#they all have such beautiful noses and side profiles

[indigostreaking]

If I love anything, it’s a good nose..

[berryblu-soda]

hey! people with hooked noses, how does it feel to have the prettiest type of nose on the entire planet?

[2hightocare]

COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

[teddybeartoji]

suguru geto is unbelievably captivating.

he catches your eye immediately – standing tall, he's got one hand on the subway pole to keep his balance. his hair is tucked into his hoodie with only a few strands left out to frame his face. you can only see his side profile but it's enough; a sharp, prominent jawline and a beautiful nose, thin eyebrows, a pierced lip and a pair of tired eyes. you feel bad for thinking it but the dark bags under them leave you no other option.

afternoon sun peeks from the windows behind him, successfully making the scene before you seem like a painting. the colors move; the shades of green flashing by as trees wave you goodbye, the different hues of the tired grays, of the big buildings taking up space as the base of the canvas. splashes of black and white and silver and beige are thrown into the mix, too. his slacks, his big headphones, his jewellery, his totebag. but what truly brings it all together, is his deep, dark maroon hoodie; there's a hint of purple in it aswell, and you just think it's one of the best colors you've ever seen. you figure the thought is a bit silly, but you can't get it out of your head.

something so comforting about it, something so warm and welcoming. something a little murky about it. you can't look away.

you forget about everybody else around you. for you, it's just him in this moment. a total stranger. you don't know him and you probably never will; a pang of hurt hits right under your ribs at the thought. you wonder what his name is, you wonder how his voice sounds. how warm his hands are, and what's his favourite color. no, he doesn't seem like the type to have a favourite color. childish. you'd have to ask about a favourite drink or a book perhaps instead. you're fine with that.

you can spot a few rings on his fingers, a silver watch and a bracelet or two peering from under his sleeve. his hands are pretty. they look good. you also think that you can see a tattoo sprouting from under the collar of his hoodie but the dark lines are blending in with the strands of his hair, so you can't be sure. you want to be sure.

your foot taps against the floor or the cart, your body itching to scoot a little closer to him. you want to see his whole face. you need to. fidgeting with your own fingers, you continue observing the man in front of you. he might step out every second now, you can't waste any more time.

his shoulder seem very broad, his posture almost immaculate. handsome – you think he looks very handsome. well put together. his clothes aren't wrinkled, there isn't a single hair or a speck of dust anywhere on them as far as you can see; the only things that betray his true state of being are his eyes.

purple. glued to the window in front of him, he watches... nothing. he seems a little out of it. he's not focused on the trees or the buildings, the people aside him. you think about what kind of music he might be listening to.

the subway doors open and you jolt, head turning around to look at the platform behind the glass. people stand and leave, and a few come in, leaving an open space for you to take on the bench you're currently sitting on. and you do take it.

there he is.

you can see his eyes a little better now. keen and sharp, he reminds you of a wolf. a malnourished one. the corners of his mouth are tilted down and he really does seem tired. but he's still utterly, utterly beautiful. his skin is almost perfect, his hair shiny and his lips a little glossy. but not too glossy though – no, he definitely uses something like shea butter. something that isn't too thick, something that doesn't smell or taste too strongly. it just seems right.

you've never been this captivated by a stranger before. it's weird. the effect this man has on you without ever even sparing you a glance. you think about asking for it. for a glance. for a second of his time. a fraction of it? anything. everything.

how would he greet you? would he be mad? would he think that you're bothering him? would he give you a smile? a scoff? an eyebrow raise? would he let you ask whatever your heart desires? or would he brush you off, never even removing his headphones when you try to speak to him? oh, it hurts. the blatantly fake heartbreak still hurts.

his trainers are clean - they're white with some accents on them. they match his hoodie. you wonder which he bought first. did he buy the other with the intent of wearing the two pieces together? you want to ask him. that's not his favourite color though, right? no, no – he wouldn't have one. this man reads books and watches movies that are mostly only shown at different festivals. you don't mind it.

films. foreign films. he knows names of the directors from the top of his head, he could probably name a few cinematographers, too. fancy. but that's not his main thing, definitely not. there's something missing, something you can't grasp with just your eyes. what is he passionate about? truly passionate. what does he pour his heart into? is that why he's exhausted? is he tired from loving something? is it starting to hurt now? is it overwhelming? does he want a break? does he want to rest? does he want to get away?

the sun finds your eye from behind his body, forcing you to tear your eyes from him. the cart stops again, the doors open. you try to rub out the slight burn, suddenly a bit frantical that you'll really lose him. you look up and—

he's not there.

he isn't there anymore.

people walk past you, plopping down beside you as you're still trying to find him. turning in your seat, you eye the station. maroon, maroon, maroon, maroon. c'mon, how fast does this man fucking walk?!

but he's just not there.

you think it's unbelievably unfair that it's the sun that made you lose him. isn't she supposed to be full of love? bullshit. with a huff, your shoulders slump and your eyes fall shut while sinking into the bench below you. the cart seems to rumble more now, the seat way more uncomfortable than it was a mere minute ago. you really are disappointed; in yourself and in the world. why didn't you get up? why didn't you speak to him? better to get a no than to drown in the million 'what if' questions in your head. stupid. you're stupid.

"hi."

as you listen to the voice recording of the station names, the very same ones you memorized years ago, you crack open your eyes. your own shoes stare back at you; they're dirtier than his were. you don't think too deeply about the comparison. sun dances on the ground before you, the various shapes entertaining your mind with the shadow play. but you don't stay for long; trailing up, you see the familiar paint and your heart skips a beat. white and maroon. black. maroon. silver.

purple.

