#he's not smiling in this artwork because i like how he looks when he's not doing anything in particular

[quarterlifekitty]

net meet cute

aka: how they start cyberstalking you. Some of these are more on the innocent side, some are slightly more intense.

Gaz sees you pop up in the people you may know section. He most certainly doesn't know you, but you are his type. As it turns out, you have some ridiculously distant relation of people that leads to his circle of connections (you're like his sister's college roommate's wedding photographer's cousin or something). But that one little tether is enough to make him feel tugged.

Soap started following you for your artwork. He follows anyone who even remotely interests him, and he liked what you made. You become a name he looks forward to on his feed-- he feels a bit parasocial about it, he knows your body of work so well now. And one day, he sees you share a post you were tagged in: It's a photo of you with another artist, both holding up the pieces you'd made to trade each other at a convention. He'd known you were talented, he didn't realize you were gorgeous as well.

Ghost sees you in the background of a video Soap shows him. Some disgusting display where people are trying to identify liquids they're drinking. When it's your turn, your face twists and you stick out your tongue, a little patch dyed umber from the soy sauce you'd sipped. He does a little detective work, finds you have a tiny little channel of your own. Nothing with a consistent schedule, clearly just a hobby, but there are a few videos of you restoring old toys, repainting dolls faces and things like that-- usually just showing your hands, but he finds your voice so soothing and you work with such delicate precision. Pretty soon he's obsessed with you, and fantasizing about ending up on your work table.

Price has very few reasons to surf online, but he does have a guilty pleasure: r/AITA. He loves a bit of tabloid level gossip now and again, and its the perfect place for it. He can see the world's most delusional people hard at work. His favorite ones are when both sides are clearly deranged and meant for each other. But then he sees you, posting about your shitty boyfriend, and all too willing to take the blame for the sorry state of things. And he finds himself rather keen on showing you how girls like you ought to be treated, as well as kicking your current man in the teeth.

I've mentioned this before, but I think König meets you in an online game. At first, you never speak on the microphone, and he doesn't either, but you're quite good, and your playstyle compliments his rather well. So he sends you a friend request on a whim, you accept it, playing a few rounds before turning on the party-only voice chat. And once he can hear you when you thank him for tanking damage, or targeting a player who'd been flanking, or pinging a pick-up for you, he's cooked. Looking you up on every social, trying desperately to find pictures of you, because he's sure you'll be as pretty as you sound.

Nikolai find you on a movie review website. He watches movies by the dozen when he gets some time off, but he's admittedly a little bereft of discussion partners, so review suit him fine. He typically disagrees with most of them, partially because he's naturally a contrarian, partially because the majority of online reviews are made by casual watchers and not lifelong cinephiles. And he comes across you, having written one of the only full, multiple-paragraph reviews for the obscure little number he'd just watched. And it straight up made him smile. Your review was punchy, funny, addressed multiple areas including the score, cinematography, casting, and costuming, and he agreed with a surprising portion of it. What he didn't agree with, he was intrigued by. He looks at your page to see what else you've written. You've seen and shared thoughts on many of his favorites, but quite a few things he's never seen, as well. He ends up watching them all, and feels a certain perverse excitement when it comes time to read another review, like he's a teenager taking you on a third date. Before long he's wondering where you are, if you go to the cinema. If they have non-hostile airspace.

Nikto finds you on the staff of some insanely obscure wiki/ID forum. Like, you help run a website/blog that's devoted exclusively to soviet era stuffed animals produced in Sergiev Posad (formerly known as Zagorsk). You help people identify them from pictures, from vague descriptions sent in to you of something from their childhood. He doesn't know why, but he ends up searching up images from others, often from unpopular and defunct listings on marketplace/bidding sites just to send to you. Just to read what you have to say about the stitch markings and stylistic eyes and the little tab of fabric on the leg seam from where the tag was cut. Maybe he'll take it further, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll find out where you are, just to make sure you're safe. Maybe he'll have to keep you safe. People with hearts like yours don't last in this world.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Spoiled by the ice man|| Kimi Raikkonen x Fem!reader

Word count — 574

It started as a simple arrangement. You were a university student juggling classes, a part-time job, and a mountain of bills, when a chance meeting at an exclusive cocktail bar changed everything. Kimi Räikkönen had noticed you from across the room, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with quiet intensity. You’d known who he was, of course—how could anyone not recognize the Iceman? Yet, nothing prepared you for the way he effortlessly slid into your life, turning it upside down with just a few words and a smirk.

Now, you were lounging on a sunbed by the infinity pool at his private villa in Switzerland. The warm summer sun kissed your skin, and the gentle sound of the water lapping against the edge of the pool created the perfect symphony of peace. You had nothing to worry about anymore—not bills, not deadlines, not even what to eat for dinner. Kimi had taken care of everything.

He strolled out onto the terrace with his usual calm demeanor, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and linen shorts, carrying two glasses of champagne. As always, his presence was understated yet commanding. He wasn’t one to boast about his wealth, but the way he spoiled you made it clear just how much he enjoyed lavishing you with his resources.

“You look like you’re plotting something,” he said, handing you a glass and sitting on the sunbed beside you.

“Just plotting how to convince you to take me shopping in Milan next weekend,” you teased, taking a sip of the chilled drink.

He smirked, the corners of his lips barely twitching, but you knew that expression well. “You don’t have to convince me. If you want it, we’ll go.”

That was the thing about Kimi—he was a man of few words, but he never said no when it came to you. Designer handbags, private jet trips, diamond jewelry—he gave you anything you wanted, often before you even asked for it.

But it wasn’t just about the material things. It was the way he paid attention to every little detail about you. Like the time he noticed you struggling with your classes and hired a private tutor to help you excel. Or when he caught you admiring a rare piece of artwork in a gallery and later surprised you with it hanging in your apartment.

“You’re too good to me,” you said, leaning into him and resting your head on his shoulder.

He looked down at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You deserve it,” he said simply.

“Do I, though?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice. “I mean, I don’t exactly bring much to the table.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Don’t say that.”

You swallowed, surprised by the seriousness in his tone.

“You bring more than you realize,” he continued. “It’s not just about the things I can buy. It’s… you. You make life better.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right response. Instead, you leaned up and kissed him softly, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours.

“I hope you know,” you murmured against his lips, “that you’re not just my sugar daddy. You’re my everything.”

A rare smile broke across his face, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you securely. “Good,” he said. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

[jichanxo]

bennybear [from july 2023]

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[reignpage]

Art Student!Choso

Classicism : practice strokes

Contents: 18+ mdni, pure smut, sub!choso, teasing, edging, handjob, tit sucking, morally questionable reader?

Things have taken an unexpected turn. 

When you were assigned project partners with Choso, the mysterious yet popular emo boy in your class, you hadn’t expected to become good friends. Especially since he rarely attended lectures or classes, and was so reserved you actually thought he hated you. 

But now, here you are, at his apartment (again) but this time you’re stripping in front of him. 

His place is nice, really nice, much nicer than any normal student's. Though, Choso isn’t normal, you suppose. He’s a member of one of the richest families in the country. You sure are jealous. The ceilings are tall, the exposed bricks add rough contrast to the polished wooden floors and to the metal beams hanging overhead. There are numerous artworks in his place, some hung up, but most on the floor, not discarded per se, but rather simply kept out of the way. 

The first thing that caught your eye is a huge canvas, half obscured by a large fabric, all wrinkled as if it had been hastily thrown over it. All you can see are red and purple strokes in the corner, disappearing under the blanket. It wasn’t there last time you were here.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Choso awkward mumbles. He rushes off to the kitchen and pours both of you a cup of water, and you take it from him with a smile. 

Then you settle yourself on the floor, sitting by the coffee table a couple metres from his bed. There aren’t any chairs, you noticed. Just a rug. It’s comfortable and plush so you don’t mind. 

Apart from the king sized bed made up of black sheets, the coffee table and the various canvas and paint tins, his place is bare. It’s so totally Choso you can’t help but grin. 

He sits in front of you, crossed legged, his jeans ripped and his black shirt baggy, just as distressed all his other clothes. You’ve gotten so used to his face, it’s easy to see past the huge tattoo crossing his nose. On anyone else, you’d wince, but on him, he just looks adorable. You wonder if he has any other tattoos. He certainly has piercings, lots on his ears. And you’ve caught him waiting outside Uzumaki for his friend, who you know is Geto because your friend writes about him a lot.

All the students go to his place for tattoos and piercings, and sometimes not even that; some guys like to go to be seen near him for the clout, and some girls hope to catch sight of him. 

You’ve seen him around and he’s certainly good looking. And the things you’ve read on the Bulletin, the gossip page, makes him a sexy enigma, for sure. But you’ve never been quite as curious about him as you are of Choso. 

