#give bride a drink

[phonepartyinvite]

[widowshill]

the locket, motherhood, & marriage.

139 / 139 / 136 / 136 / 191 / 191 / 191 / 142 / 134 / 143 / 143 / 144 / 144 / 139 script / 144 / 280 / 144 / 144 / 192 / 279 / 279 / 279 / 279 / 143

[tonycries]

Little Heaven

Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.

You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 

So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 

God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 

He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 

That was rule #1, right? No marks. 

Or was it #4… 

Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 

Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 

Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”

Oh? 

Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 

And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.

“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”

Oh. 

That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”

Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”

And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.

You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 

His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”

You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 

“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”

“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 

“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”

And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 

“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”

“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 

“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 

He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”

And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.

“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 

His name - soon to be yours.

Maybe.

You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.

Probably. 

Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 

Definitely. 

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.

“I’m serious about the dream.”

Almost as gentle as that one. 

As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 

And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.

All is well in your little heaven.

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN

A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bi-writes]

Okay but MOB sitting on Simon's lap, cuddling as they watch some movie Simon picked out because it was his turn. At one point she gets up and he thinks she's just going to use the restroom, hands on her hips to help stabilize her. Only instead of leaving, she turns around and sits on her knees between his legs. She bats her eyes at him but otherwise just soaking in how pretty he is. He probably makes a joke, says he loves her and when he still doesn't move figures she just wants a moment and continues to watch the screen.

When she finally works herself up to it, she starts sliding her hands up and down his thighs and just the sensation and imagery alone has him hard and he can't bring himself to ask her to stop when it feels so nice. Eventually her hands wander up further and she begins to play with the button of his jeans. Still not stopping her, even as she unbuttons and zips them down to pull out his erection. When he finally looks down, she stops and stares innocently up at him.

As soon as his attention's somewhat back up on the screen, she repositions herself and licks a stripe up his dick to bring his head into her mouth to swirl around. He doesn't even last that long and she doesn't let him pull her off when he comes.

Or something like that...

mail-order bride (18+)

simon likes action movies. they're his favorite, by far. he likes to watch the over-the-top car races in the middle of metropolitan cities, he likes big, stupid explosions and when the protagonist has their enemy at the end of their gun and says something cheesy like "you're not going anywhere now."

he told you once that he likes the simplicity. the happy endings. the key recovered, a family saved, the epic conclusion of an explosive journey that always ends in the bad guy in handcuffs and the good guy on a beach sipping a mai tai, getting the girl, saving the world.

you think maybe he likes it because it dampens reality. you have seen the aftermath of an op gone wrong; in this way, simon can fantasize just a little. he can pretend that there is nothing wrong with the world for 90 minutes or so.

what's so wrong with that?

he's so pretty.

he ran errands for you today. came back from the store with a paper bag in his hands, setting it down on the counter and unpacking it. you were sat at the kitchen counter, the orange cat wrapped up completely in a burrito of a towel so you could cut her dagger-like claws without risk of retaliation. simon was watching carefully out of the corner of his eye, but as he unpacked the bag, you had all but melted in your chair.

a refill of your favorite makeup remover (you were going to run out tonight, guaranteed). vitamins (ya look right sick, baby, drink y'r juice). your favorite brand of pads (just tell me which ones, i'll get it right, promise). sour sweets (cherry-flavored, of course, sour because he likes the face you make when you pop them into your mouth). when the last box hit the counter, you had dropped the cat, much to her relief.

condoms. fucking condoms.

no, he's not pretty. simon is so fucking hot.

he doesn't budge when you get up to put the empty popcorn bowl into the sink. when you come back in the room, simon is still staring at the television, eyes trained on the spy on screen hopping between rooftops as they dodge bullets. you bite your lip watching him, unable to stop thinking about simon, simon, simon.

he's wearing nice jeans. straight jeans, but even the extra give doesn't matter when your husband is made of pure muscle and fat. you can see his stomach through his shirt since it's tucked in, white fabric showing off that nice pudge that you love laying your head on, your palm, knowing how solid and strong he most certainly is. nghghhhh, and his arms--big, bulging, tattooed, a perfect canvas for colorful markers or glitter or maybe your tongue.

it's subconscious, really. the carpet is soft under your knees as you kneel at his feet, lowering yourself so you can blink up at him big and wide as he keeps his eyes on the movie. he does notice you, however; his big hand slides down his thigh, and your eyes flutter a little when he passes it over your head then down your face, a pretty little pet between his legs.

"not supposed to be on y'r knees f'me, baby," simon mutters, but you can't answer because his thumb slips into your mouth. you wrap your lips around it absentmindedly, running your tongue over the thick pad of it. "tha's my job."

you sit up on your knees, leaning over him, and he gives you his attention finally, a twitch of a smile as he bends his neck a little and kisses you warmly. you steady yourself by putting your hands on his thighs, gripping the meat of them firm as you slip your tongue into his mouth and draw a low grunt from deep within his chest.

"always working for me, simon," you whisper between kisses. "always..."

fuck, the blood rushes to his cock almost immediately. he has such a soft spot for you. taking care of you, doing things for you, buying you what you need--it makes him so fucking hard thinking about fulfilling every need of yours. you deserve nothing but nice dreams, good meals, happy cats, a well-loved pussy, all the love his broken heart can give. he chubs up in his pants every time you ask him for something.

can you carry this for me, simon?

oh, i need some help with this, baby, just here...

can you get me more of this? i'm about to run out.

the zipper is stuck, simon...can you get me out of this?

ugh, you're his walking wet dream. and you're kneeling in between his legs, his sweet girl pouting up at him, and--oh, fuck--

your hands are soft under his shirt. you've untucked it just enough, your warm fingers sliding along the band of his jeans. he hisses a little, his body stiffening, and you smooth a thumb over his belt before kissing him again.

"you're so pretty, simon," you whisper, and he licks over your bottom lip in response, drawing a soft whine out of you. his thighs widen just a little when he hears the clink of his belt, feeling the waistband loosen as you draw it out from the loops and toss it onto the carpet behind you. "such a handsome man you are..."

"come off it," simon growls a little, and you giggle, freeing the button and slipping your hand down. his mouth falls open in a silent moan as you cup him with a hot hand, fingers sliding under his length to fondle his balls.

"mmm..." you follow his sputtering mouth, breathing him in. "actually, simon...i really, really wanna get on it..."

"wot a brat," simon murmurs, clicking his tongue. "can't be fuckin' patient--ahh!"

you pull him out of his jeans with a firm tug before sticking your tongue out and kneeling back down to lick a curious stripe up the underside of him. simon is pulsing, radiating heat and already leaking beads of stringy pre-cum, and as you suck the tip of him into your mouth, you realize just how thick your husband really is.

you've never seen him quite this naked, quite this up close. when he fucked your thighs, he had felt big, but his cock is truly making a space for itself in your mouth--

"ah!" you gasp as he fists your hair and pulls you off, leaning down to kiss you hard.

"baby--"

"i want it--" you whimper, using your hands, letting the spit from your mouth drip down his cock as your fingers spread it wide, pumping him softly. "simon, please! please! you always say...always say i can have whatever i want, please..."

when he lets your hair go, you dive. you suck him into your mouth, practically purring as you press him back into the couch and suck. he tastes like a man should, like a husband should, musk and a little sweat and just enough soap to have you a little light-headed. with the first bob of your head, simon shudders, a big hand cupping the back of your neck as he drops his chin to his chest to watch you. he uses his other hand to push your hair back, his mouth falling open a little as he watches your eyes roll back in your head as you try to fit more of him into your mouth.

your mouth squelches with every bob. spit gathers around the edges of your mouth, little globs dripping out as you slurp and flick your tongue over every vein and soft patch of skin. you're making a mess of him, all soft mouth and wiggly tongue and gentle moans that make him seize up.

it's not even a minute of your soft sucking, and simon is caught off guard by his own release. he wants to apologize, but you look so fucking pretty, coughing a little around his wet cock.

you don't stop then either.

some of it drips down around your hands, his own cum webbing between your fingers and getting onto the front of your shirt and staining his jeans, but you keep your mouth on him. you nuzzle the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek, pull off just enough to suck so softly on the tip of him.

"baby, fuck--" simon chokes, watching you through lidded, hazy eyes. "please, fuck--"

"i want it," you whisper, smoothing a wet hand down his length. he's getting hard all over again, and he nearly cums a second time when you let your eyes find his and pepper kisses from the tip of him all the way to the base. "don't i get w-whatever i want, simon? c-can't i...can't i have more?"

simon chuckles a little. he uses his thumb to swipe a glob of cum off your chin, bringing it up to his own mouth to suck off with a snort.

"you want more, baby?" simon asks, and you sit back up on your knees, pressing your forehead to his as he eyes your lips. they're a tad swollen, kiss-bitten and wet. "wot more do ya want, hmm? wot is it my wife wants so much, huh?"

you smile, wide, those big eyes sparkling. you give him another slow stroke with your hand, and he hisses, gritting his teeth as he watches your smile get just that much bigger.

"i want you to stop playing games with me, simon," you say softly. "you'll never win. so just give me what i deserve."

"wot you deserve?"

"don't i deserve you, simon?" you ask, and when he fails to answer, you swipe your thumb over his cock, drawing a cracked groan out of him. "you won't make me beg, will you, simon?"

"no," simon pants, leaning further into you, pressing his face to yours. "never. my wife doesn't beg for anythin'."

"you promise, simon?"

"my wife gets woteva she fuckin' asks for. olways."

[rensylph]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 🥀🥀

Yandere genshin men being husband,

Characters : ayato, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, alhaitham, tartaglia, neuvillete, wriostheley.

AYATO

He would be a manipulative husband, he wants you to stay with him in meetings and basically wherever he goes, he will have high expectations for you if you ever lash out or you do not control your emotions, he will give you a glare and say that being a lady in the house should be filled with elegance and maturity not throw a tantrum like a child.

He will gift you expensive kimonos as well as high end jewelry, but he didn't give these gifts out of love, it worked as a collar and a sign of an ownership of you. He will also plan to baby trap you. He wants about 3-4 children or maybe more, if your body could keep up.

This was originally an arranged marriage form by him, your clan was on the brink of falling until the head of the kamisato clan offered your family an arranged marriage between you and him so your clan got to live, on your wedding day, that was the last time you saw them. You feel like a caged bird.

DILUC

He would totally see nothing wrong with his ways. You are only allowed to go out of the mansion or go to mondstat with him. He will see this as a way to keep you safe from the outside world. And every time you try to protest about it, he will bring out the excuse of keeping you safe.

He will expect you to give him a kiss or some physical contact from you 24/7, he will hug you like his life depends on it. Caressing your body. Using his vision to give you warmth during the cold nights. He also wants children but not yet until you're ready.

You were his fiance during his childhood, originally he always treats you as if you're a normal friend. Until his father's death he became clingy and during his trip out of mondstat, he said, when he came back from getting revenge you gotta be ready to married with him.

KAEYA

Kaeya would use his charming, manipulative and cunning behavior to isolate you, he would be playful and teasing you but he is also very possessive. he told you to just quit your job and let him take care of you.