[jamminvroomvroom]

second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math…

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

-

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

-

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

-

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

-

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

-

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

-

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

-

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

-

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

-

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[okwonyo]

⟡ ONLY IF YOU SAY YES ── asking them for a kiss。

엔하이픈 ୨୧ female reader one thousand fluff established relationship ⎯⠀ kissing skinship ( other )

ˊᗜˋreblogs&feebacks !CLICK

HEESEUNG ｡｡ would be sitting next to you during a social meeting, his hand resting on your thigh as he sits close to you. would listen to his friends talking attentively, humming while they talk, rubbing his thumb on your skin.

you would find him so pretty, staring at his side profile, eyes dragging on his nose. you would tap his shoulder shyly, to make sure anyone but him can see it and draw attention to you.

would lean towards you, asking you silently what is wrong, “can y’give me a kiss?” you would ask shyly and he would coo.

an ethereal smile would grow on his face after, at the same time, a red shade would appear on yours — the longer he stares, the darker it gets. would give you the sweetest kiss ever, before whispering; “here ya go, baby”

JAY ｡｡ would be in the kitchen— which would first worry you when you wake up and feel his empty side beside you. getting up in a sense of hurry as if he might have gone away from you, your first instinct would be following the delicious scent emanating from the kitchen.

you will be welcomed by jay’s broad shoulders, a tea towel over his shoulders, muscles flexing as he cuts your fruits.

would hum when you wrap your arms around his perfect waist, pressing cheek against his back, rocking him side to side, “good morning, beautiful,” he would tell you, turning his head to you slightly.

“kiss me,” you would tell him without responding back, puckering your lips and he would kiss you instantly. and again, and again, and again.

JAKE｡｡ you would listen to your boyfriend rambling about something totally random. starting from the weather to how cereals are made, you would nod along to what he says. not because you are faking it, but because, weirdly, it genuinely tickles your interest.

a giggle would even escape your lips without you even thinking about it. and he would decide to take it personally, not because he is genuinely offended, but because he wants to be dramatic and can be.

“i’ll stop talking then if you make fun of me,” he would say, crossing his arms under his chest with a pout forming on his lips. god, he is trying to make you go crazy.

you would giggle even more, “no—” you would touch his arms and he would look away, “i just, wanted to kiss you.” this, would make him go crazy. then, he would be the one giggling on your lips.

SUNGHOON ｡｡ would be the one to want to kiss your first. it is not as if he would be discreet about it either — not as if he would at least try to be.

his gaze would linger on your face for a long while, watching you doing literally nothing with an immense attention, trying to get your attention to telepathic messages.

would bite his lower lips slightly when you put a hair strand behind your ear, revealing your beautiful side profile. after making him wait for a while, you would turn your head to his, accompanied by a knowing look all over your face, “just kiss me”

would beam, coming closer, “if you insist,” and your only mistake would be thinking that he is going to pull away anytime soon.

SUNOO ｡｡ would start to get extremely shy when he feels your eyes on him for too long. heat slowly rising from the bottom of his feet to his cheeks as he tries to avoid your look.

his hand would come hiding his whole flush, “stop staring at me like that,” he would whine, resisting at you trying to get his face out it’s hiding place — your laughter would not help, “is there something on my face or what?”

“stop hiding!” you would giggle sweetly. a proud smile will spread on your lips when he would oblige. “i just really wanted to kiss you, s’all.”

a gape would show between his lips after your question. still, he would present you his cheek with an enthusiastic smile. would turn his head to you after you kiss him, just to do the same on your lips.

JUNGWON ｡｡ would not let the occasion to tease you slip through his fingers, ever. you would be able to see it coming when he smirks.

he would hum, acting as if he was thinking about it. “a kiss?” he would ask himself, looking at the ceiling before looking back at you with a look you won’t like at all. “of course.”

soft hands cupping your face, his lips would delicately rest on your forehead, “here?” he would ask after pulling away, you would shake your head. then he would do the same on your cheek, your nose, the corner of your lips; you would always refuse. “where does my baby want a kiss then?”

you would groan and this man would laugh at your misery, “just kiss me on the mouth already!” this is all he would need to hear.

RIKI ｡｡ his initial purpose would only be doing a cute attention toward you. when you would invite him to come over, he would show up with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

would fidget on his feet as you admire the bouquet in your hands. biting his inner cheek when your eyes would shoot back to him again. “w-what?” he would laugh nervously, “do you want to kiss me?”

his heart would drop to his stomach when you tell him that you actually want to kiss him really, extremely even, bad right now.

would put his hand on your waist and lean, making sure to not ruin the bouquet in your hand. your hand would rest on his neck, the kiss would be magical.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open ⎯⎯ this formating was really tiring but i love new challenges 😚

[benevolentbones]

gideondaughter!reader and spencer first time talking when the team goes to dinner and spencer is just a mess talking to her

thank you sm for the request!! hope you enjoy<3 requests are still open i’ll be working through them!

kids table | spencer reid x gideon!reader part 1

part 2

warnings: mentions of alcohol, light flirting.

word count: 1.5k

summary: it’s gideon’s birthday dinner and the team are here to celebrate.

“are you sure he booked it for 8:30?” jj hummed, holding her clutch purse close to her sage green maxi dress.

“yes. gideon party of nine at mastro’s, 8:30pm.” spencer recalled, having the time and place drilled into his mind in fear of being late.

“party of nine? but there’s only eight of us?” elle’s brows contorted, she counted everyone in the room. jj, morgan, reid, garcia, hotch, prentiss, herself and then gideon who was yet to show, that was only eight.

“maybe he’s bringing a date?” penelope chuckled, her hands smoothing down the hem of her fitted pencil dress.

“gideon? with a date? i highly doubt that.” morgan snickered, leaning against garcia.

the group of agents waited rather impatiently for gideon to arrive to the restaurant. all adorned in their best dress for the awaited man of the hours birthday dinner.

hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb.

“it’s only 8:25, he will be here.” he muttered out.

spencer began to fumble with his hands, he would class himself as a fairly patient man, the only thing on his mind currently was who the mystery ninth guest could be. he didn’t like not knowing things, it was part of being a profiler he guessed.

the doors to the dimly lit restaurant swung open, jason gideon walking in full stride with a grin on his face. he wore a navy blue suit jacket paired with his signature chinos.

“finally you’re here, they’ve been complaining for the last ten minutes.” prentiss sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“its not even 8:30, i said i would be on time- but y/n here couldn’t find the shoes she wanted to wear.” gideon let out a small chuckle as a figure walked through the doors behind him.

a girl, roughly in her early twenties stood beside gideon. her hands clamped together in front of her, a black satin dress adorned her figure, hugging her nicely, which she paired with matching black heels.