Your friend says Choso is rarely ever seen with another girl; he likes to keep to himself. And on her Insider’s Line, there’s never been any confessions of a 'fun time' with the man. In fact, there are actually rumours he might be a virgin. She’s implored you to ask but you could never. 

“So,” you elongate, stretching out on the carpet, “should we get right into it?”

He blushes, nodding. “Do I go first?”

“Do you want to go first?” You fire back quickly. 

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, eyes looking anywhere but at you, and it's clear he’s shy and embarrassed. This must be just as new to him as it is for you. Feeling merciful, you offer a compromise. 

“How about,” you’re grinning now and his eyes flicker to you, “we do it at the same time?”

Choso gulps. 

“At the same time?”

You laugh, getting up on your knees and leaning over the coffee table to watch him lean back like he might disintegrate if you touch him. What a silly man. 

Hands sliding to the hem of your shirt, you trace the edge, pinching it up to tease a sliver of skin. His eyes are drawn to the movement and your grin widens when he subconsciously leans forward. 

“Let’s both undress and even the playing field. What do you think, Choso?”

Oh, and how Choso hates the way you say his name. You always emphasise every syllable, every letter, with a musical cadence that often leaves him lightheaded. It’s like you know the effect it has on him and you’re determined to make him cave, to embarrass himself. 

He nods, getting up on his knees too, and matching your movements. You both lift your shirts over your head and his eyes are following the material as it slides up and up over your body to reveal a lacy bra. It’s black. Oh, he might just pass out. 

You’re desperately trying not to laugh; Choso’s so entranced with every inch of your skin, you don’t even think he knows he’s licking his lips. But, in his defence, you’re probably not much better. 

Choso is hot. 

Sure, you’ve never thought he was ugly, but he’s always been adorable -- the shy and introverted friend you just can’t help but tease. Looking at him now, though, you realise why Choso’s high up on the List, why, despite being so inaccessible, the girls seek him out. 

His body is lean but chiselled with well-defined abs that look sharp, so sharp you could cut yourself in your exploration. Throwing his shirt over his head, you watch his muscles ripple, tensing and flexing in a way that makes you curious to see how it feels beneath your hands. 

With a gulp, you stand, giggling at the way his head snaps up like he’s worried you’re going to leave. Shaking your head slightly, you reach out a hand to him. He eyes it for a moment before he places his own on top of yours. You pull him up. 

You hope you’re doing a good job of looking reassuring as you unbutton your jeans and slide it down your legs. Hope that you aren’t going too fast — you really don’t want to spook him.

Choso follows suit, kicking his jeans to the side and standing before you in just his black, Calvin Kleins boxers. His thighs are toned and smooth, there’s no doubt in your mind that they’d feel great between your legs. 

Slightly more clothed than him, you stand in your matching lace panties and bra. For reasons you don’t really want to get into, you had been sure to be shaved, waxed and cleansed thoroughly before showing up at his door. Thank goodness for younger you. 

You’re both sweeping your eyes over each other, you with respect for his hard work, and him with something much more lewd. Lips are slightly parted, eyes are darkening and his hands quiver, opening and closing. He wants you. And he wants you bad. 

Why not have a little fun?

Taking both of you by surprise, you’re rounding the table and he’s rooted to his spot, uncertain of what you’re about to do. The poor boy looks terrified. But you try to soothe him with a small smile, reaching a hand out once you’re near and placing it on his chest.

The muscle there flexes like a reflex and you hear his sharp intake of air. You’re so close you can feel his heat, feel every tremor running through his body, and you won’t lie, it’s setting your own alight. 

Wordlessly, you slide that hand down at the slowest pace possible, enjoying thoroughly the feel of his hard body. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t show up to most classes; he’s too busy in the gym. How bad of him. 

And when your finger tips reach the top of his boxers, following the line as it hugs his hips so perfectly, your eyes meet. 

You look so devilish Choso can only gulp, fearing what you’re going to do next. He’s aware you’ve got him in the palm of your hand, toying with him and pushing his buttons, but he doesn’t care. He gives not a single fuck that his stupid cousin would make fun of him endlessly if he knew that he’s shaking like a leaf just cause a girl’s standing in front of him half-naked. 

His hips jerk when your forefinger hooks over the band. 

“Should we take this off?” Your voice is so sultry, he feels like he’s meeting Venus of Urbino in the flesh. “Hmm? Choso?”

There it is. 

The exaggerated movement of your lips and the way you cock your head in question, fluttering your lashes. He’s so hard it’s actually painful, he feels his dick strain against the material, no doubt leaking a wet spot. This is too much, too embarrassing. He can’t move, can’t answer, can't even think with the way his heart is beating so fast.

Can you hear it?

Is it turning you off? Or is it fuelling you?

You already know about the hard time he’s having, pun intended. You saw it through his jeans as soon as you walked into his apartment. And as you stand before him, almost pressed right to his front, you can feel his hardness. 

When he doesn’t say a thing, you smile comfortingly again and hook all your fingers over the band, pulling down just a little and watching his expression for any sign he doesn’t want this. But there’s none. If anything he looks like he’d cum from just the wind alone. 

And there’s no denying that you are almost just as excited as he is. Your nipples are scraping the lace of your cups, poking through, and you can see his eyes darting between them, like he can’t choose a favourite.

Between your legs, you’re sure you’ve soaked your panties. And you feel a certain urge to show him just how wet he’s made you. But that’s a reward, and he’ll have to earn that.

“Choso?”

Through the haze, he hears you call his name, like a siren, leading him deeper into the pleasure. There's no resistance at all when you tug him closer with just your voice. He’s only a man, what strength could he gather to resist you?

He gulps. “Y-yes?”

You flutter your lashes at him again and stand on your tiptoes, grazing his chest with your nipples and he shivers from the feeling of them scraping his bare chest through the lace of your bra. Whispering in his ear, cheeks brushing against each other, you say, “Keep your eyes on me.”

Just as he pushes out the words ‘I will, I promise’, you fall to your knees, dragging his underwear with you and his rock hard cock breezes past your face, leaving a trail of wetness. 

Your jaw slacks. 

Your project partner is packing. 

His dick is just as pretty as he is --so long, clean shaven and thick enough to leave your mouth watering. But you won’t taste him. He needs to earn that, too. And so far, you’re both already behind on your little assignment. 

Unhurriedly, you skim your fingers up and down his thighs, transfixed on the way they shake, just barely, almost imperceptibly. But of course, you'd notice. You're pressed so close, just the warmth of your breath makes his cock bounce. And then you’re looking up at him from down there, face just below his erect cock and he swears you’re Lilith, sent from above to drag him below. 

And what a way to go, he thinks.

Then, with grace, you’re pulling away, keeping eye contact, and crawling back on the rug, feeling the fibres tickle your skin. You’re lying there, legs bent and resting on your forearms with a playful sparkle in your eyes. 

You lift your foot and run it up his calves, and back down again. Choso’s watching every move like it’ll be on an exam, like it’s life or death, and with the way his cock is throbbing so painfully, it feels like it is. He’s breathing so heavily and he doesn’t even realise he’s running out of air, not until you’re spreading your legs with an impish smile and he sees the wet patch on your panties. 

“Won’t you take my mine off?” There’s laughter in your words and it’s the sweetest melody he’s ever heard. “Please, Cho?”

He falls to his knees, a man succumbing to worship, compelled by the beauty he sees before him. You’re a saint, carved by Bernini, and he’s stolen you from Cornaro Chapel. He’ll bear the consequences, every punishment in the world, to stay like this, to bask in the divine love he’s become overwhelmed with. 

You don’t need to say anything more. 

Choso’s already crawling towards you, gaze fixed between your legs. He wants to feel you, to taste, and see and hear and commit everything to memory. If he could capture this moment, this sight, in a canvas then he’d slave away at an easel for eternity. 

Cooing, you lift his chin with a finger. “Cho, you’re not just going to stare forever, are you?”

He shakes his head vehemently. 

“Then take it off for me, please.”

And he does. 

His hands are shaking, running up your thighs, over your hips and then under the flimsy fabric, pulling and pulling until it’s dangling from one ankle. It tickles you, like electricity sparking over your skin. Choso presses his face to your foot, moaning the contrast of the smooth skin there with the scratch of the lace, and he’s inhaling, nose pressed to the fabric.

You should be mortified, should be embarrassed, but you can’t find it in you. Instead, you’re simply oozing more wetness, staining the rug underneath. You rest your ankle on his shoulder and tap him. 

“Not just my panties, Cho,” you remind him. 

He blushes. 

With clumsy shuffles, he’s hovering above you, casting a shadow and he hates it. He wants to see you in clear view, every part of you, unobscured by anything ever again. Still, he makes do with the natural radiance you’re emitting, and he clasps your ribs, hands splayed over your sides, thumbs just below the plumpness of your breast. He lifts you with question in his eyes.