He would also use his charms to flirt with some woman just to make you jealous, but if it's you with another man he will wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your cheek while giving the other party a subtle glare. And if you ask him to not flirt with another woman he would only if you promise not to talk to any other man.

You were originally a knight working under him, he would pass some flirting comments and would invite you to drink you with him in angel share. Originally you guys started a relationship and soon he proposed to you. But he's been very against you working as well just to stay as a stay at home wife for him.

ZHONGLI

Being married to the geo archon for centuries wasn't the life you expected, he was sweet and cared for you but sometimes it always feels like you're being suffocated by him to follow his routine. He expected you to be an obedient wife due to the contract that you have signed with him 3000 years ago.

Zhongli is a patient man, even when you lash on to him he will just stand there and look at you and ask are you done. Liyue has many tales of your love story change thru all of the centuries, but none of them once mention one of your accomplishments instead referring to you as his wife.

You were one of his servants that worked closely with him in the archon war, one of cloud retainers first disciple, ganyu was still a little girl during this time as well. And after when he wins the war becoming the archon of liyue he was allowed to be given any price he wants, and he picks you to be his price and his bride.

ALHAITHAM

He would be methodical and calculating, justifying his actions. He would already plan everything out, hes already planned everything before marrying you, calculating what's your schedule, how long will it take to date you until he proposed and he basically already planned everything before hand so everything could go perfectly.

He will maintain a perfect life around you making sure nothing goes wrong, making sure your diet consists of rich and nutrition enough for you to live long, say goodbye to those unhealthy junk food, I mean he would allow you to eat it but only once in a month.

You were a spantamad student, he will always find you sleeping at the library after completing your script, he originally wanted to wake you up but suddenly he stopped and sat next to the chair to your chair and for minutes he enjoys and soak up every feature of your face looking at if it's the most beautiful painting in the world. When you wake up he is already gone and planning your marriage.

TARTAGLIA

A so called or a wannabe shining armor for you, he has this persona or desire of wanting to be your knight and shining armor, he wants to whisk you away from the warm and comfort of your home to move you to a large palace, a cold and lonely palace isolating you from the world as well being a cage for you.

Tartaglia would buy you endless amounts of gifts every time when he's out on a voyage around the seven nations to fulfill the tsaritsa promise of a perfect world. he will be there every step to make sure that world will be fulfilled so you and him could live happily ever after.

Before every event that could lead him up at this point of his life. You and him were childhood friends or were simply forced to hang around due to both of your mothers being best friends, he would only want to play knight and shining armor while your the princess being trapped by a dragon and he comes to save you other then that he's favorite thing to play with you was playing house, him as the husband, you being the wife while his younger sibling who is a baby played as you guys pretend child.

Neuvillete

A refined and elegant gentleman, everyone in Fontaine is fond of you guys marriage, the ludex of Fontaine and his wife always voted number one couple in the steambird, articles of you guys small dates as well detailing on how romantic you guys are. Every time you go out he will guilt trip you to stay inside instead of going out.

Neuvillete will use emotional manipulation as well as guilt tripping to trap you inside the walls of his home, saying it was to ensure your safety. Every time when retrieved back from a trial or work he will personally ask to bath with you, it's the only thing to keep him calm and not worried about you. The melusine sees neuvillete as their father figure and they also see you as their mother figure.

Originally an oceanid that manages to retain their pure form and memory even after egeria turn every oceanid to live as a human and was a loyal servant to the first hydro archon, Egeria. Originally you were against being turned into a human wanting to serve your archon for eternity but During the arrival of Neuvillete you were offered to him as a spouse or a companion to stay by his side forever.

Wriostheley

A confident and head strong husband, he allows you to go outside but since it's the fortress of meriopede there isn't much to see inside as well for being safe due to the criminals that are being kept in line by your husband, so it's unwise to go outside his sight.

The entire fortress as well the staff calls you duchess due to your status of being married to him, you hated that title making you feel as if you were just an object that is held dear by the duke of the fortress, he always find it amusing to this nickname because it means people knew who you belong to for him the title of duchess is a sign or mark that you belong to him.

Originally a prisoner who was accused of a crime that you didn't commit, during lunch time you were eating this prisoner is sitting beside the table you were sitting and decide to make new friends during your time in jail, the prisoner was surprised for your present and ask why are you sitting with you gave him a blunt answer and he laughs and he ask you do you know who he is and you replied with a no, soon that day a Friendship blossom between you and him, until a new comer guard exposed his identity for being the duke, unfortunately it's already to late he has already fallen into a hole of love and obsession over you

[5sospenguinqueen]

Going To The Chapel | Arthur Leclerc x Reader

Summary: A glimpse into life with Arthur Leclerc since your engagement. 

Warnings: Fluff. Marriage. Pregnancy. Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by @1800-love-me . requested newlyweds/new dad arthur

F1 Masterlist

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yn_ln just posted

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and others

yn_ln i had the most amazing weekend with my girls. thank you for planning such a relaxing time away. only one week left until i marry the love of my life  tagged: alexandrasaintmleux, bestfriend, charlotte2304

1,617 comments 

charles_leclerc i’m still disappointed that i wasn’t invited :( 

��� alexandrasaintmleux you had a bachelor party to go to, mon coeur 

→ charles_leclerc yeah but they didn’t have matching robes

→ arthur_leclerc i offered to wear matching underwear with you? 

bestfriend thank you for not saying “only one week until you marry your best friend” because i would’ve had to kill myself, and then you 

→ yn_ln oh

arthur_leclerc my beautiful girl. i cannot wait to marry you 

→ yn_ln counting down the days until i can call myself your wife 

→ user1 ugh, i need a love like these two 

alexandrasaintmleux you’re going to make the most beautiful bride 

→ yn_ln once i work off the hangover you inflicted on me

→ alexandrasaintmleux you didn’t have to keep drinking the prosecco

→ yn_ln you didn’t have to keep topping my glass up! 

→ bestfriend she was getting you drunk enough that you would agree to run away with her and not marry arthur

→ arthur_leclerc hey! 

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc a day full of tears and joy. i’m so proud of you, little brother. and beautiful yn, you have been part of this family since arthur first brought you home to us but now we can officially call you leclerc 🤍

5,516 comments

user2 love how he posted an individual pic of yn but not his brother 

→ yn_ln i’m the family favourite out of the two of us 

→ arthur_leclerc i would disagree but you are my favourite 

user3 i love how close charles would’ve had to get for that veil pic

→ alexandrasaintmleux we did have to keep dragging him away from them  

→ charles_leclerc i’m just so happy! 

francisca.cgomes the most beautiful bride 

user4 i love that photo of the two of them sat at the table together 

→ charles_leclerc thank you. i had to sneak back to get it but it was just the two of them in their own little world 

→ yn_ln i was telling him how desperate i was to get out of my dress

→ user5 and he was telling you how desperate he was to get you out of your dress?

→ arthur_leclerc yes

lorenzotl i love you both so much. welcome to the family, yn 🩷

user6 oh okay. this has reminded me of how alone i am 

user7 the cutest couple! 

yn_leclerc just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and others

yn_leclerc sand, sea and a new surname 🏖️

2,347 comments

user8 she changed her name! 

charles_leclerc did you do anything other than kiss? geez 

→ pierregasly it’s their honeymoon. i bet they did a lot more than kiss 

→ charles_leclerc ew

user9 look, we all know you spent the honeymoon shagging each other but you didn’t need to post proof

→ user10 and to think these are the photos they thought were acceptable to share liked by yn_leclerc 

arthur_leclerc my favourite place will always be beside you 

→ yn_leclerc i may not let you leave

→ oscarpiastri married arthur is a cheesy arthur 

alexandrasaintmleux i’m loving these photos! 

→ yn_leclerc maybe you should be next 

→ charles_leclerc don’t give her ideas! 

user11 oh a leclerc thirst trap was not what i was expecting 

user12 is this pr approved? 

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arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, pierregasly and others

arthur_leclerc coming soon. baby leclerc

3,549 comments

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so excited for baby leclerc to arrive. is it bad that i’ve already bought loads of clothes?

→ charlotte2304 competing for favourite aunty already, i see

→ yn_leclerc favourite aunty will be whichever one of you gets me a drink first when baby is here

user1 the charles leclerc project is happening 

→ scuderiaferrari we are already having a mini f1 car made 

user2 you’ve only been married 6 months

→ user2 oh

→ user3 honeymoon baby 

charles_leclerc i’m so glad you finally told people. the amount of baby ferrari gear i’ve had made that i have wanted to post 

charles_leclerc i am going to make the best uncle

→ lorenzotl *second best uncle

yn_leclerc i didn’t realise having a baby was going to create a leclerc civil war 

landonorris that is more of your wife than i wanted to see 

→ arthur_leclerc just say congrats, mate

oscarpiastri i guess this means our affair is over

user4 somebody enjoyed their honeymoon a little too much 

arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by logansargeant, scuderiaferrari and others

arthur_leclerc our baby girl was born late last night. she is happy and healthy, and yn is doing well

4,478 comments 

yn_leclerc i love you, mon amour. i couldn't have done this without you

→ arthur_leclerc thank you for blessing me with the most amazing family

charles_leclerc can confirm, she also smells so good

alexandrasaintmleux she’s wearing the little booties i bought! please give baby and yn a huge hug from me

→ user5 you don’t get to meet baby?

→ alexandrasaintmleux i’m not currently in monaco but visiting them will be the first thing i do when i’m back

user6 girl dad arthur incoming! 

charlotte2304 missing those baby cuddles already 

→ yn_leclerc we’re home tomorrow so please come over 

→ yn_leclerc you can cuddle baby whilst i have a wash 😂

user7 a baby girl! 

francisca.cgomes you put my giraffe in the bed with her 🥹

→ pierregasly don’t let her meet baby leclerc, please. i’ve only just gotten her a puppy 

→ yn_leclerc oh but how cute would a baby gasly be! 

→ pierregasly no!

→ arthur_leclerc nobody warns you that your wife will be broody again the second she’s had a baby

→ yn_leclerc excuse me, i think you mean no one warns you that your husband will be begging you for a second baby

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_leclerc just posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, carlossainz55 and others

yn_leclerc in honour of mon bébé turning 1 yesterday, please enjoy some snippets of this past year. it has been both exhausting and incredible, and i couldn't have done it without my amazing family

2,091 comments

charles_leclerc i can’t believe my niece is one already. she’s growing too fast 

→ arthur_leclerc which is why we should have a second one

→ charles_leclerc yes! that is a great idea

→ yn_ln this is why i don’t leave the two of you alone with her anymore

user8 that pic of arthur and baby leclerc sleeping?! never wanted kids before but now

→ user9 like he was cute before but now he’s a dilf?

→ yn_leclerc i can’t believe i just had to read that 

→ arthur_leclerc you called me a dilf last night?

alexandrasaintmleux being aunty alex this past year has been the best part of my adult life 

→ yn_ln you can take her for the week if you like. she’s teething so…

→ user10 haha this is so real if you’re a mum 

pierregasly who let charles wear that goofy hat 

user11 omg charles and baby leclerc though 

arthur_leclerc why have you never shown me that photo of us sleeping! she’s literally smiling in her sleep from my cuddles! mon coeur! how could you keep this from me

arthur_leclerc what other photos have you been keeping from me

arthur_leclerc i’m not helping you make a second one until you show me all the photos 

→ yn_leclerc does that mean i get a break from you?