“well i found them in the end, dad.” she mumbled out, greeting the group with a small smile.

half the team stood there it awe, mouths gaped and eyes locked on the latest arrivals.

“you clean up nice, jason.” hotch nodded towards the older man, then turning his sights on you.

“beautiful as ever.” he smiled, which he rarely did, and leaned over to give you a hug.

“thanks uncle aaron.” you grinned back, embracing his warm hug.

“i’m sorry you need to catch us up real quick- dad? uncle?” morgan titled his head like a confused puppy.

“i didn’t realise you’d have trouble putting two and two together, morgan. this is my daughter, y/n.” gideon mused, ushering you further into the room.

you held out your hand, derek quickly took it in his, giving it a small shake, cogs in his mind still visibly turning.

“and aaron isn’t actually my uncle- he just acts like it.” you pulled your hand back, returning it to your side.

gideon quickly introduced you to the rest of the team, everyone seeming to come to terms with the fact gideon had a ‘secret’ daughter that he never once brought up.

all the while spencer stood, hands glued to his sides as he eyed you. he had never seen someone so perfect, the way the dress hung from your frame, the way you politely greeted every member of the team.

when gideon had finally reached him to introduce y/n to him, he was caught off guard.

“reid, meet my daughter y/n, im sure it’s not as hard for you to understand.” gideon hummed, making a dig at morgan who had migrated with the group to where the table was set up.

unlike the others, you kept your hand to yourself, but shot spencer a sweet smile.

“it’s really nice to meet you dr. reid- my dad has told me so much about you, i know you’re not big on handshakes.”

spencer’s heart was practically doing backflips at this point. he was completely enamoured by you.

“really nice- to meet you too.” he managed to stutter out.

gideon internally rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was happening.

“how about we sit down and look at the menu.” he began to usher his daughter towards the table, spencer following quick at his heels.

by the time the three of them had reached where the table set for nine was, the rest of the team were sat, eagerly awaiting them. the only free spaces were at either end of the rectangular table, and an extra place next to the end seat.

“hey gideon come look at this” jj beckoned the older man over, to the head of the table. he briefly turned back to his daughter, before he could utter a word she nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t be sitting with him.

“guess we can sit down at the end together.” you affirmed, shuffling to the free seats with spencer by your side.

once seated, everyone began flipping through the menu, all besides spencer who’s gaze every so often flickered over to the girl beside him, who seemed deep in thought about what she was going to order.

“what are you going to get?” she asked, attempting to make quiet conversation with the man at her side.

spencer hummed, he had researched the restaurant before hand noting all of the dishes he might like.

“the uh- the pasta, i think.” he paused for a moment. “what about you?” he cursed the heat that rose to his face, lifting his hand to loosen the dark purple tie around his neck.

you smiled, still scanning the menu, taking glimpses of spencer in his flustered state.

you had heard many things about most of the team throughout your fathers years of working with them, and when he finally allowed you to meet them, you were most excited to meet spencer.

“i might have that too, it sounds good.”

a few hours had past since everyone had sat down, everyone had finished eating and were now onto their fourth round of drinks, all besides you and spencer.

everyone was deep in conversation about a case from a few years back, obviously you had no clue what they were talking about.

you turned to spencer, who seemed to have gotten more comfortable being in such close proximity to you.

“i swear it feels like we are sitting at the kids table at a christmas dinner.” you giggled to yourself.

“i know right- it’s it’s like we aren’t even here.” spencer returned the chuckle, his heart beating a little faster.

“how are you enjoying the night- i hope im not boring you too much, if you want to join the rest of them feel free.” you mumbled out, eyes migrating to your hands that you had placed on your lap.

“no no- i like it here, i like you- i mean i like being with you i-“ spencer fumbled on his words, causing you to smile. god he was a complete mess.

you reached a hand over, placing it on spencer’s forearm. he could swear his skin felt like it was burning from your touch.

“i like being with you too, spencer.” you whispered out, a soft pink blush dusting your cheeks.

his hazel eyes locked with yours, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. he was partly confused as to why someone like you had enjoyed his awkwardness and rambling.

to say he had little experience talking to women in more than a friendly way, was an understatement.

he was completely out of his depth, and the fact that your father, his boss, sat at the other end of the table made things a little more awkward for him.

“you look really-good tonight, by the way.” he managed to mumble out, without sounding like a complete idiot.

this caused your face to flush, darting your eyes away from him briefly.

“thank you spencer.”

“would you maybe want to-“ before he could continue, gideon had stood up from the table, all eyes were on him.

“lets go y/n, your old man is getting too tired for this.” he joked.

“oh right-“ you stood up quickly brushing off your dress, you did a small lap of the table thanking everyone for the lovely evening and telling them it was great to meet them.

you then followed gideon out of the room, all remaining eyes were now on spencer who slumped down into his chair.

“that’s rough man, you had all night and didn’t even ask her out.” morgan shook his head lightly, feeling somewhat bad for the boy genius.

before spencer could say anything, he watched you dart back into the room, a piece of paper in your grasp. you quickly placed it in spencer’s hand before pressing a light peck to his cheek and running off out of the restaurant again.

the now flustered brunette un crumpled the paper, scanning the scribbled words.

thanks for talking all night, id love to go out with you sometime x

555-555-555 - y/n

“never mind- atta boy!”

[afterglowsainz]

crush | lando norris

summary: charles pr manager is always looking at lando while he’s being interviewed and fans think she has a crush on him

fc: lily-rose depp

a/n: who said fanfic about THE MIAMI GRAND PRIX WINNER

—

liked by charlesleclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and others

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liked by lissiemackintosh, landonorris and others

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liked by charlesleclerc, carlossainz55 and others

f1gossippofficial lando norris and y/n y/l/n (charles leclerc’s pr manager) were seen partying together in japan after the race and were caught kissing outside the bar

tagged landonorris, yourusername

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and others

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landonorris broke my nose, won my first grand prix, celebrated with my one and only❤️ nice weekend overall

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maxverstappen1 congrats lando💪🏼

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

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A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry. 