You help him out, arching your back so he can curve one hand and pop the clasps open. And then he’s sliding down the cups until you’re all bare and pretty for him. 

He’s frozen, eyes roving all over your body in a panic. He doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t want to miss a thing, doesn’t want to make one part of you jealous. He looks frantic and you have to hold his face steady and bring him closer. 

“It’s okay, Cho. I’m not going anywhere.”

Choso inhales and then exhales, soothed by the coolness of your palms and your scent. He knows what he wants now; he daydreams about it in class, watching you answer questions or mouth jokes to him from across the room, noticing every quirk and twitch of this beautiful lips of yours. He wants to kiss you. 

You giggle when he leans in. 

“Choso, I think you’re forgetting why we’re here in the first place, you silly boy!”

He blinks. 

Like a cartoon character, you can hear each plink-plink as he looks at you in confusion. Yep, he’s definitely forgotten about the assignment.

There’s a devastated look marring his face and he’s pouting when you sit up. He pouts even harder when you instruct him to grab his sketchpad and get to drawing. 

“How do you want me?”

Choso glares at the paper like it’s his worst enemy. On my face riding me until we both cum.

He has no idea where that thought came from. It’s a foreign concept but feels so familiar. He doesn’t dare voice it out loud though, instead he mutters ‘just as you are’, and gets settled on the rug. 

And if his cousin knew that he has a girl fully naked and wet for him right there in his room and he’s sat clasping a pencil instead of his dick, he’d never live down the humiliation. 

But what does he know?

Most of the action he’s been getting is through text messages, popping boners during family dinners from a scolding he receives from a girl who has no idea of the effect her words have on her vice president. 

Maybe, if he makes fun of him again, he'll just tell her. 

“Choso, angle your head just slightly towards me, please.”

And he hates the conversational tone your voice has taken, like he’s back in class. But he does as he’s told, shifting every time you ask, and he scribbles, lead gliding across the paper as he follows every curve of your body with his eyes. If every class was like this, he’d actually come, he thought. But thank goodness it isn't; how would his dick ever survive?

For an hour, you sit in relative silence, just the sound of scratching and occasional humming filling the space. It’s a peaceful sort of quiet, the one he doesn’t mind staying in, one he could get lost within. 

You’re lying on your stomach, feet kicking and hair draped over your shoulders. Your ass looks so soft, like marshmallows, and your breasts are pressed against the rug, and not in his face, and he thinks it’s a tragedy. 

He feels like Icarus, having flown so near to everything he’s ever wanted, only to plummet to the ground never having even touched or tasted. Instead of melted wax and feathers, all he has is a leaking dick that you don't even look at.

Yet, he isn't softening at all.

Eventually, you turn to look at him, studying his features for reasons that have nothing to do with drawing. Choso’s still pouting, scratching the paper sometimes a little too hard, and the poor pencil looks like it’s about to break in his fist. 

You feel bad for the sweet little guy. 

So hard, leaking and weeping at the tip, and he isn't touching himself. He's so good at following instructions you just have to reward him.

You push up and slither over unseen -- he's still glaring at his sketchpad -- nudging the book off his lap and grinning up at him. You're doing this for him and definitely not for your soaking pussy.

Choso gulps. 

You’ve played with him too much, he can’t trust that gleam in your eyes and the curl of your lips. So he stays still again, content to watch you do as you please with him. 

“Have I been bad to you, Cho?”

He shakes his head, but he’s nodding internally. You’ve been so bad to him, so mean, ignoring the way his cock jerks when your eyes meet his. But he could never be mad at you, he’s so sure, he's willing to bet everything on it. 

“Should I help you out, you poor baby?”

You’re mocking him again. He knows it. But God, does he love the sound of you tearing him down. He wants you to call him 'Cho' and 'baby', and everything else you'd like. He just wants you to call for him, to only look at him amongst a gallery of Michelangelos, to see him and only him. 

Choso nods, desperate for anything. 

And you lean in to press a chaste kiss on his lips. He blinks again and then chases after you but you’re already going down. There’s nothing for him to do except to stretch his legs out, caging your body, and to lean back on his hands. He doesn’t dare say a word, knows better than to interrupt a Master at work.

You’re eyeing his dick and you’re enamoured with every vein. His cock head is raging and leaking pathetically, and your hands wrap around as much of his length as you can to soothe it. At the first touch, Choso bites his lip to stifle a whimper. Your hands are cold.

It burns him.

But then you're rubbing up and down at a slow pace as if basking in the feeling. Again and again, you go up and then down, twisting and turning your wrist when you reach his head.

"Fuck! Y/n, please!" He breathes out when you thumb his slit.

You use his pre-cum to lubricate him, going faster when his heavy breathing turns into low moans. “Is this how you like it, Cho?”

He nods furiously. 

"Yes, yes. Thank -ngh- you."

His eyes are closed and you’re upset. So you sit up, hands still jerking up and down, and tap his cheek. 

“I told you keep your eyes on me.”

Did you?

He’s forgotten now. Everything’s a jumbled mess, like an abstract art, taking no shape or form in his mind. It feels so good, your dainty hands are wringing pleasure from him and his balls are tightening. 

You grab his hand and direct it to your tit, and he wastes no time in squeezing and groping. Choso's mouth drops. You're so smooth, so pretty, it's the only thing he ever wants to hold again. His hand covers your entire breast and he’s massaging it like a stress ball, like it’ll help ground him whilst you attack his poor cock. 

"S-so good, God! You're -ha- so pretty, y/n."

When you speed up, he whines, mouth slack and eyes crossing. This is too much, he doesn’t know what to do. His other hand is tugging at the rug, tearing fibres away, and his legs are tensing, muscles cramping but he doesn’t care. 

“Faster -ngh- please!”

You kneel, his hand falling away from your chest to grip your hip. “You’re such a good boy, Cho. Well done for remembering your manners.”

Despite the way his head is reeling, growing lightheaded, he conjures up a shaky smile, so very pleased he’s doing good, for you. And when his eyes open back up — he doesn’t recall closing them — he’s drowning in your tits. 

You've inched forward, tightening your hold on his cock, and pushed your chest in his face. With haste, like a man starved, he sucks on your tit, rolling the nipple with his tongue. It sends spikes of electricity through you. You clench down on nothing and it's such a shame, when his pretty cock is just a couple centimetres from where they should be. Your hand picks up pace and his whines are muffled, sending delicious vibrations down to your clit.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he repeats but the sound is so jumbled you don’t even know what he’s saying or if he’s even saying anything at all.

Choso's trying to devour your breasts, engulfing as much as he can, so distraught he can’t take it all in, so he brands a punishing grip on your hip and you gasp. 

“Are you going to cum, Cho? Are you going to cum for me?”

He can’t answer, doesn’t want to stop tasting the salt of your skin. But he hopes that the intensifying throbbing of his cock provides a good enough response. 

And when your grip on him tightens just as he nibbles on your nipple, thumb pressing hard on his slit, he cums with a whine. He spurts between you, hot liquid landing on both of your chests and all over your hands. It’s opaque and syrupy; you feel regretful you didn’t make him cum in your mouth. You don’t stop jerking him off, intent on milking him for everything he’s worth, and his eyes are rolling back.

It’s too much. 

Your scent, your body, your hands, your cooing in his ear. It pushes him over the edge again and again until his balls are emptier than they’ve ever been, dick lurching and bobbing like he's pushing out phantom spurts, and then he’s falling backwards, taking you down with him.

You both catch your breath, panting under the warm lights of his apartment. You’re sweaty, skin sticking to his, and there’s cum gluing your stomach to his body. There’s the unmistakable smell of sex lingering in the air, and you feel bad that he’s going to have clean up after this, but you press a kiss to his chest, licking away the salt from your lips. 

And then you stand, grabbing your clothes. 

Choso’s still coming down from his high, so lost in everything you’ve had to give him, he doesn’t even register that you're getting dressed until you’re giggling. That sobers him up. 

Pushing himself into an upright position, he wipes the drool from his chin and pouts at you again. 

“Don’t you need to…,” he trails off. He doesn’t know what to say but you get him nonetheless. 

You sport an apologetic expression, “Don’t have time, sorry, Choso. I’m having dinner with my brother and his friend.”

He follows you, thighs complaining with very step, but still pushing through so he can hold you before you go. The feel of your clothes scratching his bare skin is setting him on fire again, but you only press a kiss to his cheek. He tries to nuzzle your neck, arms clinging around you like a koala bear. 

You kiss him on the lips and smile. “I had a good time, Choso. I’ll see you in class, yeah?

He nods.

But Choso doesn’t want to just see you in class, he wants to see you laid out bare beneath him on his bed. It doesn’t even have to be his bed. He just wants to touch and taste again. 

He can’t, though. 

Because you’re already stepping out of his apartment and leaving him. 

