hands, then at the ball still sailing through the air, as if trying to process what had just happened.

He didn’t move an inch.

“Spencer, run!”

Everyone was shouting now—Derek, Rossi, JJ, Penelope,Alex even Hotch. But it was your voice that seemed to snap him out of it. His head jerked in your direction, and when he saw you standing, hands cupped around your mouth as you cheered, something seemed to click.

He ran.

Derek was smacking his hands against his knees. “C’mon, kid, move it!”

Spencer rounded first, then second. The outfielders were still scrambling to recover, and the team’s cheers only grew louder.

By the time he made it to third, you could see the determination set on his face. His cap had slipped slightly, his curls bouncing with every stride, and his cheeks were flushed from the effort.

“Go, Spencer!” you yelled, clapping wildly.

The second the opposing team threw the ball toward home plate, Spencer took one final, desperate sprint—

And then slid.

It wasn’t the smoothest slide, and judging by the way he grimaced as he skidded across the dirt, it definitely wasn’t something he had ever practiced before. But when the referee threw his arms out and called, “Safe!” the entire BAU team erupted.

Derek was the first to reach him, pulling Spencer to his feet and clapping him on the back so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what I’m talking about, kid!” he shouted, his grin wide and proud.

JJ and Penelope were cheering loudly, their voices carrying across the field, while Rossi let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. Even Hotch, who was usually so stoic, was cheering.

But your eyes were on Spencer. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, but there was a look of pure triumph on his face.

His cap was crooked, his shirt was covered in dirt, and his hair was a complete mess, but he looked happier than you’d seen him in a long time.

When his eyes found yours, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. You grinned back at him, giving him a thumbs-up, and he shook his head, laughing softly as he adjusted his cap.

After a few moments, as the team’s cheers began to subside, Spencer finally managed to wiggle free from Derek’s grip, stepping away from the celebratory pit.

His teammates continued to pat him on the back, offering congratulations and words of encouragement, but Spencer’s attention was already drifting.

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you.

When he finally spotted you, his expression softened, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You walked up to him, your smile growing wider with every step.

Spencer was still slightly breathless, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline , but all he could focus on was you.

The noise of the cheering team, the occasional slap on his back from his teammates—it all faded into the background the moment your arms wrapped around his neck.

His fingers instinctively tightened around your waist, his grip warm.

“You did great,” you said, your voice full of excitement, as you pulled back slightly, your smile so wide it felt like it could light up the entire field.

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. You were so close.

He could see the way your cheeks were slightly flushed—whether from the excitement of the game or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, smiling brightly. “Yeah.”

His heart stuttered at the confirmation, at the way you were looking at him like he had genuinely impressed you.

It wasn’t often that Spencer Reid felt cool, but right now, standing here with you, he kind of did.

The way you were looking at him, your arms still loosely draped around his neck, made him feel like he’d just accomplished something extraordinary—even if it was just a lucky hit in a casual softball game.

“See, pretty boy? Told you you had it in you,” Derek called, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked past, effectively snapping Spencer out of his daze.

You giggled, finally stepping back, though Spencer hesitated before letting you go.

Garcia practically skipped over, phone in hand. “Oh, don’t mind me, just capturing all these adorable moments,” she teased, wiggling her fingers at her screen.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth creeping up your neck. “Garcia…”

“What? This is gold,” she argued, waving her phone. “The genius hits a home run, and his biggest fan is the first one to congratulate him? I live for this.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from all of this, rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning.

You reached up, gently adjusting his cap.

Your fingers brushed against his forehead, and for a moment, Spencer froze, his breath catching as he looked down at you.

“There,” you said softly, smoothing the brim of the cap. “Now you look like a proper MVP.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but no words came out. He just stared at you, his mind racing as he tried to process the way your touch made him feel.

Rossi, who had been watching from the bleachers with an amused smirk, leaned toward Hotch and muttered, “I give it two months.”

Hotch merely sighed, shaking his head. “They’ll be the last to realize it.”

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