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.” 

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening. 

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks. 

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off. 

“ It's all right.” 

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you. 

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray. 

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words. 

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth. 

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet. 

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show. 

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him. 

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too." 

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine. 

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?" 

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him. 

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty." 

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again. 

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty? 

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all. 

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside. 

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace. 

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him. 

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying. 

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this  for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head. 

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal. 

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily. 

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip. 

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim. 

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him. 

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out. 

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze. 

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we  went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him. 

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself. 

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin. 

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway." 

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember. 

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater. 

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail. 

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully. 

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula. 

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat. 

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much. 

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry. 

“That's it,” you smile. 

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.” 

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him. 

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him. 

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world. 

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

[earlysunshines]

like you used to

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; angst

synopsis: it’s raining it’s pouring no old man is snoring and you've run into your ex-girlfriend (aka the love of your life) after a year.

warnings: reader used to have bad habits (smoking, alcohol) ; sana is a sweetheart ; reader is avoidant ; ex's to...? ; my attempt at angst, not my forte... ; anything else I didn't mention

a/n: hey! so all i do is lie (change my mind too often) anyways this one is short I just had a random burst of motivation :-p feeling edgy, don’t expect more this is spontaneous;-;

one thing about where you live is that there’s always unexpected surprises — in this case, the weather went from partly cloudy at 5pm to sudden thunder and lightning.

great.

no umbrella, a drenched shoulder bag, and soaked clothes cling to you as you dash for cover. when you finally find refuge at the bus stop, there’s another surprise waiting for you.

light brown hair dampened by the rain, a side profile more beautiful than flowers in bloom, and a soft smile that could captivate you for centuries: minatozaki sana.

“shit,” you mutter under your breath, running under the roof of the stop. 

patting down your blazer and pleated pants, sana turns and widens her eyes slightly. you meet her halfway, meeting her gaze and shrinking despite being a few centimeters taller. 

she gasps – almost. “y/n?”

“sana,” you tighten your jaw, feeling a knot in your stomach. “hi.”

“you’re drenched.” she points out the obvious, rushing to pull out a handkerchief in her purse. “come here.” she says, stepping closer. 

you flinch, stepping back a bit and sana frowns.

“it’s fine, it’s nothing.” you assure, feeling stiff in your place. “use it for yourself.”

“i’m not as soaked as you are.”

“it’s fine, sana.” you add firmly, clutching the strap of your bag and wiping water off your cheeks. 

even when you turn back to face the road, attempting to dry yourself with your wet blazer, sana continues to stare. you feel her eyes piercing through you, the same sweet eyes that would look at you like you were her world before you messed up. you want to shrivel up and disappear, every second beside her is grueling.

you make the mistake of glancing back at her again, she’s somehow prettier than two seconds ago – and after a year of avoiding her. 

sana’s wearing a white dress with a white cardigan on top; everything she has on is pretty damp, so you assume she got luckier and found cover quicker than you. she has on light makeup, nothing too crazy, but either way, she’d still have you staring. her hair – now slightly wet – is clipped up with a bow, making her look like some sort of princess. a small sigh leaves your lips as you break away from her.

“the rain won’t stop anytime soon, how will you get home?” she asks you, voice sweet and careful. 

“bus.”

“i heard they’re delayed for thirty minutes.”

“i can wait.” you reply, staring at the ground. “it’s nothing.”

she sighs, then steps closer to you and holds your wrist. she grabs your attention again, both your eyes meeting in eye contact that makes your heartache; she has that effect.

“y/n,” she stays sternly, “i called an uber ten minutes ago, you’re coming with me.”

“no i’m not sana.”

“yes you are.” her grip on your forearm tightens, making you gulp lightly. 

you stare at her through your overgrown, wet bangs that cling to your forehead, sighing softly. the handkerchief she had in her hand now draws closer to your face. she gently uses it to wipe away the water from your forehead, cheeks, and nose. her touch is tender, and her eyes focus intently on you, making your heart flutter in your chest.

surrender is your first option – your only option. 

“okay.”

–

sana’s apartment is as homey as you remember, the same couch you’d talk and makeout for hours on is still clean and fresh. 

she steps in first, kicking off her loafers and walking towards the kitchen island. 

“come.” she says, and you follow without a word, taking off your own shoes and hanging your bag up on the rack you used to.

you follow and sit down at the chair she’d used to sit at when you cooked for her, playing chef and cracking stupid jokes as you fixed her a simple pasta. her place used to be a haven from whatever you had going on, but now it’s dissolving you with every second passing by.

sana disappears for a moment, giving you a brief respite. you take this time to try and recompose yourself, staring at the marble counter in front of you. despite your efforts to push them down, memories you tried so hard to lock away from the light resurface, flooding your mind and making your heart ache with their intensity.

“here,” you jump at the soft sound of sana’s voice, looking up to see her handing you a towel – your towel.

“thank you.” grabbing it, you pat yourself down. sana hands you shorts and a t-shirt, also yours. 

“you never came back to get them.” she mumbles, sitting down next to you and searching for something in your eyes. “you know that?”

“i do.”

“mhm.” she looks even deeper, twisting you from the inside and out. “you should change.”

you nod.

–

by the time you finish changing, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror for a moment too long, lost in a brief moment of reminiscing. shaking off the memories, you finally return to the kitchen, feeling all too much at once.

there’s a candle lit and hot ginger tea on the counter in sana’s favorite mug. she’s leaning against the counter near the stove, staring at her own cup.

you sit down and place both hands on either side of the mug. sana hums softly, “you should drink some, you’ll get sick.”

“it’s fine, i’ll get going soon anyway.”

“no you won’t.”

“and you’re the one who’s in charge of that?”

“stay the night, it’s not like you haven’t before y/n.” she sighs, looking at you with hurt in her features. “besides, i won’t let you go back. if you do, i know just seeing me will prompt you to drink and drink, maybe you’ll even light a cigarette or two if you’re sober enough to pull them out the pack.” she spits, sending a dagger through your chest.

you try to respond, but your throat dries up in the process. instead, you take a sip of the tea, not uttering a single word.

the air is weighed down with a palpable tension, like the elephant in the room sits on top of you two.

she sets her mug down, then walks over to lean against the counter in front of you, watching your head hang lower and hands run to the back of your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

“you should be.”

leaving with nothing but a note, a text, and then blocking her? sana deserves more than a sorry, but she’s grateful that you’re muttering it at all.