Your project partner’s missing you miserably by the time you step out into the street. You wished you had the time to make him make you cum, but that’ll have to wait another day, even if the uncomfortable wetness in your jeans is reminding you exactly why you should stay.

Wait, jeans?

Where are your panties?

Oh, fuck, is your last thought when you get into your car. 

Choso, on the other hand, is already pumping his cock as hard as you were, brain working overtime to recall how exactly you touched him. The way you went slow at first, relishing in the heavy feel of his cock in you head and then quickly ramping up to a rhythm that had him seeing stars faster than nightfall.

His nose is pressed to the soaked gusset of the panties you had left behind. He doesn’t know if you did this on purpose, hell, he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how he at least managed to paint your body with his cum, even if he wished he could cover every inch of your skin. Choso just hopes you'll give him another chance. He'll do so good you'll want him just as bad he wants you.

So happy to have a reminder of you, he promises to cherish your panties every night until he gets to do this again, tasting from the source, or even just having a fresher pair.

You’ve given him a gift, the best gift of his life, and you deserve to be gifted something just as special in return. 

You’ll find this gift on your desk.

And he hopes it makes you just as happy as you’ve made him. 

Because, God, does the memory of you make him so pathetically hard.

[knoxic]

Cycle of Greed

Azriel x Reader | p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6

summary: Azriel suspects Elain is his mate, reader is ignored, Rhysand and Cass are protective of reader

wc: 2,3k

warnings: Azriel... self hatred, insecurities

a/n: reader's nickname is Ace but there's no physical descriptions

It started subtly, coming home and not noticing her boyfriend's absence, too tired to notice, waking up to a cold and empty bed, brushing past it thinking Az must have been busy, even though he never mentioned anything. The first time you noticed he wasn't, it hit you like a slap to the face.

A family dinner was scheduled tonight, even though you had dinner with your family all the time, tonight was the only night of the month no one was allowed to miss. Rhysand made sure all of you would be free.

You had woken up early today, before the sun had risen, Azriel not being in bed with you didn't seem weird at all, Az often left the bed before the sun was up, he had trouble sleeping and once he woke it was hard to go back to sleep. After spending some time reading in bed you decided to make breakfast, after washing up you went downstairs, expecting to see containers of food left in the sink but there was none, so either Azriel hadn't eaten when he got home or he didn't come home at all. But again, she brushed it off, he probably had a good reason for it.

After eating breakfast, you went to change into your training clothes, just because it was an off day didn't mean you should skip training. Normally, you used a punching bag to literally beat your stress away but today you weren't even stressed, there wasn't even someone to keep you entertained, so training ended up being just boring.

Again, you came back to an empty home, no signs of your boyfriend. After a few minutes of staring at the walls you decided that perhaps a few hours in Velaris would be exciting, maybe you would visit Feyre's gallery. Walking through the streets is definitely a nice thing, the people passing by know who you are and what you do but still gave you friendly smiles. Watching the children play freely and unbothered made you wonder if, someday, your own children would be doing the same, little Illyrians terrorizing the streets of Velaris.

"Hey! Wasn't expecting you here today." Feyre's voice snapped you out of your daydream.

"Well, I'd rather spend hours looking at your paintings than the blank walls at home." You laughed.

"If that's the case then come with me, I just finished a new one." She slipped her arm through yours and pulled you further into the gallery. Fortunately for your boredom, Feyre had kept you busy the whole day, showing you her new artworks and even making you paint with her.

Hours later you were finally coming home, your feet screamed at you to sit down but you refused to winnow, not wanting to miss out on any new place that might have opened. You were so tired that your mind wasn't anywhere near Azriel, fully focused on resting as soon as you reached home. You only realized you had fallen asleep when the front door banged closed, your boyfriend's scent filling your nose.

"Az?" You sat up rubbing your tense neck, the couch, as comfortable as it was, was not meant for sleeping.

"Yeah, didn't know you were here." He seemed confused and... angry?

"Are you okay?" You slowly made your way towards him but he stepped back, turning towards the stairs.

"Fine, I'll go wash up for dinner, don't follow me." And with that he ran up. You took his anger as the result of his work, figuring that something had probably stressed him out.

Your eyes that were still foggy from sleep had finally cleared, allowing you to notice how dark the living room was, it was already night and you had probably slept for a couple hours. When you went up to bathe, you heard a loud bang from your bedroom. Azriel often isolated himself as to not take his anger out on anyone close to him, so you continued walking towards the guest bedroom, washing up in the adjoined bathroom. Only when you were finished did you make your way to your bedroom, the door was fully closed so you opened it carefully, the bathroom door was left open so Azriel was probably downstairs. You dressed up unhurried, taking the time to choose your clothes, fixing your hair and choosing shoes. When you went down, Azriel was nowhere to be seen, you called out to him but received no response, perhaps Rhys had called him?

'Rhys, is Azriel with you?' You asked, praying he would hear you.

'Yes, he said he thought you wouldn't come." Rhys answered, his voice oddly quiet, without its usual confidence. 'Are you two okay?'

'I– Yes? Well, I think so? Did he say anything?' Not once had it crossed your mind that your relationship was the cause of Azriel's stress, were you stressing him? If so, why didn't he say anything?

'Never mind. Are you coming?' Suddenly you weren't sure if you should, maybe Az had gone alone because he didn't want you there. 'Please come...'

Rhys pleaded, scaring you even more. Rhysand never pleaded.

'I don't know,' you were still standing in the middle of the living room, you could just winnow, but would your boyfriend want that? 'Maybe I should stay home tonight–'

'No. It's family dinner, fuck Azriel's dramatic ass, I don't know what's wrong with him but it's not your fault. You're coming, even if I have to go pick you up myself.'

𓂃

"My office, now." Rhysand's growl seemed to vibrate through his bones.

"Rhys–"

"No! Azriel." He walked out of the room, leaving Azriel to stare at his back, Elain kept gazing at him wide eyed. 'Come with me or I'll come to your girl, your choice.' His mind talons not bothering to make a gentle appearance.

Azriel left without looking back, still feeling Elain's gentle gaze following him. His heartbeat ringed in his ear, time seemed to pass by slowly as he walked the corridors to Rhys' office, darkness consuming the corners of every wall. The doors were left open showing his brother's back facing him, as soon as he entered they banged closed, before he said anything, Cassian winnowed beside him.

"What's wrong?" Cassian looked at them both, his hurried voice echoing through the silent room.

"Azriel was kissing Elain." Rhys turned to look at them both, giving Cassian a nod towards Az, his arms crossed against his chest while he leaned against the desk.

"I didn't–"

"You were going to!" Rhysand spat, making Azriel shut his mouth, he couldn't deny it.

"Wait–" Cassian stepped forward, watching as Az lowered his head, gasping when he realized it was true, "No fucking way! Did Ace break up with you?" Azriel's only response was a deep sigh.

"No, she didn't." Rhys answered for him.

"Brother..." Cassian's hand met Az' shoulder, "Why?" He was pissed but needed to know why Azriel was acting like that.

"I think–"

"Huh, you're not even sure." Rhys scoffed, shaking his head.

"I think Elain is my mate."

"What? Az, that's really serious..." Cass spoke softly, almost unsure. "Are you sure?"

"I– No, but it just makes sense!"

"How, Azriel?" Rhysand yelled, stepping closer to him. "How does it make sense? You've known Ace for centuries, been dating her for 80 years, you live with her! I swear I thought you were going to propose to her soon!" His hand met Azriel's sholder, shaking him. Rhys sighed, dropping his head and shoving Az away before turning back to sit on his chair.

"Az," Cassian started, "Does Ace know?"

"No, I don't know how to tell her." Az muttered the last part.

"You'll have to find a way. I don't know why you think Elain is your mate and not her but she deserves to know. Having a mate doesn't necessarily mean you two should be romantically involved, nor should you be anything at all, but it is clear that you're attracted to Elain and that's just... unacceptable."

"Why?" Azriel said exasperated, "Three brothers for three sisters, it just makes sense!" He yelled,banging his hands on Rhysand's desk.

"Are you insane?" Rhys yelled back, standing up from his chair. "You are in a relationship, Azriel! It doesn't matter if it makes sense, be responsible, she's not just a fling you had, you can't push her aside just because your cock gets hard around a pretty female. Ace is your girlfriend, has been for almost a century, the possibility of another female being your mate should not interfere in your relationship with her, it didn't have to. Elain could end up being just a great friend, or even better, Ace could be your mate..."

"If she was my mate, don't you think it would've snapped by now?" Azriel's question didn't really sound like a question.

"Is that all you heard from everything Rhys said?" Cassian looked incredulous.

"Azriel..." Rhysand's patient was slipping away. "I do not know what to say to make you understand–"

"There's nothing to understand, Elain is my mate and I want to be with her."

"Then fucking break up with Ace first!" Darkness crawling their way around them.