→ arthur_leclerc now people are going to think i mount you all the time

→ charles_leclerc ew why did you word it that way liked by yn_leclerc 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

requests are open

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

[tender-rosiey]

“KEEP THE PRIEST! WEDDING NO.2 STARTS!”

— gojo, sukuna, nanami, geto & toji when you catch the bouquet at a wedding (f!reader)

a/n: if you don't have a cousin then now you do and thanks for being patient with me everyone! <3

GOJO SATORU:

 a family member of yours was finally getting married—something you never thought would happen since she was always complaining about all her boyfriends, but hey at least someone finally did it.

anyway, naturally, you took your dear boyfriend as your date.

the wedding was going smoothly, drinks were exchanged, food was distributed, and cakes were eaten—much to your lover’s delight.

another thing that kept happening is people trying to introduce their daughters to satoru.

his instant response was to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you close to him, kissing your cheek and chirping a “sorry, but I am happily taken!”

now it was time for the part that a lot of people wait for: the bouquet throw.

your cousin was already crazy, so she has been waiting for it so she can throw the bouquet with all her might. on the other hand ,you and the other ladies were lined up and patiently waited.

one swing, two swings, one faint throw, and finally the bouquet was thrown into the air, heading towards its next owner.

a chorus of ‘its mine! mine!’ filled the room, but relentless, you maneuvered your way into finally catching the bouquet in your hands.

you’ve won the battle.

but wait. it seems like there is a contestant that won’t back down.

“let go of that bouquet, young lady!”

you look behind you and gasps, it is—“satoru?!”

“yes, satoru!” your boyfriend huffs, making his way towards you.

he firmly takes a stance in front of you, contrasting his intimidating position with his infamous pout, “it’s not fair for you to take the bouquet!”

you sway your hip to the side sassily, “does it make a difference? we’re getting married either way!”

your boyfriend shakes his head, “no, babe!” he places his hands on his chest, pushing his theatrics till the top, “I need to be the star!”

he crumbles to the floor and you merely stare at him in silence.

you see your cousin approach you and your boyfriend, “first of all, I am the star, and second, if you don’t stop fighting, I am taking the bouquet back.”

your boyfriend gasps clinging to your legs, “babe, your cousin is super mean!”

you pat his head with a sigh and he happily presses a kiss to your thigh. what a taxing man to be with.

“sweets, I wanna pee.”

taxing child.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your boyfriend was—surprisingly—invited to a friend’s wedding, which he hated as he was planning on taking you to a stargazing sight because you’ve been talking about it ever since you saw it multiple times on tiktok.

so, here you are with your boyfriend put into a suit by force.

you’re pretty sure that he is going to rip it any moment, but you would rather he does that when you’re both alone: you don’t necessarily mind a show.

anyway, you are sat with your dear lover who hasn’t stopped frowning since you’ve entered the darn hall.

the only good social thing he has done so far is greeting the groom and the bride. other than that, his hand never left yours and he stuck by you.

it’s cute, though, even if he argues that he is anything but.

you hear them announce that they’re finally throwing the bouquet so you give sukuna a quick peck then run to reserve your space.

now, you get very competitive in certain things, and this is certainly one of them. you will be going home with that bouquet.

and true to your goal, the moment the bouquet is at a height you can reach, you jump at it, holding on for dear life.

your feet reach the ground once again, and you raise your hand in victory, “I did it!”

you don’t see sukuna rolling his eyes fondly and with a proud grin that screams ‘that’s my girl’.

after a bit of applause, you quickly turn to your boyfriend and walk towards his table, radiating with confidence.

you place the bouquet on the table then you lean on your elbows, “I caught the bouquet,” you wink, “what do you think?”

“of course, you would get it,” he hums, “you’re mine, and I don’t settle for less than the best.”

you roll your eyes and lean towards him, swirling the drink that you stole from him, “it’s quite the commitment that we’re getting into,” you then look and lock eyes with him, “think you can handle that?”

“there’s nothing I can’t handle, loser.”

you giggle before cooing, “aww, you love me so much,” he gently shoves you, before his arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you back towards him.

“I tolerate you.”

“so love!”

“no.”

NANAMI KENTO:

jingling bells, clicking heels, steaming food, and loving couples including you and your dear boyfriend fill today’s wedding hall.

a mutual friend of yours and nanami finally tied the knot with their lover, and you were happily invited.

it was a never ending party of laughter and happy tears—that you efficiently hid by burying your face in your boyfriend’s chest.

things calmed down a bit, leaving you to fangirl about how cute your friend is to nanami.

“but kento, she looked so cute! she is so pretty! he better not hurt her!”

nanami keeps munching on his bread, “I think she is capable of handling that herself.”

you cross your arms with a huff, “what do you mean?”

“she is carrying a shotgun.”

“oh, you right,” you acknowledge, before running towards the dance floor when you see your friend about to throw the bouquet, “f/n, you better not throw that until I tell you!”

“if you don’t get then you just have a major skill issue!”

you gasp, taking a battle stance in the middle of the of the dance floor. you hear your friend giggle, before she finally throws the bouquet into the air.

from then, it’s a cat fight between you and the rest of the people.

however, you come out as victorious then excitedly running towards nanami, “kento! kento! did you see me?”

“mhm, you looked lovely as always,” he chuckles, giving you his full attention.

you giggle, taking a seat beside him. you start talking about your fight(?) to get the bouquet while nanami stealthily takes a plate of your favourite snacks from the buffet and slides it to you.

you gasp, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “thank you, love!”

he hums, eyeing the bouquet, “you know,” then he says, fidgeting with his watch a little, “I can get you a better bouquet if you want—with a side of a ring, of course.”

you were about to finally dig in, but your brain quickly short circuits at his comment, “oh.”

slowly, you turn to him, feeling your face get warmer by the second.

he laughs lightly, hand coming to rest on yours, “I am not joking,” he pulls your hand up for a small peck, “I am just waiting for the right time so please be patient with me.”

GETO SUGURU:

the moment the vows were exchanged, music was blasted to the roof, and everyone was partying to the max.

your cousin, the bride, is dancing to the beat with vigor and excitement you’ve never seen before.

you would like to join her, but geto just won’t let you since he knows that you will somehow end up drunk off your mind and dancing on one of the tables.

so you’re sat with him right now, sulking and glaring at him.

“babe, don’t be so sad now, please? I am only doing this so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself.”

you huff and turn your back on him, “I am a full-functioning adult; thank you very much!”

his hand slowly inches towards yours, “the prettiest full-functioning adult,” he smiles, pulling his chair closer to you. “and the smartest too, did you know that?”

you almost give into his advances—his charming smile is far too lethal—but you’ve developed a bit of immunity to his actions.

so instead, you face him with a teasing smile, “I would love if you tell me more—after I successfully steal the bouquet.”

“steal?”

you roll your eyes, “acquire.”

he laughs lightly, and you take it as your cue to run towards the group of women huddled behind your cousin.

you stand proudly, “c/n, throw your bouquet!”

“no!”

“what?!”

“just kidding!”

and so the bouquet flies and ‘accidentally’ lands in your hands—it’s no accident; you’ve been training your entire life for this moment.

people whoop and applaud, and you bow to audience, before scurrying to your darling boyfriend.

you wave the bouquet in your hand, and he nods knowingly, “guess you’re never get rid of me,” you muse, hugging the bouquet to your chest, “what a pity, right?”

he looks at you confused then sighs with a smile, “I never planned to, but okay.”

you beam at him and throw your arms around him, and he laughs, hugging you closer.

you trace shapes on his back and murmur, “you’re way too cute for your own good.”

“I need to charm you one way or another, you know,” he replies, motioning for the waiter to get you two more drinks.

he stays silent for a moment, “you can go get hammered—“

“not!”

“okay, not hammered with your cousin.”

“yay!” you scream joyously and run away.

guess who ended up drunk and dancing on a table.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

toji and a wedding?

it’s a combination most would not expect, but it isn’t his wedding anyway, so he can’t complain about it being too much commitment right now.

the only thing he can complain about is being put into this ‘suffocating’ suit—a sight you love.

“do we really have to stay till the end?”

you turn towards him, mortified, “this is literally your best friend’s wedding.”

he shrugs, “so?”

with a shake of your head, you drag him further down the hall to your assigned seats. at least, holding your hand is enough to pacify him.

the wedding goes as you would expect, aside from toji almost falling asleep.

you are now just standing beside the clearly expensive and delicious buffet—your true love.

toji is happily indulging in the food laid out in front of him, and you are about to do the same, but you notice that the bouquet throw is about to happen.

so you dash out of your seat just in time to catch that rogue bouquet. you raise your hand, announcing yourself as the now rightful owner of this bouquet.

that’s why you excitedly search for toji to show him your new prize.

you rush towards the table that you left your boyfriend at, “toji, I got it!—toji?”

a look left, a look right, your eyes widen. did the darn guy leave the moment you caught the bouquet? no way his fear of commitment is this intense.

you take note of the groom—toji’s bestie—shaking his head.

feeling embarrassed, you frown and yell for him, “toji fushiguro!”

suddenly, you feel a presence behind your back. you feel the person lean towards your ear a bit, and they whisper a small, “hey.”

you gasp, spinning to smack him square on the shoulder, “I hate you!”

he teases, almost like your hit was never there in the first place, “now now, that isn’t something you say to your future husband,” he grins and you scrunch your face in disgust.

you turn on your heel to walk away from him, “kill yourself.”

“what a foul mouth,” he whistles, following you until you finally give up and are given the chance to punch him in the stomach to make for the scare he gave you.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how I think the boys from love and deepspace would give a first kiss :3

warnings: suggestive content (obviously?), writing might be out of character, spoilers in general, i get carried away explaining everything because i'm afraid of being accused of mischaracterisation

[story spoiler] first kiss = first kiss where mc is a hunter/the timeline in game

authors notes: i have favourites and it will show CLEARLY in my writing… sorry (not sorry no1 rafayel stan) and i am a yapper

characters: rafayel, xavier, zayne and sylus

link to my master list here!!

more below the cut :3

sorry rafayel... but i feel like he's the most unskilled at kisses because - hear me out - you're his very first kiss. lemurians as a species seem to value bonds and loyalty, and as the literal sea god he wasn't able to nor wanted to just hook up or mess around - he's looking for devotion!!!