“i couldn’t face you.” you feel your throat closing in on itself again. “i don’t want you to be stuck on me.”

“y/n, i love you, nothing is ever going to change that even after you ghosted me.”

the whole reason you did all of that was simple: you’re an insecure, avoidant coward.

sana was and still is set up on a pedestal, one that would take lightyears to climb. she's beautiful, cunning, charming, and caring. you had never known anyone as loving as her. it was dangerous having a person so cozy and warm jump into your life when you've always been so cold and uneasy.

two years with sana were enough to create memories that would make you smile just thinking about them, but they could also send you into a spiral.

lingering in your mind were thoughts screaming for you to leave her, insisting you weren't enough and that she would be better off without you. it wasn’t jealousy of anyone else, you were too clouded with your flaws to care about that; it was the belief that you should dig yourself into a ditch so sana would realize she shouldn’t waste her time on someone like you.

she witnessed your moments of weakness. once a month, you'd drink until you couldn’t formulate a thought, and smoke to avoid confronting your problems and the personal hassles you hid from her. the monthly occurrence turned into a bimonthly thing, and then weekly nearing the end of your relationship. and still, sana would be by your side each time, making sure you were okay.

you were an asshole, and you had to pry yourself away from her somehow.

“just give up sana.”

“y/n,” you feel hands on your cheeks, cupping them and tilting your head up to meet her face sculpted by the angels above. “stop that.”

your brows upturn. “you stop that.”

“i’m not doing anything.”

“that’s the problem.”

sana rubs your cheeks like she used to, her long nail just barely grazing your skin in the process. you sink in your place, eyes avoiding hers.

“we don’t have to talk about it now, but stay. i want you safe, even if it’s just for tonight.”

“don’t do this to yourself, you’ll only hurt more.”

“there’s nothing that hurts more than knowing you’ll have a fever, it’s okay.”

without warning, she leans in, hugging you softly. sana’s warmth and softness envelop you, and you feel like you’ll freeze her, turning her rigid with your coldness.

sana feels your body go stiff, but when she rubs her back, you’re already sinking into her. she’s spent time to take care of herself, but nothing beats the way she cares for you, or just the feeling of being with you.

you had your flaws, but sana saw right past them and into your heart.

even if you didn’t think it, you were sana’s rock. sweet and caring, a sight for sore eyes, and the warmth she needed after a long day. she could talk to you about anything, and you’d be there to listen and soothe her worries, your smile easily easing the tension in her shoulders.

after countless tries (well, two, because sana couldn’t see anyone but you after that setup with momo’s friend on a whim), she had accepted that no one else could fill your spot in her life.

she feels tears soaking the material of her t-shirt, hearing you sniffle lightly into her.

sana pulls away, holding your face again. she looks at you with a mix of pity, regret, anger, and sorrow, maybe a little relief too. you’re back with her, she’s unsure of whether or not you’re still as vulnerable, but it doesn’t matter.

“it’s okay.”

“i’m an asshole.”

“you are,” she agrees, then wipes a tear from your eye. “but everyone has their reasons.”

she lets you stain her shirt with a few more tears before gently coaxing you to join her on the couch. it will take a long time to rebuild what you once had, but sana is willing to try, and you are too—especially when she holds you close, her hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

you’ve always thought you didn’t deserve her. 

but sana won’t let you let go so easily. she refuses to back down without a fight, and neither will you – not this time.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Secrets ♡

♡ Pairing: sugar daddy!yeosang x chubby!fem!sugar baby!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Summary: It's your anniversary and everything's going wonderfully with the man of your dreams until you're forced to spill a secret you've been hiding for a long time. You've always wanted a family with him but never pushed the issue, knowing it's something he wouldn't be interested. But you might just be surprised what he's willing to do and how eager he is to do it.

♡ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♡ Warning: discussions of pregnancy/motherhood, breeding kink, nipple play, unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex, yeosang has some dom vibes at time, spanking, pet names (mommy/daddy/baby), hair pulling, creampie, and that's about all.

♡ A/N: I wrote this as a request for @rems-writing who I adore to pieces. I really hope that I did justice to your request, my love. It was really fun to write and is only worsening the fact that Yeosang is wrecking me these days so thank you for that.

In the beginning things were different. Yeosang was your sugar daddy. He was there to spoil you beyond your wildest dreams, giving you everything your heart desired. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. In return he got you, however and whenever he wished to have you. But overtime, as all things do, the situation grew more complicated than either of you planned.

One day you woke up to find that you weren’t reaching for your phone to call him about the newest pair of shoes you had your eye on, you just needed to hear the sound of his voice. And Yeosang found himself caring less and less if seeing you led to anything sexual. He was more than happy to simply have you in his arms.

You both had, against all of your better judgment, fallen completely in love with each other. It’s been 3 years since you both broke down and admitted this was far deeper than something transactional. 3 years down to the day that you decided to truly be together and neither of you have regretted it for a moment. 

Staring lovingly at your gorgeous side profile as the two of you navigate your way through the crowded lantern festival, Yeosang can’t imagine ever regretting being with a girl like you. You’re everything he’s ever wanted and more. With your hand securely held in his, he feels like he’s got the very center of his universe in the palm of his hands. That’s why he did everything in his power to make this anniversary special for you.

There was the breakfast in bed that he spent all morning whipping up himself. The shopping spree that almost cleaned out your favorite store. A four course meal at a lavish restaurant overlooking the water. And now a starlit walk through a breathtaking lantern festival where gorgeous neon sculptures illuminate the night. You stare at them in awe the same way you have every single thing he’s placed in front of you today. You’re sincerely happy and that’s the only thing he wants in this world. 