"What the fuck, brother?" Cassian yelled, for the first time that morning. "Didn't you learn anything from Mor leading you on all those centuries? You want to be with Elain? Fine, but break up with your girlfriend first. Just know that there's a lot in line here..." Silence enveloped the three of them, tension sitting heavy on their shoulders.

"Leave, go talk to Ace and fix this shit," Rhysand rubbed his temples, "Don't do to her what has been done to you."

𓂃

Azriel spent a few hours flying above Velaris, trying to forget about what had happened, he didn't know what he did wrong or why Rhysand was so upset. He decided to come back and talk with Elain first, then he'd talk with you, but Rhysand's talons scratched his mind walls as soon as he saw her, telling him to stay away from her until he broke up with you. When he got home he was so upset that you were the only thing keeping him from his possible mate, that when he saw you, he would definitely take his anger out on you. You were so relaxed and he was completely the opposite of that, your eyes puffy from sleep while his were bloodshot from the lack of it.

He couldn't stop the sudden hatred that consumed him at hearing your voice, he wasn't sure if it was directed at you or him, he spend the whole day resenting you while you were here worried about him. He couldn't stand the sound of your comforting voice, not while comparing it to Elain's, your eyes searching for his with so much love and he wondered when was the last time he really stared into them.

So he ignored you, he wasn't sure what he had answered you, his whole body aching with stress that he just wanted some form of release. Release that never came, he thought that by the time he finished bathing he'd feel better, but he didn't. Nothing seemed to work, the warm water did nothing to help soothe his muscles, and no matter how much he scratched, he still felt dirty.

Stepping out of the bathroom only angered him further, your scent still lingered even after hours of leaving the bed. Azriel didn't know what he'd do if you talked to him again, didn't know what he'd tell you, if he lied you would know, and if he didn't... you would be hurt.

𓂃

As soon as your eyes focused on the house, you wanted to winnow back home, but Rhys didn't give you a chance to do so. The front door being yanked open made you tear your eyes from the window, where you could see silhouette with wings, the smile your High Lord greeted you with was comforting. He was loyal to his brothers, if you had done something to upset Azriel, he wouldn't be smiling at you like that.

"You came!" He waved his hand, calling you inside.

"Someone threatened me." He laughed at your attempted joke, no humor filling your voice. As you walked closer to him, he pulled you into a hug, it didn't really seem like it was for you, his chin rested on your shoulder like you weren't almost half his size, it was comforting nonetheless. An exaggerated gasp pulled you away from each other's embrace.

"That's like the worse form of betrayal!" Cassian cried out, his hand that was resting on his chest reached out to push Rhysand away. "We could've had a family hug but you were selfish." His strong arms engulfing you into an embrace, lifting you off the ground, he let out a dramatic groan as if it had taken him so much effort to do so.

"Stop it, you're going to squeeze her." Rhys laughed, tapping his brothers shoulder.

"Jealous." Cassian whispered in your ear, making you giggle.

By the time Cassian set you back down, you had forgotten you were worried, if that was Rhysand's intention when he came to greet you at the door, it had worked. You were pulled inside by the hand, Cass gushing about all the things there were for dinner, his groovy voice muffling out a female giggle. The table was set only a few minutes after Cassian had sat her down, his conversation topics never ending. The first time she saw Azriel, he was coming out of the kitchen, right after Elain.

"She needed help with the dessert." Nesta muttered, her voice filled with something she couldn't exactly place. She couldn't dwell on it further, Azriel was looking at her now, his feet glued to the ground. It was clear he really wasn't expecting her to come.

[auroralwriting]

poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

[nosyrobin]

Tiny request for twin reader with damian mabye they were seperated at birth aka talia gave bruce twin reader and kept damian but win reader has some kind of disability like walking with crutches and as soon as damian moves in he goes into protective brother mode and always tries to help twin reader

“I’m your protector.”

Damian Al ghul-Wayne x Disabled! Twinreader

Summary: separated from birth, Damian finds out you are disabled from walking. Knowing that you are his blood sibling, he can’t help but be protective over you

After Talia revealed to Damian he had a twin (brother/sister) that she gave away to his father all because you were disabled. He felt anger towards his mother and a little bit of betrayal.

How could she keep such a secret from him and the fact she just gave you away made him feel…protective.

He wants to know you are okay. He wants to make sure you are okay. So when he moved into his new room, he got a knock on his door. He opens it to see, you. You had crutches, smiling as your hand grip the crutches handle. “Brother! Oh my, we do look the same!” You were excited, happy. Damian immediately observed you, he sees you are pure of light. He was right to feel protective when you don’t know much of the words he is saying with his high vocabulary.

He draws and colors on your crutches, he likes to see the light in your eyes when he draws what you like on your crutches.

You both may be different, but his brotherly love is not. He’s always sitting by you, dinner, breakfast, lunch out of the manor, events, galas. He’s always there. Sure Bruce would try and tell Damian that you can protect yourself, maybe even that you can do things without his help. But you’re ten, just like him. So what did he do? Not listen to his father like he always do.

He’s happy to know you never wanted or tried to be Robin. His heart would break knowing that his precious half would try and fight. But that also meant you never learned how to protect yourself and fight mostly, making it worse for Damian to grasp.

Damian tried not to baby you much, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious at those random thoughts in the back of his head. “They’re gonna fall one day, what if no one is there to pick him up.” He would sometimes just sleep on a chair in your room incase you fall off your bed.

Damian would train Titus for whenever you fall and you can’t reach your crutches. He would have Titus use his body and guide you somewhere so you can get up.

“I’m your protector.” He would say when he sees you trying to get up and grab your crutches. But titus and him are already up and helping you. You laugh thinking he’s joking, but he’s not.

If you’re sick? Protectiveness levels are off the charts when he sees you cough and shake. Yeah he’s not going to school until you’re better. No way he’s leaving his sibling at home!

Would call pennyworth off his phone if you are homeschooled. Always checking up on you no matter what, it doesn’t matter if Alfred says you are okay. He wants to hear you say it.

If someone dared to make fun of you, he’s after them like the devil himself. If they dared to try and take your crutches, it’s gonna get wicked. Even god himself won’t be able to take Damian off the assailant.

Say you were also on the artistic route, he would absolutely treasure your art work. “It’s bad..” you said once, and Damian straight up lectured you about how art takes time and how beautiful your art work is to him no matter what.

I can see Jason saying it’s true the artwork looked terrible, and Damian just straight up chased him around angrily while you try to tell Damian it’s okay.

Titus adores you, and you adore Titus which makes Damian feel even better that Titus likes you. I mean who wouldn’t when literally you are the sunshine of the family.

Damian definitely have written letters to you when he was on “punishment” is what he called it when he had to go work with the titans. So when you visit him at the titans tower, he made sure most things were safe proof for you. Kory already knew you because of Dick. Kory tries to reason to Damian as he literally rips something apart because he deemed it as “unsafe.” But did he listen? No.

When beast boy playfully was play fighting with you, Damian was ready to cut Garfield’s head off. Only for you to wipe the floor of the green shapeshifter by using your crutch as a bat. Damian hid his sword with a smirk, maybe he doesn’t need to protect you much.

[shy-writer-999]

Under the mistletoe with Ace ❄️

Summary: One of the crew members put up mistletoe somewhere on the ship. Will Ace finally lure you underneath, or will he chicken out? ~1.2k words. CW: fluff! kissing. gendered language, e.g. "princess"

Let's unwrap the first present of my holiday event! It comes with a pretty surprise—artwork by none other than @hirakyun13 who is collabing with me the whole event! 💓

Whoever decided to put mistletoe up in the ship had a good sense of humor. It was perched in a very opportune, deliberate spot. It couldn’t be more visible.

Who put it there? Marco? Someone else?

People passed under it all day long, cracking jokes about who they were going to kiss, pretending to grab crewmates into hyper-exaggerated, joke-makeout sessions. Guffaws and chokes of laughter echoed across the ship the whole day. It certainly made the ship feel like there was more holiday cheer going on.

When you first spotted the small bundle of green leaves, tied up in a pretty red bow, it must have been no coincidence that Ace was standing nearby, chatting with a handful of crewmates. He leaned on the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to what lied above.

Turning his head to look at you, he winked. It’s like he had a sixth sense as far as you were concerned—he could just tell if you were nearby, if you were looking at him, hell, sometimes you wondered if he could somehow read your thoughts. His radar for you was downright uncanny.

The winking had occurred a handful of times before, always when you were least expecting it. You flushed crimson, face turning bright red in an instant. Ace pretended not to notice the way you instinctively averted your eyes for a split second afterwards and embarrassment. You brushed the sight off. No point in fantasizing about Ace standing under the mistletoe winking at you, right? That’s totally normal. Nothing there to hyper-fixate on. But as much as you tried to let the interaction go, it ran on repeat in your mind all day.