(okay, we ignore the kiss in forgotten sea myth story because like come on there was literally no romance mc was drowning)

definitely waits a while before kissing you, rayafel really takes his time to fall into place. after all, he needs to make sure his beloved bride/groom is well and truly his!!!

the type to wait for the ‘right moment’ - but doesn’t force or stage it ykwim? like the time comes naturally - e.g. watching the sunset, or you’re leaning close to him whilst he’s painting

he’s a romantic 100% like there’s a reason his 'floral promise' card was (imo) way fluffier compared to the others - like xavier's was tender-ish but rafayel was fucking melting

he's a sweet talker I just know it.

that charm he uses on his clients? he doesn't want to nor will he manipulate you with it but you know he's going to ramp up the charm to tease you a little

definitely knows his effect on you and uses it to his full advantage (cough cough fiery undercurrents secret times) like whispering in your ear, making excuses to touch you or get close to you

(i think he’d be more 'traditional' because of lemurian customs - the whole bonding + [forgotten sea spoilers] the sea god ceremony where the mc must devote themselves to rafayel displaying a strong level of devotion)

SUCH A GENTLE KISSER OMG like compared to his almost bratty and childish personality he’s a gentleman when it comes to kisses (also because he's kind of unsure what to do...)

the type to tuck strand of your hair behind your ear, fiddle with it a little maybe twirl it around his finger before trailing a finger along your jawline... i can see him like massaging your ear too? idk how to describe it he's a handsy man

first kiss was definitely more sweet than passionate ugawhriulgs he's such a cutie

right after the first kiss i think he’d be pretty affectionate, rather than bratty/tsundere since for him to kiss someone i believe he’d really need to love them (and therefore is more open to being vulnerable)

affectionate as in saying something cheesy probably, commenting on how you tasted or another one of his poetic, artistic quotes (dw raf we love it)

wouldn't be satisfied with just one after that, i can see him going in for a more passionate second and even a third (i mean look at his 'floral promise' memory OR 'fiery undercurrents') in the same few minutes

these follow up kisses would probably be longer and way less chaste, hands moving from tilting your chin up to your waist ahahahahahuwfa

you'd have to show him the appeal of tongue if that's your thing because he's seen it before but never really saw what was nice about it

"But... you're just drinking each other's saliva?" "Rafayel that's hot-"

definitely relived the moment in his head hundreds of times after that night - and you bet your ass he painted a piece inspired from your first kiss with him

any kisses after that i feel like they would follow this default pattern;

if he initiated the kiss i think he’d be more cocky and teasing, especially if he surprised you with one and he sees your flustered face

“Didn’t expect that huh, cutie?”

if you surprised him, however, get ready for typical rafayel childish behaviour, blushing and averting his eyes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and a pout

“Hey- what was that for!!” Σ（・□・；）

either way rafayel is the worlds silliest man and would cave into literally anything with just a few kisses from you

ALSO KISS HIS COLLAR BONES AND YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE NEW SCENARIO TO UNFOLD

oh i just have a feeling this man is devouring you because puh-LEASEE?? sir we aren't forgetting your 'tender night' card i know that night was anything but tender

xavier is the definition of pent-up desire because this man has been waiting a LONG time and he's not going to be able to hold back very well

(taking heavy inspiration from his '21 days' memory because with his reaction it kind of feels like his first kiss with mc... but tbh i don't know much about xavi)

he's definitely not shy when it comes down to it, yeah he gets flustered if he thinks about it because of course imagining kissing the person he's pined over for centuries is going to fluster the shit out of him but he doesn't shy away form the idea or avoid the topic in conversation

i feel like he'd bring it up casually - like in the 'partner go go' event (aka heartbreaker-chasing-rhythm-game event) he was so insistent on the 'kissing page'

mc was like "apparently you can solve arguments with a kiss" and this mf straight up said "we can argue then" this man is STARVED

i feel like you'd need to initiate the kiss or give him very clear signs you'd be okay with a kiss for it to happen, i don't know why i just feel like he's that type of person

the first kiss is deep despite him trying his best to hold back - you can just feel his desire and longing oozing out of him and he's definitely on fucking cloud nine

xavier's holding your face and stroking his thumb along your cheek and god damn he's good at kissing where the fuck did he learn this from?

the type to break the kiss and then fucking bulldoze into the next one and my god his restraints have broken and he's actually kissing you as if it's the last thing he's able to do on earth

100% a tongue user he's biting at your bottom lip before slipping it in the sly minx

after the kiss he's more flustered than he expected to be - kissing the love of his life (literally) sends him into a flurry of emotions he's never really experienced before

given how possessive xavier is i wouldn't be surprised if halfway through making out he managed to leave a hickey or two in very. visible. places.

he isn't even pretending to feel guilty in the slightest, a smug grin as he shrugs out a half-assed apology.

"Sorry, I guess you'll have to try hide it. Or don't, that would be easier."

if you leave any marks on him he's not leaving you along that night. forget sleeping you two are recreating 'tender night' ALL night.

but seriously, if you leave hickeys over his neck (his canonical sensitive area and where he feels vulnerable) he's going to go crazy because what do you mean you want everyone to know he's yours??? what do you mean you want him as much as he wants you??

tldr; xavier is unusually talented with his mouth and is desperate to prove it to you.

i accidentally wrote way more for xavier than i expected i even cut out some bits holy crap maybe i’m more into xavi than i thought

oh no... zayne you beautiful man i am so sorry... (here comes the one character i have no idea how to characterise + no clue about his lore zayne fans pls bear with me)

okay - zayne looks like a gentleman and i'm sure he very much is even in intimate moments, but i cannot get rid of the idea that his first kiss w you was lowk spicyyyyy

like OH MY GOD I JUST WATCHED SNOWY SERENITY RN I FUCKIGN KNEW IT

that man was pouncing on you in a hospital bed, dishevelled, and kissing you deep my god like the type of kiss that literally as you forgetting where you are

i feel like zayne would be the one to initiate the kiss, again no idea why maybe i'm falling into the dominant zayne agenda

you're probably surprised when he kisses you because he's usually so composed, the 'cold unfeeling' dr zayne - then suddenly he's panting and pushing himself on top of you (consensually of course), pinning you down and going to town.

when he kisses you i don't think he's much of a lip biter, but if you bite his lips or lick at him or anything he's not opposed, as long as your lips are on his and vice versa

after the first kiss he's going straight into another one, his patience has thinned to the point of snapping and now he just needs you.

his hands what does he do with his hands? i'm thinking the typical otome face hold, gentle grasp juxtaposing his fervent kisses LOL

now, why does he kiss you?? how does this all build up? unfortunately all i can think of to match this scenario is something angsty or something along the lines of zayne has fucking had it and all he wants is you

"I need you... please."

this is the type of kiss where he wants to drown in you, breathe you in and just smother his being into yours to forget and erase whatever else is happening/happened

if he's kissing you and pinning you down and you bring up your hand to interlock fingers with him - your warm hands against his cool hands? wow his kissing is all of a sudden even more passionate.

after the little make out session he's going to go all mushy on you, physical affection of an embrace something uncharacteristic of him to match his dishevelled state

in kisses after the first i like the idea that he checks your pulse mid make-out and just silently smirks/chuckles when he notices it's faster and more erratic than usual

"Why are you nervous, this isn't our first time."

he also has this sneaky habit of whispering incredibly close to your ear, the reason why i choose to point this out it because i feel like sometimes he uses his evol to his advantage to like, breathe out cool air on your neck/ear and likes to watch you shiver

the ultimate dominant figure if you try to kiss him first and take control he somehow manages to overcome you and take the lead without using his strength, just good ol' sweet talking and technique

congratulations, you managed to snatch a kiss from the renown leader sylus!!!

i can see why people would think he's promiscuous or a fuck-boy because honestly i see it, but imo just because he is more flirtatious, assertive and... responsive (try tapping his... crotch... in the café LOL) does NOT = play boy

to me it just shows that - unlike the other LIs - sylus is just more forward with his approach, he has that devil-may-care like feel to him ykwim?

"Do I like you? What type of question is that, isn't it obvious? Or do I need to show you?" is much different to "Hey baby girl lemme rock your world tnite xx"

but just because he's got a 'fuck-all' attitude doesn't mean he fucks around with random people, he's 1. got standards and 2. living in the n109 zone?? do you THINK he can afford to let random people close just to fuck???

that being said i don't think he's a kiss virgin, just very selective and honest man when it comes to love and physical intimacy

now, when i say he isn't a fuckboy, that doesn't mean i don't believe in cocky-smugass-know-it-all sylus - he kisses well. and with PASSION. and probably the worst part is that he knows it.

first kiss with sylus? i can't imagine him making a large fuss about it like rafayel, nor it having to be some "i'm-at-deaths-door-and-need-to-kiss-you-atleast-once" situation like zayne, but no matter where or when you two share a first kiss he is making sure you remember

that being said, there was definitely a LOT of romantic and sexual tension between you and sylus for at least weeks before the kiss, i mean the air was thick with suggestive glances and denial

i think you two'd have to already be in close proximity which is very easy to achieve with sylus (touchiest man award goes to him) for the first kiss to initiate

he's grabbing your waist, or your face, makings sure your eyes are on. him. as you two kiss. watching with delight no matter what reactions you have, he admires you through surprised and flustered to confident and defiant

rather than a tender first kiss it’s probably a full blown make out session, just desire and lust flooding out of the both of you after having built up for over a month.

assertive does not mean he's going to force a kiss on you to clear this up, more that he likes to take the initiative and take control as you two kiss <3

yeah he's into biting (wow what a big shock) - likes biting your ear, or neck, or bottom lip, one time he tried nipping at your tongue too.

you can bite him back, he likes it.

"Hah, looks like someone is baring their claws tonight..." he’s really into that whole cat thing huh.

what does mr sylus do with his hands? waist, hips, ass, around your neck, pulling your face in by squeezing your cheeks, fingers threading through the hair on the back of your head, you name it he does it. again, i think sylus is a touchy man.

he doesn't mind if you try to take control, just dont expect to be successful. different to zayne - as in he will overcome your control with his evol and strength…

inappropriate use of his evol has occurred (he ‘tied’ you up and made out with you (CONSENSUALLY))

after his affinity 15 (i think) memory i can just tell he’s freaky with it bruhhh so yeah handcuffs are probably something he indulges in

if you’re persistent or physically overcome sylus you might get rewarded with a resigned, more submissive sylus

the idea or sight of someone man handling/overcoming his strength really sets him off.. i mean have you seen “no defence zone”?? but you’re really going to need to work to get him to this stage, and he’s going to have to love you

“No one’s ever seen me like this, lying on my back and begging for you.”

secretly finds out through you that he enjoys being dominated (BRAT SYLUS FOR 2024) so climb on top of him and kiss him until he’s blushing and panting hahahahahaha

tldr: sylus isn’t a fuck-boy but he sure kisses like one

AN; as an ao3 writer may say, no beta we die like caleb i wrote half of this when i was half asleep LMAOO anyways i hope this was okay please dont attack me BYE

[formulaforza]

— caught in a blue summ. but to love her is to need her everywhere (a gentle kind of love) charles x fem reader, wc 4.1k ish, no warnings, no y/n! fueled by one single praise from @silverstonesainz

You’re three paragraphs into an all-too-lengthy work email when he sits down in the chair next to you silently, one elbow on the sage green tablecloth. He sits in the chair sideways, something you can both see and feel, even without looking away from your phone screen. His presence is accompanied by the gentle thud of two heavy glasses. 

You look over briefly—long enough to suggest to him that his presence is mildly perturbing—and then return your attention to the email. You can hardly concentrate over the jazz band in the corner of the hall, rotating through their collection of love songs sung in different romance languages, and now a strange man has set up camp next to you, only further reminding you why you shouldn’t be responding to emails when you’re out of office. 