“Yeo, look at that! Isn’t it beautiful?” you beam, dragging him over to a tree sprinkled with dozens of fluorescent cherry blossoms. They twinkle overhead, bathing you in a soft pink light that makes you glow. You’re so ethereal in his eyes that he doesn’t even care that you nearly yanked his arm off to get him over here. 

“Yes, it’s beautiful, baby,” he laughs, his voice soft and deep. You’re the cutest when you get like this over things and he can’t help but be tickled when that childlike excitement comes out. 

“And what’s so funny?” you frown, your nose wrinkling adorably. 

Despite a half hearted attempt at holding it in, your bratty nature only makes him laugh harder. “You’re just so cute. I can’t help it” he says, pulling you into his arms and attacking your cheek with the sweetest of kisses. 

“Kang Yeosang, you’re being a very bad boy right now” you giggle, spinning around and straight into a kiss on the lips that has you blushing so hard your cheeks are heating up. 

He leans into your neck, lips tickling their way up to your ear. “I can be much worse,” he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Feeling your mind stray to places a little too obscene for public, you pull away from Yeosang and find a tiny human staring up at you with tears in her eyes. 

“Mommy!” a girl no older than 4 or 5 cries, tugging on your dress. She’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen with her teddy bear and her pigtails. It breaks your heart to see her crying. 

“Hey, honey. Did you lose your mommy?” you ask, kneeling down to comfort her. Now face to face with you, she realizes that you aren’t her mommy and throws an even bigger fit. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetie” you coo, patting her on the shoulders. She throws herself into your arms and you automatically wrap your arms around her, letting her know that she’s safe with you. Your gaze darts to a panicked Yeosang for help. You know kids aren’t really his thing but you could use the assist right now. 

Yeosang peeks at her over your shoulder and smiles in a goofy way that gets a giggle out of her. “Everything will be okay, sweetie” he reassures her, “We’ll find your, mommy.” Patting her on the head, he takes off into the crowd in search of her mom or a worker who can help. 

“That’s Yeosang, he’s a great finder” you say, balancing her on your hip like a pro. “I like your dress by the way” you throw in, noticing that you’re both wearing the same light green sundress only her version is much tinier and much more adorable. You figure this must be how she got you confused with her mom. You had no idea this dress was so popular when you brought it. 

Fascinated by the discovery, she begins to play with the fabric of your dress, her curiosity shifting to the shiny silver earrings dangling from your ears. They’re one of the many gifts that Yeosang surprised you with for your anniversary. As she marvels at the way they sparkle, the giggles overflow from her and your heart flutters. 

It’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to Yeosang but you’ve often wondered what it might be like to walk around a park like this. Yeosang by your side and a little one bouncing on your hip, giggling her life away. You’d love this more than anything that comes with a price tag but it’s a dream that you gave up long ago.

Yeosang made it clear from various throwaway comments he’s made over the past 3 years that kids aren’t in the cards for him. And, no matter how much it pains you, you have to accept it. Instead, you keep your dreams to yourself and cherish precious moments like this where you get a taste of motherhood, however faint. It’s bittersweet but sweet nonetheless. 

“Pretty” the little girl says, fidgeting with one of your earrings. 

“You like them?” you ask, smiling gently, “They were a gift from—”

“Sophia!” a woman yells, racing over to you with Yeosang not too far behind. Your suspicions were correct. She’s wearing the exact same dress as you with the added accessory of a few tears. 

“See. I told you he was a good finder” you whisper, handing her over to her relieved mother. 

“Honey, I was so worried,” the mother pants, struggling to catch her breath as she squeezes her daughter tightly. 

Yeosang returns to your side, placing a hand on your waist and giving you a look of admiration you’re too distracted to notice but it’s there. 

“Thank you so much for looking out for her” the mother says, laughing when she notices her daughter still holding onto your dress, “I think she likes you.”

Your face lights up at the adorable gesture and you pinch Sophia’s cheek playfully. “I like her too. You be good now, Sophia.”

“Bye!” Sophia waves, finally letting go of your dress. Her eyes are still glued to you as her mom mouths another silent “Thank you” and the two head off back to where they came from. 

You linger there for a moment, swirling in thoughts of what motherhood might be like. You’ve pushed it to the back of your mind for so long that you’d forgotten how deeply you yearned for it. It’s enough to keep you lost in thought until Yeosang takes your hand, snapping you out of it. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, knowing perfectly well that it isn't. You can’t hide your feelings from him, even if you think you can. When something’s upsetting you he can feel it. He knows your heart’s breaking. 

“It’s…it’s nothing” you say, setting your sights on another sculpture a good distance away. “Why don’t we go check that out?” You tug at his arm but this time he doesn’t let you drag him an inch. 

“Something’s wrong. Talk to me” he pleads, his face as serious as you’ve ever seen it. Yeosang’s typically playful and gentle with you, seldom showing his stubborn side but it’s out tonight and you know that arguing with him is a lost cause. 

You sigh, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact, “I can’t really talk about it here.”

“Then let’s go back to the car. We can talk there, okay?” He isn’t asking as much as he is telling you what’s about to happen.

It’s his turn to drag you along as he maneuvers you through crowds of families and lovey dovey couples to get to the car. All the while your stomach’s doing backflips at the thought of telling Yeosang the truth. You promised long ago that you’d always tell each other the truth, no matter how afraid you were, and you’d deal with the rest together. It’s a promise that you’ve never broken, not even for the smallest thing, but tonight lying seems more appealing than ever.

By the time you make it into the car your mind’s already been made up that he’ll leave you for this. Your 3rd anniversary will be your last one all because you couldn’t get over one silly thing. 

“So,” Yeosang says, the silence dancing between you becoming almost unbearable, “Are you gonna tell me what happened back there?”

He watches you with the kindest eyes and your heart breaks even more. This may be the last time he looks at you like that. You take a deep breath, soaking it in, your heart still toying with the idea of lying. 

“I want to be a mother” you blurt out, unable to keep it bottled up any longer.

It’s simultaneously terrifying and relieving to have that off of your chest after holding it in like a sneeze for the past 3 years. “I know you don’t want kids and I’m okay with that, I really am. It’s just that when I’m around kids like that, sometimes I…I don’t know.” You begin to tear up and Yeosang places a comforting hand on your leg. 