Later that night the crew had a nice feast. It was a special day, Christmas eve, a holiday out at sea that—even though no one really celebrated—acted as an excuse for a banquet, more rowdiness than usual.

Ace had a couple of drinks during the feast. He didn’t go overboard, but he was psyching himself up for what he was going to do later. His eyes stayed trained on you whenever he could get away with it and his mind raced. Was he going to be able to pull this off?

When dinner was over and everyone took their raucous laughter elsewhere, Ace knew that you had the habit of tidying a bit. Recently he had been joining you. He did anything to get some time with you, one on one.

“Want some help, sweetheart?” His eyes were warm, freckles devilishly handsome, hair sitting perfect. That’s the word for him—perfect. You almost couldn’t take it. Especially when he called you nice things like that.

You agreed, of course. You’d (similarly) take any time with him that you could get. As he helped you take stray dishes to the kitchen and wipe down tables (Thatch was taking a well-deserved break), Ace gravitated to you, maybe more than usual.

He worked beside you, so close your arms almost brushed. When the work was done, his heartbeat skyrocketed.

“How does a nightcap sound, princess? Or some hot chocolate?” His gesture was sweet, thoughtful, and polite—very much in character.

“Hot chocolate sounds good.” You smiled back, trying now to get weird or awkward, holding back the overwhelming feeling of being flustered.

Within minutes he had two piping-hot cups of hot chocolate in hand, grinning. He handed you a mug. It was the perfect temperature and tasted delicious (maybe it was so delicious because he made it?).

“I heard some of the crew say it’s snowing outside. Want to see? I’ll keep you warm, no need for a coat.” Ace’s smile was genuine, not suggestive in the slightest. He radiated pure kindness, emphasized by his chivalry. It made your heart melt.

“C’mon.” He gestured towards the hallway—the one that just so happened to have the mistletoe hanging at the end)—and you led the way.

As you advanced closer to the mistletoe, Ace was internally screaming at himself. It was the perfect opportunity. For Ace, time stood still. It was like you were moving in slow motion.

When you realized that you’d both be under the mistletoe at (almost) the same time, you turned red in the face at the implication, wishing that you actually could kiss him. A sweet holiday fantasy. One that you were sure would never happen.

So, you passed under the bundle of green hanging on the doorway and your heart sank. You had indulged in the guilty pleasure of fantasy, one that you knew was no good. No point in getting your hopes up.

Hopefully your face would go back to normal soon, not crimson anymore. You were painfully embarrassed at the thought of Ace realizing that you were blushing out of your mind. Maybe he’d realize that you were flushing because the mistletoe, maybe he’d catch on that you wanted him like that.

Just when you thought the moment had passed, just when you were exhaling and internally steadying yourself, Ace reached forward and grabbed you by the hand gently, pulling you backwards and close to him so your bodies were pressing on one another’s. Up close like this, Ace looked better than you could have imagined.

His eyelashes were ridiculously long, it was unfair. You could see how deep and rich the color of his eyes was, how his freckles winked and danced every time he grinned like that.

“Wha—?” You reflexively blurted out, breathless, but he cut you short with a kiss. His big hand cupped your cheek and he pressed his lips on yours softly.

A thousand miles a minute, your heart threatened to explode. You went completely rigid, gripping the handle of the mug you were holding so hard you almost broke it.

The kiss was long and delicate; he caressed your cheek like you were something precious to him. The warmth from his hand spread to your entire body; it was thawing a chill that you had been holding in your heart for months as you tried to keep your intense feelings for him at bay.

When Ace finally pulled away, you could see blush dust his cheeks. His smile was softer, just as sweet, and his eyes were mesmerizing, riveted on yours. Somehow, he just got hotter up close, more captivating.

“Ace, what’re you—?”

“I couldn’t help myself, gorgeous. I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. C’mere.”

He pulled you into another kiss. Followed by another. He couldn’t get enough of you. His free hand wandered slightly, trailing downwards to your waist as he pulled you closer. A singular thought raced through both of your minds at once—“finally”.

Each kiss was romance movie levels of fantastic. Fireworks. A torrent of emotions finally flooding out, expressed, for the moment, in kisses alone. Who knows how long this would have lasted, or where it would have gone, if it weren’t for the unwelcome (but wholesome) interruption.

“Y’know you guys are really missing out on the sn—OH SHIT!” Marco’s jaw dropped and he shielded his eyes for a moment. “So, the mistletoe finally worked? Fucking hell, we’ve been waiting for you two goofs to get together all day.”

happy holidays~ i'm posting again (with another artwork by @hirakyun13) on the 18th, 20th, 24th, 25th!

the present for the 18th is looking very... curly and blonde...

regular masterlist holiday event masterlist

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby

- gojo satoru x reader

a domestic life with your husband and baby

genre: teeth-rotting fluff, sugary dump fluff, and simply pure fluffff, baby-related, mentions of pregnancy, dad!gojo

note: inspired by this fanart by Deltapork in twitter! from the moment i saw that artwork, i just can't get this out of my head😫

and this is a part of a series of gojo drabbles i’ve planned called gojo's love entries anthology -> updated masterlist here

general masterlist

Watching your husband entertain your child would never fail to make you smile.

"Aw, my cute baby!" Satoru joyfully exclaimed as he and the baby, secure in his hold, emitted almost harmonious squeals of delight. Both of them practically shared the same brain cells at this point.

And it was a sight that warmed your heart so much, especially when the old Gojo Satoru was a prick who used to made little Megumi cry just for the sake of it and always said that babies and everything that came with them were a pain.

He playfully devoured your son's plump cheeks and burst into laughter, paying no attention to the curious glances he garnered from other shoppers at the supermarket.

"Satoru, hush," you chided gently as you pushed the cart, yet still smiling all the same.

"Ah, look, mama doesn't approve," he remarked to your babbling son, wearing a playful pout. At the same time, your barely seven-month baby puckered his lips too, turning him into a perfect miniature version of your mischievous husband at his best, melting your heart even further.

"It's time for his milk," you pointed out, retrieving the milk bottle. Satoru reached for it and offered it to your baby, who eagerly latched on and started drinking.

Your precious baby continued to feed on the formula, clearly relishing it. It appeared that he couldn't get enough, with the way he drank with such enthusiasm.

"He's a hungry baby... just like you," you mused.

Satoru laughed out loud once again. "Why are you comparing a baby with a grown-ass man?"

Your son was still drinking the milk and seemed like he wanted more, but you could definitely tell how content he was in that moment.

"Because it's your baby, duh. And not only he looks like you, he's also reflecting what you've been doing to me so far, it's uncanny."

"So I've turned our son into a mini-me now, have I." He regarded you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And what have I done to you, darling? Tell me."

"...A lot of bad things."

"Heh, is that so?"

The baby then stopped drinking and seemed to want you to cuddle him, as he reached his tiny hands towards you. Satoru handed him over to you, taking the bottle away, and you gently pulled him close, cradling him against your chest.

"Yeah. Bad, bad things," you cooed to your baby, your eyes sparkling with joy. "First you seduced me, then got me pregnant. And then you forced me to go through that painful labor."

Satoru didn't miss the way the clerk eyed him after you said that. But he chuckled anyway. "Well... in the end you fell for me, and I probably seduced you a bit..."

He paid for the groceries and then the two of you walked out of the supermarket.

"But is that so bad?" He continued with a meaningful smirk. "You seemed like you love it so there's nothing to complain about."

"Hmph."

"And then I got you pregnant... well, you wanted a baby, dear, so you can't really be mad and blame just me for it all, okay?"

The fact that you were having this crack conversation at a crossroad made you struggle to stifle your laughter, to say the least.

Your son was still cuddling up to your chest and now he was looking at you with those wide, glassy blue eyes. You could tell how much he liked and needed you, as well as spending time with you, his mother.

This is your baby with the man who loves you. How could you not love him in return?

Satoru looked at his son in your arms. “Our son is the cutest, isn’t he?”

He seemed tired more than anything though, with the big yawn he just emitted.

“He is so… defenseless.”

“Well, he’s a baby,” your husband said matter-of-factly. “That’s how babies are, darling. He’s learning how to do things and completely defenseless, so he needs his parents. You and I.”

Your baby’s eyes became a little droopy. He was sleepy now, and wanted your warmth to fall asleep.

“Let’s… protect him together, yeah, Satoru?” you muttered softly as your child settled in your embrace, peaceful and content, falling asleep.

Your heartstrings were pulled when you witnessed the expression of absolute adoration on your husband's face.

“Silly. I’m the one who will protect both of you, sweetheart.”