“Hi,” he says, after more seconds of silence. 

You finish your email before you give him the time of day. “Hi,” you smile, soft but forced. “Who are you?”

“Charles,” He smiles, holding his hand out to shake yours. You stare at his waiting hand until he takes it away. “Nice to meet you,” he laughs, moving one of the drinks closer to you. “For you. White Negroni. Céline told me it’s your drink.”

You give him a sideways glance before looking past him, scanning the reception hall for your friend. She should stand out in her bridesmaid dress. The wedding invite had specifically requested guests to follow a color code, and nobody was wearing that shade besides the bridesmaids. Your eyes finally land on her, glass of champagne in her hand, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, leaning over to whisper something to the groom—her brother. No doubt the two of them conspiring, a theory only proved when Mathéo’s eyes land on yours from across the room. You roll your eyes. 

“How do you know Céline?” you ask, as if half the guests here tonight aren’t related to her. 

“I went to school with Mathéo,” he says, and you nod slowly, confusion growing, curiosity peaked. “I suppose technically I went to school with Céline as well.”

“I went to school with Céline,” you say, and Charles furrows his brows. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you laugh softly, picking up the drink he’d offered, pulling the garnish off the lip of the glass and dropping it on top of the ice. “I’m serious!” He says, matching your laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I would remember you. And I do not remember you.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head, bringing the glass to your lips. “Lycée. Première.”

Charles nods. “That is why. I was graduated by then.”

Someone laughs so loud at the next table over that it steals both of your attention. It’s the mother-of-the-bride, and she's visibly drunk in a way that only a divorced French socialite can manage. The sudden attention tones her down, and the room is once again filled with wealthy laughter and crisp clinking crystal glasses. 

You love weddings. You love this wedding; the delicate scent of blooming lavender, the smoked salmon canapés and delicate foie gras pâté that sit half-eaten at most of the tables, the perfectly chilled glasses of champagne waiting to be toasted, and the sun. The golden sun that casts itself across the terraces and into the tall windows, painting the dancing figures in golden hues. 

And then he’s speaking again, and you look back at him, and the sun casts a warm shadow through his brown hair that you're noticing for the first time. “Parles-tu français?” he asks. 

You wince, tilting your head to the side, holding up two fingers pinched together. “Un petit peu. Je suis grec,” you explain, pulling your hair around to drape over one shoulder. 

“Ah,” he says. “How do you say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ in Greek?”

You smile gently, taking another sip of your drink. It’s important to keep yourself paced. Especially when you’re staring at someone who looks like that. “Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?” You finally say, and he stares at you blankly. The expression forces a laugh from you, which in turn pulls one from him. 

“Again?”

“Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?”

Charles nods for what feels like a very extended period, before downing the remainder of his drink. “Tha horeps…” he winces at his pronunciation so you don’t have to, “mazi-moo?”

You smile at his hopeful expression, and wonder if he’s more hopeful for a correct pronunciation or an agreement to dance. You shrug, swirling your drink around the glass, looking past him to your friend again. 

She’s watching you this time and wears a grin the size of the wedding. She holds up both her thumbs, and then makes a heart with her hands, pretends to have it beating out of her chest. You shake your head, smiling softly, eyes moving back to Charles. 

“One dance.”

— — — 

Your feet drag across the stone pathway like maybe you’ll slow yourself down and get to spend a half-second longer on the phone with him. You hear it over the voices of drunken uncles pouring from open windows and the radio sat on one of the sills playing a Christiana classic. The air is warm, but dry, and the elastic at the end of your braid tickles the skin on your back while you walk. 

Ahead of your scraping shoes, a cat cleans their paw in the yellow of a porch light. You’re in Paros, and life is so sweet you’re finding porch lights and the smell of your yia-yia’s karidopita to be the most romantic thing in the world. 

“I’m nearly home,” you hum into your phone’s receiver. He laughs on the other end, and you wish all the aunts with the drunken, ballad-performing husbands could hear it so they’d stop asking when you’re going to settle down. It would make sense to them, then, the way you behave about Charles. It would all make sense if they heard him laugh, if they could imagine his dimples. 

“Well, you should probably hang up, then,” he says. You roll your eyes. Your cheeks ache from smiling all evening. Your cousin joked before dinner that your face was going to freeze like that if you weren’t careful. 

“I should,” you agree, but you don’t hang up. You stay on the line, quiet, and stop in front of the resident street cat—he’s small and sweet and purrs against your skin when you run your hand over its sleek black fur, scratch your nails under its chin. You’d bring him home if you knew he didn’t belong to someone, to everyone. “Or you could.”

He laughs again. It’s like honey. You’d swan dive into it if you could, drown all slow and blissfully. “I’m not the one nearly home,” he retorts. I could get far from home again, you think. You could do another lap around the neighborhood. You’d already done it thrice, and then two more times after that. What’s another in the grand scheme of things? “I’ll call you again in the morning,” he says, like it’s routine. You suppose it’s sort of becoming that. 

You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask:“Do you think we speak too often?”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrug like he can see it. “We talk too much to be friends.”

“Do we?” You imagine him quirking a brow goofily, based solely on his tone of voice. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, dropping your braid. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Charles sighs. All you can smell is cinnamon and walnuts. You wonder which one of your cousins ate the heel of the bread while you were out walking. “Well, good thing I would never be just friends with you, then.”

The apples of your cheeks burn like they’d been pinched. You flatten your dress over your legs and a careful giggle tumbles from your lips, teeth biting down on the stupid smile there. “Good thing.”

“Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Goodnight.”

— — —

It’s raining in Milan when you pinky promise your best friends that you and Charles aren’t dating. 

The sky has been threatening all afternoon, dull and gray and humidity that was anything but friendly to your hair. It poured through the window like your own personal heatwave every time you walked past the open kitchen window,coated the tiled countertop in an irritable condensation. 

It came wafting through the air with the smell of the impending storm when you opened the door to your friends. Finally, after hours of building up, heavy raindrops patter against the porcelain of your kitchen sink, forcing you to hastily close the window while giggles pour from your friends’ mouths. 

Between your two hands, you can count the number of times the lot of you have been in the same time zone since graduation, let alone the same city. You’d spent the entire humid day wiping condensation off the counters and cutting cheese into perfect cubes and gathering the nicest bundles of grapes you could from the three grocery shops within walking distance. 

The sound of the storm against the glass is drowned out by red-wine laughter and tales of big cities and big dreams, all so vastly different. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you, phone face-up on your thigh, the stem of an empty wine glass pinched between two fingers, twisting the glass around mindlessly.  

Your phone buzzes, for the fourth time in eight minutes. And for the fourth time in eight minutes, you pick it up, abandoning glass on the cluttered coffee table next to the week-old vase of pink anemones. 

Stop texting me, he’s messaged. Enjoy your time with your friends.

You smile softly, your incriminating grin illuminated bright OLED white in contrast to the soft yellow lamp lighting the dim room. You stop texting me, you replied, because you’re a pig-tailed girl on the schoolyard when you talk to him, your normally composed, carefully developed persona melting into a puddle of mush at the mere thought of him. 

Can’t, he responds. I am bored. 

Why? You’re never bored.

“Oh, my God!” your best friend, Roma, teases in broken English, her Italian accent not nearly as light as the cube of ​​Gorgonzola she’d tossed at your head from the other end of the sofa. “Who are you speaking to?” She questions. 

“Just a friend,” you say too quickly, too defensive for anyone in the room to believe. 

Roma quirks her brow at you, curious grin painted on her face. “Yeah? Just a friend?”

“I’m serious,” you insist, turning your phone off. You set it face down on the table, and it vibrates there almost immediately, all of your friends’ eyes watching for your reaction. The corners of your lips tremble, fighting a soft smile, and you shrug, bringing your empty wine glass to your lips, turning your head up to the ceiling, the last few drops of red falling through your lips. And then it vibrates again, the bright colors of your background pouring out in a soft ring of light around your phone. You still don’t flinch, but Roma does, lurching forward and snatching it up before you have time to react. 

“‘Because,” she reads. “‘I’m normally speaking with you at this time,’” she looks over to another friend, grinning,“From Charles. With the emoji that does like this,” she says, mimicking the blushing emoji you have next to his name.“But with the pink on the cheek, yes?” She continues explaining. 

You sink into the sofa, popping that cube of cheese into your mouth before gathering up the baby hairs and bangs that had fallen loose from your ponytail, carefully twisting the hair into a tiny, thin braid coming out from the middle of your hairline. 

“Just your friend?” Roma questions, and you don’t have to look up from your distraction braid to know she’s raising her brows and grinning at you. 

— — — 

You sit next to him in the fourth row of church pews, one leg crossed over the other, desperately wishing the wedding mass program that sat on your lap was a paper fan, not yet having resorted to the lengths some of your fellow guests had gone to and actually using the cardstock to cool down. 

One leg is crossed over the other, the tip of your heel-clad foot threatening to tap the back of the pew in front of you with every awkward, uncomfortable roll of your ankle you attempt. At least your dress is sleeveless, you think. Charles is not as lucky, a formal suit perfectly fitted to his frame, one arm draped behind you over the back of the pew, his fingers mindlessly twirling one of the tiny braids that riddle your ponytail. Neither of you speak nearly enough Spanish or know nearly enough people for this to be any sort of enjoyable. 

“Do you understand them at all?” You whisper, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Because I do not.”

“Absolutely not,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head, his hand finding yours, interlocking in your lap. “And I am about to die from heatstroke.”

You nod. “You, me, and the rest of the church,” you sigh, pretending not to hear the crying baby or the stressed mother in the back of the church. You figure she has the eyes of enough judgy relatives to drown out any soft sentiments from a stranger.  “Can they just kiss and wrap it up?” You ask, and as is on cue, the newlyweds are locking lips under the cathedral candlelight. 

“Oh shit,” Charles giggles, the two of you hurrying to stand with everyone else in the room who understood what's been happening for the last hour and a half. You hastily adjust the skirt of your dress, feeling quickly to make sure you hadn’t sweat-stained the fabric, or worse, the bench you’d been all but stuck to. “Thank God,” he says, just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The church quickly funnels out of the church behind the couple, filing into the cars that were driving to the reception location. Police officers line the road on either side, cameras and strangers gathered at their barriers. You walk out with your hand interlaced in his, watching every step you take down the steep concrete stairs. 

“Is it like this every time one of you gets married?” You ask, staring at the uniformed officers. They’re a stark contrast to the summer air, to the leaves of the trees drenched in sunlight, and to the flowers buzzing with bees. It feels like you’re at a royal wedding—the ones with professional watchers and ceremonies that get broadcast to millions of people around the world. But it’s not that. It’s just your boyfriend’s teammate. 

“Um,” Charles shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he admits. “I don’t think so,” he continues, letting you duck into the black sedan first. “I think it’s just his family.”

“Gosh,” you breathe out, relaxing in the calm of the air-conditioned car. “It’s like a whole production.”

“I know,” he shakes his head, uncapping a water bottle that was waiting in the car door cup holder and passing it to you first. “It’s like they’re Spanish royalty or something,” he laughs. 