“Who said I didn’t want kids?” he asks so softly you almost think that you imagined it. 

“Uhm, you?” you sniffle, your bottom lip quivering. “You said that all kids do is poop and cry and make a mess of everything.”

Yeosang pulls his sleeve down, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Baby, I didn’t mean it that way. Well, I did mean that but not in that way. Yeah, all kids do is poop and cry and make a mess but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want a family with you.”

“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better. If it’s not what you want it’s not what you want.”

“Look at me” he demands, forcing you to meet his gaze, “I would love a family with you. Not because you cried but because that’s what I want. I just downplayed it because I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Oh my gosh, do I want it?” you say, perking up at the mere thought of it. “Tiny versions of us running around the house would be the best thing ever. Imagine going shopping for their little clothes and the family vacations. It’d be so cute. You’d make such a good dad, Yeo.”

There it is again. That childlike wonder that always brings a smile to his face. “And you’d make a wonderful mom. I only wish you would’ve told me sooner. I want a life with you and everything that comes along with it. Promise me you’ll never doubt that again.”

Yeosang extends his pinky to trap you into the legally binding pinky swear. You hook your pinky into his, rolling your eyes at how silly he can be. “I promise.”

“Good. Now here,” he says, handing you the aux cord, “Talk about it more when we get home?” 

You nod, skeptically taking the cord. It’s not his willingness to hand over control of the music to you that has you skeptical. Let’s be real, you always control the music anyway. What throws you off is how laid back he’s acting when he knows that you can read him as well as he reads you.

The entire ride home there’s the ghost of a smile on his face, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh, as he nods along to your music like the conversation never happened. But the wheels are turning in his head, he’s thinking about something and not knowing exactly what is eating you up inside. 

Did he really mean what he said? Is a family really what he wants or was he just trying to please you? You once again recall your pact not to lie. It goes both ways and you have to trust him to stick to it. Still, as you pull into the driveway and he leads you up the stairs of your shared home, you feel in your gut that there’s more to it than he’s leading on. 

“Is now a good time?” he asks once you’ve made it safely into the dimly lit living room. 

You turn around, eyeing him curiously, “Is now a good time for what?” 

Yeosang steps towards you, tossing his keys onto the coffee table. “You said you wanted to start a family” he says, his eyes scanning over how well that dress fits your curves, “So tell me, is now a good time to start?”

“Yeosa—” you’re saying but your words are cut off by his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you passionately, his hands hungrily massaging your figure through your dress. Your head spinning from the kiss, you stumble backwards, finding yourself pinned between your boyfriend and the wall. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this” he confesses, hands slipping under your dress to massage your plush ass. “To just fill you up until you can’t take it anymore.”

His words set your body on fire, every fantasy you’ve had about this very moment flooding your brain. “Please, I want you to fill me up so badly. I need it” you beg, palming a bugle that only tightens with your desperate pleas.

“Fuck, baby” he groans, drowning you in another kiss. Locking his arms around your waist, he sweeps you up and takes you to the couch where you take control, straddling him as you grind down against his clothed cock. 

The heat between your bodies is as intense as the heat between your thighs, your pussy growing wetter by the second. Yeosang trails kisses down your neck, gripping your thighs to spread your legs wider. Your stiff clit bumps the strained zipper of his pants and you let out a moan pretty enough to taste.

“Fuck me” you whine, hips rocking, desperate for more friction. 

“Already?” he teases, dipping two fingers between your legs to stroke your leaking slit. Your panties are so drenched the cotton feels like velvet. So smooth and so saturated with your juices that his fingers just slide across them. 

“I want to know how wet you are first” he says, nibbling at your bottom lip, “Show me.” 

It takes every ounce of willpower to pull yourself off of him but you manage, standing up and turning around so that your ass is poking right in his face. Yeosang tears your dress up, kissing one of your ass cheeks while his free hand slaps the other. The sting makes you jump but the kisses are heavenly. A delicious mixture of pain and pleasure. 

“Bend over” he whispers, tugging your panties down as you bend over in front of him and spread your legs apart for him.

A sudden shyness overcomes you when you realize how exposed you are. At the same time your nipples stiffen against your bra knowing how hard he must be getting watching your cunt drip for him the way it does. 

His fingers meet your slit again and he hums in satisfaction, collecting your arousal on his fingertips. He pops them inside of you and you cry out, pressing your thighs together to feel them even better. 

“You’re clenching so tightly around my fingers, baby. You need to be bred that badly?” 

“Mmhmm” you gasp, fighting to stay upright as he spreads his fingers, scissoring in and out of your core. Your thighs are getting wetter and wetter,  your juices leaking between them the faster his fingers fuck into you.

Yeosang runs his tongue along your thighs, licking up the arousal that leaks out from around his fingers. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Use your words.”

“I want to have your babies. I want you to breed me” you moan like a melody and you’re snatched right back down into his lap, his cock buried deep inside of you before your brain has time to register it. 

Bringing your back flush against his defined chest, he thrusts into you with enough force for you to see stars. He’s feral, determined to ravage you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve had sex with him hundreds, if not thousands of times, up to this point but this time is so different. It’s the first time you’ve felt him raw inside of you and it’s pleasure beyond anything you could’ve ever dreamed of.

You feel everything. The head pulsing and leaking each time he bottoms out. The blood rushing through the veins that travel along his length, twitching when  you clench, swallowing him deeper. Behind you Yeosang’s losing his mind at how perfect your bare pussy feels wrapped around him. He can feel all of the ridges, feel how slippery wet your walls are while he fucks you. It’s almost too much to handle. 

Smoothing his hands up your sides, a hand finds its way to one of your breasts, pinching the bud through your dress. He rolls it between his fingers, the pressure just enough to keep your senses on edge. His other hand finds its way between your legs, working your clit in small circles.

It’s sensory overload being played with in so many ways. Your core being fucked in perfect rhythm, your sensitive nipples twisting between his fingers, and your puffy clit being overstimulated. It’s like you’re falling apart right here in his arms and he loves it. Every single minute of it. You milk his cock so well when you’re like this, his whining, drooling, teary eyed girl. 