[saintobio]

the art of loving, feat. l&ds rafayel.

pairings. rafayel, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. artist x muse, hints of abandonment issues, clingy bf!rafayel, allusions to nude paintings, fellatio, cum eating, protected sex, praise kink notes. my third l&ds boy :’) there’s a full blown sylus oneshot coming but for now, i have to write abt our cute fish! i’ll continue the jjk wips on the weekend bcos my l&ds hyperfixation is currently taking over 🤧

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who makes you the muse of his paintings. he loves how he can adore your face while turning his blank canvas into something as colorful as you. it all started when he used to sketch you when you’re not looking. and it’s a habit that he, time and time again, still does. whether you’re reading, sleeping, or simply lost in thought, he finds these moments precious and captures them in his sketchbook. he actually has a dedicated corner of you on his mo art studio, where it’s filled with paintings and sketches of his beautiful girlfriend.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who loves to paint with you. he’ll set up a canvas next to his and guide your hands, laughing together as you create something… unique. look, he’s not making fun of your painting. in fact, he’d say you’re actually very talented. “it’s not bad at all,” he’d claim, “it’s an exquisite art… if i close my eyes.” how mean! but honestly, if you were to sell your artwork, he would still be the first person to buy it.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets playful with paint. while you’re on the subject of ‘painting together’, you know how cheeky rafayel is, and when he dabs a bit of paint on your nose or cheeks, the light-hearted paint fight ends in messy, colorful kisses. one time, he even left a purple handprint on your bum, and giggles each time he sees it from behind.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets clingy when you’re busy. he’ll sulk if he feels you’re not paying enough attention to him, often wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling into your neck to remind you he’s there. he can very grumpy, too. like a spoiled brat who he didn’t get what he wants. it’s just that he dislikes the feeling of being ignored and abandoned, so the last thing you knew not to do is make him wait too long on your dates or make him feel like your mind is occupied by anything else other than him. because he’d go as far as pretending to be in a helpless situation just so you’d drop everything and run off to him. how silly!

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who surprises you with personalized art gifts. from small sketches slipped into your bag to full portraits given on special occasions. it’s his way of expressing his love, because he’s very grateful of how supportive you are when he has art exhibits. your presence calms his nerves, and he always looks for you in the crowd to find strength in your encouraging smiles.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to cuddle while discussing his latest ideas. he enjoys your input and loves bouncing ideas off you. his hands like to roam around your body as he keeps you in bed all day, whispering sweet nothings into you ear and making the atmosphere warm and intimate. “i can’t help it!”was his usual excuse whenever you’d call him out for being too touchy. “sometimes, my inspirations come in the form of physical intimacy, you know!”

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who can’t resist kissing you passionately when he’s inspired. he sketches you in intimate moments, letting you lie beautifully naked in bed and with only a blanket to cover the lower half of your body, like a vulnerable mermaid looking to be held by her prince. he’ll pull you close, hands covered in paint, leaving colorful fingerprints and delicate patterns on your skin as his lips capture yours in a heated kiss. he would peel the blanket off you slowly, taking his sweet time as if memorizing every dip and curve to later recreate in his art. his touch is both tender and electrifying. and his expressions, both raw and passionate as he eyes every inch of your body.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whispers his deepest desires in your ear. his voice becomes husky with emotions, telling you exactly what he wants, and leaving you blushing and eager to feed him the attention he seeks. he’s very needy, indeed. but most especially in bed. he’d often grab your hand, allowing you to brush it against his toned chest and down to his… aching member. it’s begging to be released, you both know it. and so when he guides your head closer to his crotch, you already know what ‘job’ you had to do for him.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whines a lot while you’re pleasing him, but in a cute way. he’s just very vocal about it. he’s incapable of keeping his little moans whenever he feels your tongue rolling around his tip, your lips leaving open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length. it’s like suction when you fully take him into your mouth, the image of your head bobbing to suck his cock is extremely vivid in his head. “mhm~ don’t stop.” rafayel loses his mind over it. “my darling, lover girl. you’re so pretty, my baby.” and when you’d allow him to cum inside your mouth, he’s a weak man watching you swallow every single drop.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who respects your boundaries and doesn’t push you to try things in bed that you’re not comfortable with. when you told him he can’t do you raw, he willingly obliged. so, lo and behold the huge box of condoms on his nightstand. he believes in practicing safe sex because you both aren’t ready for that kind of responsibility yet. but that doesn’t lessen the frequency of your activities in bed. in fact, his beloved box of rubbers would easily run out after 2-3 weeks.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to be praised when doing the deed with you. it’s just innate in him. you have to let him know if he’s doing good, have to let him hear how great he feels inside of you, how pretty he looks when you gaze down on him, and how amazing his hands are in finding your most sensitive places. “raf, you’re the best at this,” you’d moan into his mouth, the sound of skin-slapping echoing across his studio as you feel him racing through his climax, “s-so good, ngh~” he’s one to smile at your little whimpers. “yeah, you like where i’m hitting it, baby?” “haa—i do!” “thought so.”

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who wants to be displayed all over your social media accounts. it’s as straightforward as he is—he wants his face to take over your account. he wants to know that you’re proud of him and that you’re showing off your handsome boyfriend whenever you can. he also wants you to interact with his posts, leave comments, and hit the heart button. every. single. time. he gets easily sulky if sees you ignoring his cute posts about you. that’s just how he is, and it doesn’t frustrate you one bit, because he just loves being the center of your world in exchange for treating you the center of his. that was the art of loving rafayel.

[hanasnx]

baby daddy jason for when the one parent-teacher conference the sweet unassuming teachers like “mrs. Todd” and you’re “uhhh we’re not married”, but Jason, despite not being up to the commitment, likes the idea. He definitely would not correct the teacher like you immediately would.

Actually idk where I was going with this I had an idea but then it kinda stopped soz

MINORS DNI 18+

You’re not even sure how it happened. In your opinion, it’s best that BABY DADDY!JASON TODD stay far away from you and your daughter. Maybe he sifted through your mail the last time he snuck in, maybe he intercepted your calls, maybe he followed her to school to add himself to her emergency contacts—all completely feasible when dealing with someone so meticulously thorough and annoyingly committed. You’re face to face with him outside your daughter’s teacher’s door.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe in a whisper, avoiding a scene.

Jason’s face twists in feigned confusion, pointing to the flyer on the wall. He reads out its words as his finger follows along, “‘Parent teacher conference.’” He points to himself finally. “Parent.” A smug curl forms on his lips, standing tall in outsmarting you even though it’s not what you asked.

Your nostrils flare as you suck in a breath. Unfortunately, Jason is exceptional at getting on your nerves. You wonder how he managed knocking you up. Advancing on him, he mirrors you, meeting you in the middle as you engage him, “Jason, I don’t want you here—“

The door swings open, and you jump in place, leaning away abruptly. Jason coolly inclines back, shoving his hands in his pockets, he’s got nothing to hide. Your daughter’s teacher greets you both with a cheerful grin, beckoning you in. “You made it! Come on in, come on in.” You exchange a warning glance with Jason, but you clutch your purse strap and duck in while he trails leisurely after.

The meeting goes well, the teacher rants and raves about your daughter, especially about her art skills, showcasing that talent with pictures of it. You open your mouth to speak, but Jason beats you to it, “Takes after her mother, huh? What do you know?” he says with pride, and you witness a genuine grin on his lips as he leans forward to take a closer look at the mess of glitter and stickers in the teacher’s hands.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fiddle with your hands in your lap. One reason you try to stay away from Jason is because of times like these. Makes you second guess your decision to end things with him, and that’s exactly what’s most dangerous.

“So, Mrs. Todd—“ the teacher’s voice breaks you from your stupor, gaze snapping up to her as you furrow your brows.

“Oh, we’re not married.” you object, interrupting her starkly, and she flushes, setting the artwork down with a nervous smile.

“Oh! My mistake. You two just seem so close…”

Jason sighs, raising an arm to wrap around the back of your chair. “Well, not yet.” he says with certainty, and you turn your attention to him, glancing at his arm placement and how the sleeve of his biker jacket brushes your hair. His hand cups your shoulder, which you stare at, and glare when he starts stroking your skin with his thumb. What makes you the most angry is not the entitlement to touch you—which he’s always had—but how he’s clearly messing with you on purpose. This is just like his brand of cruelty, embarrassing you further in a social situation. You tune out whatever crap he’s telling the teacher about the fake wedding and you peel his arm away from you, shoving it back into his lap.

“No, that’s not happening.” you object again, harsher this time and Jason merely scoffs through his nose as you deal with the poor confused teacher.

After the meeting, you’re practically corralled out of that room bickering. You somehow end up on the back of his bike instead of in the car you drove here. Somehow, further, letting him inside your place. Shouting over each other about how inconsiderate he is, and how serious you are, curtly removing your outerwear.

“Would it really be that bad?” he yells, that loud voice that gets you weak in the knees booming through your apartment. You’re lucky your babysitter still has your daughter. “Being married to me, would it really be that bad?”