You nod animatedly, drinking down the water before passing the now half-full bottle to him. “Exactly like that!” you laugh. 

— — — 

“Three wishes,” you grin, spinning around to face him, antique Arabian oil lamp in your hand. 

The second-hand shop smells like vintage leather and dusty velvet. La Dolce Vita plays from the store radio, and it sounds like it’s on vinyl even though it isn’t. The store is full of gaudy outfits and gaudier decor, and there in the middle of it is you and Charles, the ladder laughing every time the former makes the same joke about twenty different items, each uglier than the one before, being ‘just what I was looking for.’

“I wish for unlimited wishes, obviously,” He says, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not. That goes against Genie rule number three.”

It’s chilly, the early morning dew still crisp in the air. A gentle breeze pours in from the propped open door, and with it comes the smell of fresh pastries and espresso from the bakery next door. It smells gentle and warm and makes the vintage store feel like your yia-yia’s house on the last morning of your last visit to her house. 

You’re wearing your favorite pair of jeans, a pair of pink sneakers, and a sweater that was your favorite before you shrunk it a size in the dryer the day before. You cover up the fashion faux pas with a tan wool coat and long, hardly managed hair. He’s dressed like you, but elevated. Always more elevated than you, even if the only brand he seems to bring into his closet anymore is his friend’s. 

“Ah,” he nods, pulling you closer by the opening of your coat.  “Of course,” he smiles, speaking softly. “And what are the other rules?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, dimples digging into your cheeks at the mere sight of his. “No bringing people back from the dead, no making someone fall in love,” you hum, “and no wishing for more wishes.” 

Charles quirks a brow, dropping his head to the side. “Those are stupid rules,” he protests, pouting. “What if those were all three of my wishes?”

You shrug, holding up the lamp to his eye level. “Got to get educated on Genie’s, man,” you tease, cheeks aching. “I don’t know what to tell you,” you giggle, stepping even closer. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules,” he repeats. “How about…” he says, leaning in, still grinning. “Wish one,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your lips. “Wish two,” he says, repeating the action. “And,” he grins, pulling away momentarily to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You think you could die on the spot, melt right into a puddle on the shop floor. Your face is so hot. “Wish three?” he says, and as a surprise to nobody, leans in to kiss you again. 

“Nope,” you shake your head, desperate for another breeze to blow through the shop, to cool you down, to keep you standing. “I expected better wishes. Very… μη πρωτότυπο.”

“Mi protótypo?” he repeats, and your grin grows.

“Not original.”

— — —

Charles’ apartment couldn’t be more different than yours, and not even solely on a decoration level. Fundamentally, you two come from two different spaces, and trying to merge those spaces has been nothing short of a treat. 

Not that your decor styles are the same either, because you think his are one-of-kind. So one of a kind, that the two of you had gone through each other’s apartment with yard-sale stickers from the corner store, tagging everything you refused to mesh with in red, and everything you refused to part with in green.  Who else can say they have three dozen racing helmets and trophies in the living room, a blown-up shot of a homeless American man on their dining room wall, and a piano that costs more than your net worth in the foyer? That is some perfectly Charles Leclerc decor, and if you had told yourself once that you would be endeared by all of it, you’d have laughed in your face. 

But you do. You adore it, the way it perfectly encapsulates her personality. And you adore him, and the way he put a green sticker on a total of seven things in his whole apartment because he wanted to make sure it felt like your space too. 

“Why did you not label any of these boxes?” He asks, the two of you stood in his dining room. In your dining room. In the dining room. 

“Um…” you hesitate. “You know, I was going to. I really was,” you nod, staring at at least twenty cardboard boxes, each of them completely indistinguishable from the others, not a single identifying marker on any of them. 

“And then?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, the herringbone hardwood creaking under his feet with the shifting of his weight. 

“And then I realized I packed my Sharpie,” you nod.

“Mmm,” he hums, scratching his beard, his fingers moving over his face and into his hair, combing through it stressfully. He’s so patient with you. Hopelessly patient with you, and would never admit it. “But you could not find the box it was in?” You shake your head, agreeing with his statement. “Because you forgot to label any of the boxes?”

“Because I didn’t label any of the boxes,” you confirm, an apologetic look painted across your face, eyes soft and sweet, attempting to remind him just how much he loves you. “And suddenly the movers were there. And now I’m here.”

“Oh,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much,” he says. “I love you so much,” he repeats, voice blank, unconvincing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I was thinking we start in the dining room,” you joke, smiling softly, pulling a chuckle from his lips. You can always count on him to laugh at your stupid jokes. Even when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with you.“I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing the forearm crossed over your chest. 

“I know,” he hums. “It’s okay. It won’t be too bad.”

— — — 

A soft summer breeze floats through the air, blows through the linen pinned to clotheslines in the neighborhood. It brings with it salt air and the careful wafts of cinnamon and nutmeg and eggplants and tomatoes. You sip a glass of Retsina, ignoring the bitter and accepting the sweet. 

The olive trees are draped in endless strings of lights, and gentle, traditional music plays from the live band and the wooden stage your uncles had built with your dad. Your Yia-yia moves around from table to table pinching the cheeks of your cousins, reminding the single girls to check their shoes for their prince charmings. 

The sun is setting on the water, golden shadows cutting around the soft cement architecture. The air is light. Charles wears a tan linen suit with an evil-eye boutonniere. You wear a white dress and a cold coin in your left shoe. 

“You told them no to the money, right?” He asks softly, sipping a glass of white. 

“I did,” you nod. “Well. I told my parents,” You shrug. “Whether or not they convey the message to the four hundred other people here, I guess we’ll find out.”

“It’s weird, no? A first dance and a last dance?”

You smile softly, watching a stray cat hurry down an alleyway. “My family keeps coming up to us and pretending to spit,” you giggle, “But the second dance is where you draw the line in the weird sand?”

“None of it’s weird” he shakes his head, reaching to tuck a curly piece of hair behind your ear, adjusting your veil accordingly. “It’s all you,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. His lips are soft, and he tastes like apples and melon and citrus, as easy to kiss as ever. “And I love you.”

“Ah,” you nod, a teasingly soft smile parting your lips. “He loves me,” you say, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “I was worried.”

“You act very worried,” he grins. “Wedding dress and all.”

“Oh,” you feign surprise as if you've noticed the setting for the first time. “This old thing? The one that costs a quarter of my salary?”

Charles nods, humming. “That’s the one. Keeps taking my damn breath away.”

You look down at yourself, an innocent, girlish smile draped over your lips, the pink shades of the sunset painting themselves warm over your cheeks. A gust of wind blows through the space, the breeze gently blowing through your veil, through the fabric of your dress. 

“Are you ready?” You ask, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon, be swallowed up inch by inch into the sea, using your hand as a shade-visor. “No time like the present, right?” You add, downing what’s left in your glass. “Our second dance as newlyweds.”

“Our second dance,” Charles nods, holding out his hand, waiting for your fingers to interlock with his. “Let’s go.”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

You could just tell him. 

You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.

He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear it’ll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. You’re weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.

Maybe that’s just on your end. 

You’ve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like he’s holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, you’ve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. That’s what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesn’t fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache. 

You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one). 

Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escaping—now where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some bandit’s tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death? 

You shudder to think of it. 

In the days since John brought you home, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. It’s as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.

You should’ve just waited them out. It’s clear now, what you should’ve done, but who can argue with the past? You’re sick of telling yourself that there might’ve been another way. It doesn’t change the way things are now. 

There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isn’t looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.

Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away. 

Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. John’s deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesn’t belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.

The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it. 

He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you can’t excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, you’ll have no choice but to belt it out. 

The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of John’s deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and there’s a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house. 

It’s a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“John?” you ask, uncertainly. 

He doesn’t answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line. 

“John?” you repeat, more force behind your words this time. “What’s wrong?” 

“Passenger train up east is about to be robbed,” John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if it’s loaded. “Simon got word.”

“How’d he know before it even happened?” you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids. 

“Informant. He’s got ‘em all over the county.”

Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has John’s other horse saddled up and ready to go.

“When will you—” You can’t finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesn’t answer you. 

You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going. 

John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t fancy havin’ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“Well, you just see here now—”

“You heard me, darlin’—”

“Price,” Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. He’s never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones. 

John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.

“You be good while I’m gone,” John says, casting you one last parting glance.

You screw your lips into a scowl. “Don’t you dare die out there.”

That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.

John’s horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them. 

You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.

It dawns on you that John hadn’t said goodbye either. That has to count for something.

Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.

You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood.  

Kate comes over later that morning while you’re still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.

“Morning!” she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.

She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards. 

“Morning,” you greet tentatively. “Not that I don’t appreciate spending time with you, but don’t you have a store to run?”

Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. “Folks chip in when they have to—I’ve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, what’s the point of owning a business if you can’t take a day off every now and then?”

You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. “Did he tell you to come babysit me?” 

You don’t specify who, but it’s obvious enough.

Her lips flatten. “I offered.”

All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. “They seemed in a hurry to leave. Didn’t think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.” 

“John didn’t do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.”

“My man,” you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. “So he didn’t ask you to come?”

Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. “No, ma’am. Thought I’d just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.”

Your frown keeps getting deeper. “Don’t ma’am me, Kate. And I don’t need your company if you’ve just come to make fun of me.”

“Hand to heart—I came only to make sure you were alright.” Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. “Give me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and I’ll be right back.”

You could almost kiss her for that though. You’d been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you haven’t felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kate’s presence takes some of that stress away. 

Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You can’t seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away. 

You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.

It’s well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. You’d long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you. 

And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.

“I suppose he’s—” Kate says, but you don’t hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat. 

When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill. 

Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across John’s face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation he’d gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadn’t even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home. 

John smiles down at you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

That’s almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadn’t realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry that’d been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees. 

“Are you well?” you ask, throat tight. 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you. 

Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.

“Never better,” he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.

You hear the door open again. “Hi John,” Kate calls from the door.

“Hi Laswell,” John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.

A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. You’re not sure what to read into it, but reading’s never been your strong suit. 

“I’ll see myself out then,” Kate says. “Leave you two lovebirds to it.” Her words make you bristle, but even that isn’t enough to pull your eyes off your husband. 

“Don’t look so put out—Soap’s just down the path waiting to take you home,” John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.

Kate rolls her eyes. “So chivalry’s not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.”

You don’t hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue. 

The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. “You’re hurt.”

He huffs. “Just a sore rib. Nothing worth fussin’ over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. “Your hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.”

John nods. “I’ll put Chiron away and then come in.”

“Chiron?”

“This boy here.” His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mind—another piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name you’ll never be able to shake. 

You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. It’s how you track him from the window. It’s too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now it’s quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds. 

You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale. 

He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesn’t so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that might’ve gotten in. He’s a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles. 

“Do you want me to call the doctor in the morning?” you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room. 

John shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Wasn’t anything too serious.”

You frown. “Are you sure? I don’t want to risk it getting infected—”

He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. You’ve felt them over every part of you—loose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim. 

You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now. 

“It’s not that bad, darlin’,” he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. “Y’did a good job fixin’ me up. You’re a good little nurse.”