“It’s not about that, Jason! You know that!”

Your objections are drowned out in how his big body herds you into your bedroom, how his hands push you down to rip off your jeans. How he palms your mouth to shut you up while he’s kissing on your neck, clumsily searching for the give in between your legs. His tip eases in as you lazily bat at his hefty shoulders and thick biceps. “Don’t wanna be Mrs. Todd, huh?” You relax under him the longer he’s inside you, rutting into you with patience as you jerk your head away from him. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t want my name? Don’t wanna be a happy little family?”

Your fist bangs against his rotator cuff and he laughs, husky and light in your ear. His teeth latch onto your lobe, playfully tugging on it while he bottoms out, and you emit a noise from your throat.

“Mrs. Todd,” he chides, “So wet for your husband. S’almost like you want it.”

[gelus-ugs]

Hi !! I don’t know if you’re taking requests rn, sorry in advance if you aren’t ^_^

Could you do hcs of Hashiras if you try to flirt with them, but you’re an awkward, shy type of person? (+they like you back)

When you try to flirt with the Hashira

———————————————————————

Shy/Awkward reader

Prompt: You had been crushing on ___ the moment you became a Hashira, the feeling only growing deeper the more you got to know them. A friend you had met through the Demon Slayer Corps caught onto this and encouraged you to say something, giving you countless ideas. You eventually gave in, deciding to go with a pickup line they recommended. Why? Hell if you knew, but it was worth a try..right?

———————————————————————

Gyomei Himejima

“You must be a hell of a thief, because you managed to steal my heart the moment I met you”

Gyomei blinked in utter confusion

Were you flirting with him?

Gyomei turned to you - and although he couldn’t see, he could practically feel the embarrassment and regret coming from you

Gyomei smiled, taking your hand and kissing the back of it

“Well, I have no intentions of giving it back”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“I was wondering if you’re an artist because you’re so good at drawing me in”

Sanemi froze, turning to face you in disbelief

There’s no way someone like you was openly flirting

You immediately apologized, quickly turning on your heel and leaving

You got two steps in before Sanemi grabbed your wrist, turning you around and pulling you back

The two of you were suddenly close, Sanemi’s breath fanning over your neck

“Where are you going? I haven’t signed my artwork yet”

Obanai Iguro

“Do you have a map? I just got lost in your eyes”

Obanai turned to face you with wide eyes

Due to their difference in color, Obanai’s eyes were an insecurity of his

His face began to turn red as he hid behind his hand

“Thank you…your eyes are beautiful, too”

Mitsuri Kanroji

“When I look in your eyes, I see a very kind soul”

Mitsuri squealed

She knew that it was out of your nature to flirt, and she saw how you were a tad bit uncomfortable, so she found you downright adorable

Mitsuri immediately pulled you into a hug, continuously squealing about how cute you were

You won over her heart

Kyōjurō Rengoku

“No wonder the sky is gray, all the color is in your eyes”

Rengoku stared at you with wide eyes, surprised that you were openly flirting

Being his usual self - Rengoku began to laugh

You took it the wrong way and immediately began to regret what you said, wishing that the ground would swallow you whole

Rengoku noticed your shift in mood and paused his laughter, placing his hand on your shoulder

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t making fun of you, I was laughing because you were so adorable”

Rengoku gently kissed your cheek, pulling away and smiling at you,

“I’m afraid that you’re the one with the color in your eyes”

Muichiro Tokito

“There must be something wrong with my eyes - I can’t seem to take them off of you”

Muichiro blankly stared at you, trying to process what you had said

You began to fidget with your fingers, feeling as if Muichiro didn’t like what you said

After a moment of silence, Muichiro grabbed your hand and smiled,

“Who says you have to take them off of me?”

Shinobu Kocho

“Do you happen to have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knees falling for you”

Shinobu automatically began to reach for a band-aid before she paused, realizing that you were flirting with her

She turned to face you, gently smiling

“Well then, looks like we’re going to have to kiss those scrapes better, huh?”

Tengen Uzui

“So, aside from taking my breath away, what do you do for a living?”

Tengen immediately turned to face you, his jaw agape

“Are you flirting with me?!”

Intimidated by his loudness, you slowly nodded as you avoided eye contact

Tengen placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up,

“I like it, how flashy. And, to answer your question…”

Tengen leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear,

“It looks like I’m doing you for a living”

Giyu Tomioka

“Your eyes are like the ocean; I could swim in them all day”

Giyu blinked in confusion as he stared at you for a few minutes

“Were you…flirting with me?”

You began to feel embarrassed as you shyly nodded

“Well, if it were you…”

Giyu paused, kissing your forehead,

“I’d let you swim in my eyes forever”

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

----------

The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost. 

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice. 

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years. 

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips. 

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later. 

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now. 

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing. 

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly. 

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand. 

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

[yuvany]

PAINT ME LIKE MONA LISA

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 with an artist!reader

OT7 ENHYPEN x fem!reader . . . CONTENT / WARNING(S) : fluff + est relationship + not proofread . . WORD COUNT : 812 . CHECK MARK !!

( REBLOGS + FEEDBACK APPRECIATED !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

"Hee, don't move." You suddenly warn, your pencil balancing in between your fingers as you hold your palm up. "Please don't tell me a bomb is gonna detonate, babe." he jokes, and you chuckle, the sound of your pencil stratching the paper fills the room. "Are you drawing something?" He asks, and you hum. "Yup, wanna take a guess what i'm drawing?" You try to do this quickly while Heeseung is standing as still as he can. "Not sure. Care to tell me, pretty girl?" Heeseung itches his nose quickly, which goes unnoticed by you. "Obviously Mr.Handsome is my muse today."

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Saw you placing a bowl of fruit on the table, adjusting it and looking at it from all angles. Jay starts getting interested in what you're doing, so he gets closer to you from his hiding spot behind a corner. You hum delighted and return to your seat, but see Jay standing there. "Hello?" You ask with a chuckle. "Hey, sweetness. What's going on here?" Jay asked. "Nothing much, just an art project for school, they want us to do realism." You go on and explain the assignment. "So, like in the movies?" He asks, referring to how most movies use a bowl of fruits. You nod your head, and Jay gives you a kiss on the cheek for good luck.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Jake walks into your room and sees the painting resting on the floor, the paint still looking moist. It's like the canvas is whispering for him to come closer, because he does, his eyes observing each detail. Without noticing, Jake's finger gets closer to the canvas, brushing against the edge softly. "Aye! Don't touch!" You exclaimed upon entering your room and seeing him hunched on the floor. "sorry babe, but this is absolutely gorgous!" He says, a wide smile presenting itself on his lips. "Thank you, but you gotta be careful, babe." You laugh awkwardly, hunching down beside him to admire your art with him.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

He sees you pull out a sketch book and a pen, his eyes glued to the movement of your wrist. "Are you drawing me?" He asks with a smirk as he poses jokingly. "You wish." You chuckle and turn the block around so that he can get a view of it. Sunghoon takes a while to look over the rough sketch, and you start to wonder if he's actually observing it, or just zoning-out. You raise and eyebrow, and he says, "You know, I am a much better view than a simple window." He glides his arm around your waist and pulls you in. "I'm sure you are." You say, pressing you lips to the corner of his mouth.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

You and him went to an art museum, his hands holding yours while you take your time to watch each exhibition before either taking a picture, which Sunoo knoows you'll use later as reference, or pulling out a small piece of paper form your bag and a pencil as you sketch the art while explaining the history behind the artworks. "That's really interesting." He says, and follows you around while you repeat the pattern of taking a photo, sketching and explaining. "Imagine if they one day put up your art, angel." he says in awe, and you reply, "then I'll tell them that the history of it is my love for you."

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

He sees you curled up in bed with your art block on the bed as you sketch on it lazily while laying down, waiting for inspiration to flow into your head. Jungwon sees you through the door when he walks by, and walks back to make sure of what he saw. Naturally he walks in, catching your attention. You hum at the sight of him and he plops onto the floor after grabbing a pencil from your desk causing yiu to stop drawing and look at him confused. So far, you've only drawn sunflowers and fishes very sloppily. Jungwon sees them and tries to copy the best he could, but let's just say he did his best. "That's a cute one." You giggle, seeing his attempt.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

Your first date with him was an artistic and creative one. He took you to an art cafe and challanged you to a paiting conset, but he underestimated you and drew a nice sunset instead, confident that he'd win the bet easily. "Times up!" He says with a smirk, and you smile brightly and let go off the brush. "Do you wanna go first?" You ask, and Riki shrugs. "Alright, but be prepared to be blown away." You clap the sight of his scenery, and he urges you to show yours. As you turn the canvas to him, his jaw drops and you chuckle. "So what do I win?" you ask after he was done gaping. "How about a kiss?" He asks, and delivers.