“I’m no substitute for proper medical care,” you snip, still frowning. 

“Ah, if I die, I die.”

“That’s not funny,” you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like there’s something new writ large on your face.

There’s a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadn’t noticed until now. Once you notice it, it’s impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away. 

“Now where’s this all coming from?” John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you. 

His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except it’s dark now and there’s not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. You’d be a blubbery drunk anyway; you’ve always been something of a sad sack. 

“I thought you might come back hurt,” you whisper. “And you did.” 

His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. “I’m sorry to make you worry, darlin’. I meant nothing by my words. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. “Well, only if you want to.”

“Don’t get smart with me, wife—”

He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden. 

John sighs. “We’ve been making a right mess of things, haven’t we?”

You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement. 

It’s in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that. 

Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.

There’s love and then there’s thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?

There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You don’t yet know if that’s possible for you, but you’re starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side. 

Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection. 

If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right. 

So instead, you ask, “Can we just put it behind us and move on?”

John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. “Already forgotten.” 

You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you. 

[mywritersmind]

AT YOUR EX’S WEDDING - LN4

summary : Getting invited to your ex’s wedding isn’t ideal. Going with a douchebag from your highschool is even worse. But meeting a very attractive man in the deep of a garden? That might just make it all worth it.

listen up : suggestive comments! alcohol! wrote this forever ago and never finished but suddenly got motivated so here ya go! no part 2!!

words : 2621

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I wasted the prettiest dress I own for my ex’s wedding and a guy who’s staring at my tits. “You look upset…” His grubby little hands rub my arms, “We can leave.”

I eye the guy, blonde and pale. I shake my head and down my champagne, “I’d bet you would love that…”

I don’t look back as I walk away, just grab another glass of champagne and walk out into fresh air. My heels are hurting my feet and the setting sun is blinding me.

As soon as I get into the garden though, I feel like I can finally breathe. I can’t lie, this place is beautiful. The sky is pink and blue, the gardens are green and I can’t see them ending anytime soon.

I walk slowly, letting the cool air wash over me. I’ve got to hand it to him, his dream really did come true. He used to talk to me about a picture perfect wedding, big and white. Something that showed the value of his marriage.

We disagreed a lot after that.

I sigh and sip my drink, turning a corner to see a huge fountain. It’s surrounded by flowers, an array of colors that compliment the bright green and setting sun.

I walk slowly around it, listening to the water and faint music from the wedding.

I stop when I see someone sitting on the grass, his head leaning back on the stone of the fountain. I can’t see his whole face, just his side profile.

He’s got dark hair, curly and cut into a messy mullet. He’s wearing a suit, some buttons undone and his tie loose around his neck. In his hand lies a bottle of champagne and when he brings it to his lips, his jaw goes sharp.

I take another step and he clearly hears me because his head cocks towards me quickly. “Sorry.” I mumble as he stares blankly at me.

“Uh…” He stands quickly, looking disheveled and surprisingly attractive, “Don’t worry.” My gaze goes to the bottle in his hand and when his eyes follow, he laughs a bit, “Want me to top you off?” He eyes my own empty glass. He has an accent and I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Maybe because he got instantly hotter?

I hesitantly smile, he’s oddly welcoming and when I step forward, he pours the sparkling drink into my glass, “Thank you. I did not want to go back in there just for a drink.” I joke but the expression on his face makes me nervous, “Shit, you’re not one of the groomsmen are you?”

He shakes his head, clearly finding this funny as a smile tugs at his lips, “No, Lucky for you, I'm just a plus one.” I nod slowly as he plops himself back down, sitting on the fountain's edge this time. He looks up at me, holding out his hand, “I’m Lando.”

Something about him feels familiar. His grip is strong and his ring makes a noise against mine. “Y/n.” I sit down next to him, sipping my drink and breathing out.

“Why are you so adamant on not going back in there, Y/n?” He says my name softly and with his accent it makes me want to melt.

I can’t help but laugh, “My ex is the groom, My date has tried to kiss me four times, and the groom's mother is drunk and won’t stop asking me why I broke up with him.”

He lets out a big laugh, “Fuck. Those are great reasons to not go back.” Shaking his head, he takes another swing of the champagne, coughing a bit.

“Why are you hiding out here?” I ask, pushing my hair behind my shoulder.

“My date knows the bride but has left me for a groomsman.” He shrugs, “Not too upset though, just wanted something to do tonight.”

“Very interesting. Normal people would go out and see a movie for entertainment, not go to the wedding of someone you don’t know.”

“Well, I've met you so it worked out for the best.” He gives me a little glance and I notice his eyes. The sun is almost down but the light still shines in them, green and a bit brown.

I shake my head, “You don’t even know me.”

He scrunches his nose, keeping eye contact, “Yet my nights looking up.”

I take the bottle out of his hand because my glass is empty, bringing it to my lips and letting the liquid into my mouth. “Something about you is familiar.”

He raises a brow, taking the bottle back. “Oh?”

I would have to remember him, he’s too pretty for me to forget. “I can’t figure out what. Maybe you just have one of those faces. But then again I think I would remember you.”

He laughs, “Well clearly not because you recognize me from somewhere.” I frown, looking at his face intently, “Come on… think about it.”

So he must know me then. Otherwise, where else would I know him from? “I definitely haven’t met you, the accent alone would stick. So what is it then? Do we have mutals on instagram?”

Lando just smiles softly, “I’ve never met you. I can say that for sure.”

“So what is it? God don’t tell me you’re a model-”

“You think I'm hot enough to be a model? I’m flattered.” I roll my eyes but secretly I bite back a smile.

“You’ve definitely got the attitude of a model. Are you famous?” A slight change in his expression gives it away. “You are! What do you do? Is it embarrassing that I don’t know you?”

Lando shakes his head, “Unless you know the sport.” So he’s an athlete. His build sort of gave that away, even under the suit I can tell. But he’s not very tall and I honestly hate sports so I don’t think I'm going to get this one.

I sigh, leaning back on my hands, “I give up.”

Lando laughs again, the type of sound that makes you feel accomplished because you made it happen, “Maybe i’ll tell you later.”

“Mysterious.” I look him up and down, “That’s hot.”

He gives me a funny look, like he’s trying to figure me out, “I like you.”

I laugh a bit, looking around at the now dark gardens, the moonlight shining and matching with fairy lights around us, “Probably because you still don’t know me.”

“Fine then, Y/n.” His eyes sparkle as they land on me again, scooting closer to me. “Tell me about yourself.”

“That’ll be easy, I love talking about myself. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you and your ex break up?”

“Getting right into it I see…” I take another sip, “I broke up with him because he was obsessed with our future, not even in a cute way like genuinely wanted me to drop out of school. We dated in college after being friends for all of highschool.”

“So… why were you invited? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn’t invite my ex to my wedding.”

“Who knows? I was drunk when I replied to the invite and clearly did not think it through. My ex is nice though, it’s not like I'm getting champagne drunk because I'm sad, I'm happy for him.” I drink more from the bottle.

“Where did you go to college?”

“Charleston. How about you?”

“I didn’t go, I barely finished mandatory school.” I pull my heels off as he says, “I’ve never been to Charleston, I heard it’s pretty.”

“Very.” A chill washes over me as the night seems to rest over us, “How do you know your date for tonight?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish, “Sort of a one time thing…” Hookup. Got it. “But she was talking about how she didn’t have a date and how it would be sad so I just said I could go. Got a bit awkward when she paraded me around just to ditch me.”

“Well it all turned out well didn’t it? Now that we’re here.” His eyes are so soft and endearing as he listens to me speak.

“Why do you keep swerving your dates kiss attempts? Bad breath?” I laugh and bury my face in my hands.

“God it’s so stupid. I knew him in highschool and he always wanted to hook up with me so I knew he’d say yes… But he’s a total tool!”

Lando thinks this is quite hilarious, “Well then,” He holds up the bottle, “To our shitty dates and weird ass night.”

He pours some into my mouth, misses a bit and swears before holding my jaw and pouring more in as I’m about to start choking on my laugh and champagne.

“Fuck.” He giggles as he tries to wipe my mouth but ends up just rubbing his hand over my face, “Sorry!” He drinks as I swallow and let out a much needed laugh.

“I should handle champagne better at this point.” I raise a brow at Lando’s words and it reminds me that I truly know nothing about him.

“Can I try to guess what you play?” A slow smirk tugs at his lips, turning to me and nodding.

“Go ahead, love.” I pretend I don’t hear the nickname and try to think.

“Well it’s not football.” I screw up my face and sit criss cross to look at him better, “Tennis?” He shakes his head.

“What’s your favorite color?” I guess it’s a sport for a question then.

“Green.” Looking into his eyes and saying that feels oddly intimate. “Volleyball?”

He makes a face, “No. Favorite hobby?”

“Reading.” I shiver a bit at the cool air, “Does it involve a ball?”

I think he’s going to say yes but when he shakes his head, I frown. “Skateboarding?”

“Nope. What do you like to read?”

“Romance and mystery. Is it swimming?” That could make sense, he’s fit enough but not exactly slim.

“No. Have you ever dyed your hair?” I laugh at the question because it’s so out of the blue.

“When I was really young I had blue and pink highlights.” His eyebrows raise at this, “Oh shut up it was a great phase!”

“I’m sure it was. And I can't judge because I had a buzz once.” I cover my mouth at his words. I can not imagine that. His hair is like the cherry on top.

“I will be needing photos of that later… My last guess is gymnastics!”

“Still no.” He smiles as I groan and take another drink of champagne, “I drive.”

I sit up straighter and I'm dead serious when I say, “Monster trucks?”

He laughs out loud again, “Formula 1 cars.” My jaw actually drops at this.

“I would never have guessed! I mean, I don’t know a lot about Formula 1 anyways… but doesn’t that mean you’re like really rich?” He looks a bit shy at this which means i’m 100% right.

“And humble.” I nod.

“You really didn't know?”

“Nope. My family is into soccer and soccer only, so I never really cared about anything else.”

“I like that.”

“You like that I know nothing about your job?”

“Absolutely. I hate when people know it… Especially women.”

“Oh? So I'm a ‘woman’ to you now?”

A little smile settles on his face while he looks anywhere around the garden but me, “I think I'm a good judge of character. And I like yours.”

I’ve never had a guy express his interest in me within an hour of meeting, especially one that I found in a garden like a fucking fairy.

“Does that usually work on women?” I decide to tease him a bit.

“Not sure, I’ve never tried it. Is it working on you?” I suddenly have the feeling that he’s being serious. I can tell he’s a flirt, that’s obvious enough with who he’s here with.

Yet I just stand up and take the bottle with me, walking away from him. He follows, a rustling of his clothes and the sudden warmth of his jacket over my shoulders surprises me.

I don’t thank him, I just watch him walk quietly next to me, his eyes scanning the night sky. “What’s your last name?”

“Trying to figure out how you’ll sound with it?” I roll my eyes, “Norris. Don't lie though, Y/n Norris sounds good.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I get that a lot.” We continue walking, my feet feeling the grass as I realize Lando’s holding my heels. I had left them with the intent to go back, but he just took them.

I turn to him, “So, Lando Norris.” I start walking backward, watching the way his eyes trail up and down my body. “You’ve got a good name.”

He nods, slowly walking with me, “Thank you, love.” His shirt is well fitted, his arms pressing against it and the sleeves rolled halfway up.

His eyes get wide as I'm checking him out, causing me to turn to see what he’s looking at. My jaw drops at the sight. “That’s-”

“My date!” we say in unison. I whip my head to him as he raises his brow. The two are in the midst of pulling off each other's clothes while their lips stay attached.

I slap my hand over my mouth as they turn to us. His date is very pretty and her lipstick is smeared over her mouth. My date doesn’t look embarrassed at all, just annoyed we interrupted.

“You two carry on.” I hear Lando say as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of there. We start running then, laughing and out of breath.

“I need to bleach my eyes!” I scream as Lando slows, his breathing labored.

“I think his hand was up her dress!” He looks scarred for life.

“Oh my god!” I stop, “Our dates!” I’m practically bent over laughing, “Lando, Our dates!”

“Fuck this weird ass day!” His hand tightens over mine, reminding me that he’s holding onto me still. “I need something stronger than champagne. Come back to my hotel?”

I raise a brow, teasing him, “Why Norris, I've just met you.”

His smile is slow and sexy, “I’ll save you from a one night stand and raise you whiskey and netflix. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”

“I weirdly have trust in you.”

He wraps his arm around me, our hands still attached as we leave the grassy area, “It’s not weird. We’re just two friends who happen to be very pretty and a tad bit drunk at an ex and a random wedding.”

Lando and I spent the night laughing over drinks, room service, and how to lose a guy in ten days. He didn’t touch me besides his arm comforting me as I fell asleep next to him, and even shook his head when I joked about it being a one night thing.

His promise was never broken… more like expired and loopholed by me. I kissed him in a bookstore and he gave me a new favorite version of his smile. Soft and romantic with his eyes focused on me and his hand in mine, “And to think… it all started at your ex’s wedding.”

He sighed as we walked into the elevator, I elbowed him, “Lando, that was yesterday.” His hands went to his pockets but not before slipping his arm around mine so we’re intertwined. I looked up to see him biting back a shit eating grin as if we’ve been married for years.

I just shake my head and stare at the silver doors in front of us. Yet still, I couldn’t help but smile.

[luludeluluramblings]

Based on this concept...

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Weddingplanner!Reader trying to help Selina find the perfect wedding dress.

Weddingplanner!Reader: You know, usually it’s just the bridesmaids and the bride’s family that help with this. Not the entire wedding party and the damn groom.

Weddingplanner!Reader glaring at the entire Bat Family sitting next to a bored Ivy and a chortling Harley.

Weddingplanner!Reader: It’s just bad luck and all. Besides everyone that’s not going to buy a dress should probably leave so the other patrons could have a chance to shop.

Cue EVERYONE trying on dresses and kicking the other patrons out of the store.

Jason and Cassandra helping each other with black gowns and veils so they can pretend to be Victorian widows in mourning.

Barbara pausing her attempt to blackmail Damian into a dress to glare at Dick who is absolutely rocking a mermaid silhouette gown.

Stephanie making a pile of the most expensive and avant-garde dresses she can find while searching for the sluttiest dress in the store. Then shoving Tim in the thing, leaving him to fear for the exposure of his dangly bits.

Bruce running around like a headless-chicken to grab every dress Selina thinks would look good on Weddingplanner!Reader because the couple wants them to feel included too.

Weddingplanner!Reader having no choice but to go along with it because they have to keep the bride and groom happy.

Harley cackling in delight at the chaos while Ivy drinks champagne straight from the bottle.

Duke getting sent pictures of the whole thing while on daytime patrol and laughing his ass off. (While feeling mildly jealous.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Not dead! Just busy as balls. I have small children that are extremely excited about Christmas and have had a lot on my plate. (Plus, writing Pregnant!Reader made my baby fever spike bad. But, I think it has passed.) I can't give an estimate on things right now, but I'm gonna try to get it out. Hopefully this gives y'all a little somethin' somethin'.

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[bunny-jpeg]

the father who stepped up

cw: age gap, step-cest, dub-con, forced impregnation, breeding, daddy kink, degradation, graves sucks as a step-father, dead dove-don't eat

well, weren't you just a beauty? graves could understand why he simply couldn't control himself around you. it was an obsession. that was why he hated when you left for the new school year. summer was coming to an end, which meant he didn't see you for many weeks while you were out of town for school. it honestly broke his heart.

he didn't hate your mother, after all he did marry her. but he wanted a newer model. and that was where you came in. at home for the summer. it started out slow, when your mother was out of the house he'd put kisses all over you. then he groped your breasts and ass. until finally you crumbled into him.

then the true fun began. almost every night in your childhood bedroom he rammed his hard cock into you. he watched your breasts bounce with the force of his fucking. he often had to put a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud.

you weren't even in your mid-twenties and he was having thoughts about leaving your mother and marrying you. he hoped by that point you had a sweet little belly. a sign that he was the only man who ever got to seed you. the thoughts raced in his mind often, even when he wasn't fucking you into the double mattress.

he hated that you had to leave soon, but if anything it made him want to get you pregnant faster. his voice was a low purr in your ear as he said, "you like that, sugar? you like when daddy fucks you nice and good?" then gave you a hard slap on the ass. the house was empty expect for the two of you.

he currently had you on your elbows and knees with your face buried in the pillow and your ass in the air. your tight heat was constricting his cock while made him feel hot all over. he got rougher when he was drinking, the drive to impregnate his step-daughter only became more intense after a few drinks in him.

and after all, you two were home alone so he could finish in you as many times as he wanted or needed. you were on cloud nine with the feeling of his cock stretching your more intimate area in a position that left you vulnerable to pregnancy.

"yeah, daddy wants a full house. and you got a lot of time left to give me all the kids i want. leave school and be my bride, sweetheart." he purred.

you whimpered, "I can't, it's my last year." you wiggled a little but it only enticed him more. you moaned into the covers and arched your back further as he got more aggressive with his thrusts.

he yanked your hair and pulled your head up, he leaned forward to your ear and said, "see, that's the problem. you don't get a say. you're mine, and nothing is going to stop me from breeding that sweet little cunt of yours." he said matter of factly.

you gripped onto the covers and felt butterflies in your stomach. the bed creaked with each of his movements and his heavy breathing was hot in your ear.

he chuckled and gripped your strands closer to the scalp, "you're mine, and once biology works its magic and you end up saddled with a few of my kids you'll see it my way. this is better for you than any degree." he then pushed your head back into the pillow and kept you there by your neck as he continued to ram his cock into you.

it felt like heaven, like the sweetest euphoria he could ever have. he never had it when he fucked your mother. only your sweet pussy left him yearning for more. he knew he'd still want it, even after a little wear and tear from having his big babies.

he continued to thrust in and out of you. he held you down and had his way with you. he was glad you were slowly seeing the picture. he let go of your neck, assured you were going to stay down and his hand trailed along your stomach.

he got aroused further by the idea of you being the most perfect wife for him. he'd cut up your credit card, burn all your shoes and keep that belly nice and full. you only had to rely on him. he was a traditional man and he'd take care of what was his. most times he would consider himself a gentleman, but it was hard to argue for it when he has your back arched and your pussy full. his cock bullied your cervix.

you whimpered and moaned, you clawed at the bed as it hit against the wall. such a sweet symphony. graves' cock twitched inside of you at the idea of you wearing his shirts to cover your swollen middle.

in all fairness you could be nude in your shared home, no one would see you. there wouldn't be a neighbor for miles. whatever his little wife felt comfortable in.

with a few more hard thrusts he finished inside of you, then laid his chest against your back, smothering you. he reached for your pussy and played with your clit as your hole contracted around his still hard cock.

you flailed and tried to move away but he kept you pinned down as he placed with your nub. eventually orgasm crashed down on you like rain and your felt a moan be pulled from your mouth before you felt the energy leave you.

you laid on the bed, soft and limp. but graves wasn't done. your mother would be home in an hour, he thought he could get at least two more orgasms in before he felt content with his breeding.

he slapped your ass once more and growled in your ear, "look alive, sugar, i ain't done with you."

-

you came back that winter break with a slight slope in your belly. all graves could do was smile by the rim of his scotch glass. he could feel the twitch in his pants, especially when your hand went to the bump. he knew, no words needed to be spoken.

he had planted his seed in his step-daughter, and soon he'll suggest that you take some time off school to raise that little baby. after all his brats weren't going to be raised without a mother.

xoxo, bunny

[artdcnaldson]

daddy cat i have thoughts about newly divorced art and a girl who takes her time getting him hard :( and he feels so loved because he doesn’t have to focus on getting it done as fast as possible to please someone

exactlyyyy exactly mhmm

Thinking that he had a string of failed hookups out at bars where he was trying to fuck in bathrooms or in his car and it just didn't happen because he wanted it but his body wasn't cooperating. He was on the wrong side of drunk or the nerves and pressure was too high, and he ended up getting laughed off by the pretty girl beneath him.

So I think he gets away from hookups he finds in a bar or club for a while. Maybe he meets you at a wedding— one of his young cousins is finally tying the knot, and you're a friend of the bride. Sweet, friendly, gorgeous. He probably looks like a creep, the way he stares at you because he's too nervous to actually say something.

Which is stupid. He won seven slams in his career. He's a tennis superstar, a household name. He bumps into you at the dessert table after they've cut and served the wedding cake— the layer he gets is white cake with raspberry filling. You get a slice of the groom's cake— chocolate with espresso cream.

"Hey... you're Art Donaldson, right?" You ask as you take a tiny bite of the cake. When he nods, you smile. "I thought so, but Kayla— that's my friend from high school— well, she swore you were just some guy. So I googled you, and I was like, no that's definitely him. Anyways, do you want a drink?"

You both have a glass of the bride's signature cocktail (vodka cran), then another, before you're on the dance floor together. It starts off innocent enough, but then there's more drinks flowing, and guests start leaving, and the music gets weirdly better as the night goes on. You're both a little handsy and it's not long before you're stumbling back to his Jeep in the parking lot.

It was a post-divorce impulse buy. An impulse buy with a nice, roomy back seat. Plenty of space to tug you onto his lap, pull down your dress, and mouth at your tits in the backseat.

You reach down, palming him through his fancy suit pants. You pause, blinking a few times, and work the buttons of his pants so you can actually take him into your hands. You try to coax him to full hardness, but he's already flagging. He groans in frustration as his body just won't. fucking. cooperate. He wants you, he knows he wants you, he's just... fuck.

"Sorry," he pants, meeting your gaze with a look that can only be read as sheer mortification. "Shit, it's just... this is... sorry—"

"It's okay," you whisper against his mouth, so his stammered apologies are silenced. You spit into your palm and wrap your hand around his cock again, holding eye contact as you slowly stroke him. "Just relax. We have all night."

You mouth at his throat, his jaw. You trail your lips over the shell of his ear and he melts. He's like putty in your hands as you give him all of your attention— give him the chance to relax and work his way up to it. He moans against your ear and you smile. "That's it," you praise, working your hand faster. "I've got you."