“C…cum first. You” you stutter, throwing your head back. Your fingers find his hair again and you pull it harder this time, arching your back and fluttering your walls. “Fill me up, Yeosang.” 

You’re so cute when you’re needy, too cute to deny. Truth is, he’s been holding back. He wanted to cum the second his cock felt what you were like without a condom. All this time the pressure’s been building and holding it back has been unbearable. His heart set on giving you what you want, as always, he slides down further on the couch, hitting your sweet spot as he fucks into you harder. 

“You’re so pretty you know that?” he growls, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, “You’re gonna make such a pretty mommy, aren’t you?”

You tug at his hair, swirling your hips in his lap, “Yes, daddy.”

Your words are like magic. One final twitch of his cock and he’s spilling inside of you so hard that you can feel him painting your walls. You wanted to be full and you are. So full of his seed that it’s dripping from your pussy, leaking all over him. The fullness sends you crashing towards your high, your walls gripping him tighter than ever as you both shiver in each other’s arms. 

“Oh god, don’t stop” you moan, greedy for more of his cum. Lucky for you it’s still flowing and your pussy devours it, taking every drop until you’re both spent. Cradling you in his arms, Yeosang brushes your hair back out of your face and kisses your cheek, lulling you down from your high. 

“You know I meant that” he says, breathlessly.

“Meant what?” you ask, stroking the muscular arms responsible for keeping you upright. 

“You’ll make a great mom. I can’t wait to see it” he smiles, planting another kiss on your cheek. “We just gotta keep working on it. Ready to go again?”

“Sir, you’re insatiable! I need to get away from you!” you giggle, clumsily pulling away from him and hobbling towards the stairs. 

Yeosang chases after you, scooping you into his arms with a mischievous grin on his face, “Well how else are babies made, honey?” 

[sanguineterrain]

temptation | jason todd

Summary: Still unsure about where you stand with your knight, you tiptoe around each other. Then you find him in a compromising position and learn more than you imagined ever knowing.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x AFAB!reader (no pronouns used)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: smut 18+ only, male masturbation, voyeurism (dubcon because jason doesn't know he's being watched but jason very much wants the reader), whipping, self-flagellation, religious themes and guilt, breeding kink, somewhat submissive jason. arranged marriage themes. reader has been forced to live with jason.

A/N: i continue to be insane about knight jaytodd :)

the divider

Despite the lack of communication, a routine has been established between you and Jason.

Sometimes you cook, sometimes he cooks. Sometimes he goes to the market, sometimes you do.

Lately you've taken to doing the washing in the brook nearby. The summer heat makes the water refreshing. A few times, while Jason was away, you went upstream to play in the river. You don't know why you hid that from him. He does the same thing when he goes to bathe. You think about that every time—specifically, you remember the glimpse of his bare chest and broad shoulders.

It feels strange and maybe a little perverted to go to the river while Jason's home and think about his body. So you wait until he's out.

The house is empty. You've returned early from the market, so you carry the basket of dirty clothes to the brook.

And about halfway down the path, you hear it. Quick, choppy breaths.

You set down the basket and hide behind a tree. You peek first, not knowing what to expect. An animal? An intruder?

You see black curls, then the side profile of a sharp nose, a flushed cheek, parted lips.

Jason's shirt is untucked, shirt tails carelessly in the mud. His trousers have been shoved down. He's standing beside a tree, back to the water.

In his hand is his cock.

You've never seen one up close before. It looks big, even in Jason's already big hand. The tip is a deep crimson, slick with precum.

Jason's sounds are tight. You can barely hear him, but from the way he strokes himself, you see that he's very aroused.

"God, for–forgive me," he whispers, and speeds up. "I have given into t-temptation, ngh."

You squeeze your legs together, confused and alarmed by what the sight does to you. You can't tear your eyes from his hand and the thatch of hair peeking underneath his fist every time he moves.

You imagine him pushing into you. How full you would feel! And of course, impregnation. No doubt that Jason would impregnate you quickly.

Where would he take you? He's such a solemn, quiet man. You don't know if he'd take you anywhere but in his bed, between the sheets. Slowly, gently.

But as you watch him stroke himself, abuse himself and tug his cock hard, the thought of Jason taking you roughly flashes through your mind.

You'd like to be bent over in the kitchen, perhaps. Fucked on the table. You can hear its creaking as Jason thrusts into you, how he'd have to stop and steady himself so as not to snap the legs in two. He would pet your neck, your face, apologize as he wrecked you. And you would forgive him because he wouldn't be able to help it; all rational thought would leave your sweet knight once he pushed his fat cock into you.

You'd give him easy access that night. Serve his dinner and, in a moment of forgetfulness, bend down and show your puffy cunt, ready for him to push into.

You imagine how he'd stiffen, how he'd inhale sharply and pretend not to notice. Would he play with your cunt if you begged? Spread you across his lap and finger you until you shook with desire? Your beautiful knight, who so intently protects your honor. You'd give him your honor and more.

The sound of your name pulls you out of your head. Panic lances through you; have you been caught?

But no, Jason is still flushed and unaware. His eyes are a little wet. He says your name again and thrusts into his hand. More tears run down his cheeks.

"Forgive me," he says, then comes.

He's louder as he comes. He bites the soft curve of his thumb to muffle his sounds. Long spurts of seed coat his hand, and Jason soon forgoes muffling his moans and instead covers his cock with both hands to contain his release. But it's so much that it leaks through his fingers, dribbling onto his pants and into the dirt. He cries the entire time, cheeks dark. Eventually, the cries become high, sticky whines. He leans against a tree, cock soft.

Jason would breed you in the first go. You understand this. It's certain he would refuse you, were you brave enough to proposition him. You would be heavy with his child within the week.

He turns his head and you quickly duck behind the tree, holding your breath. You pray he hasn't seen you.

But Jason rustles in the grass after a moment, so you relax. You wish you could show yourself but whatever this is between you two is delicate and strange and won't be cured with sex. It won't.

You go further than normal and wash the clothes there, taking over an hour. You splash yourself with water before making the trek back to the house.

Jason isn't there when you return, so you hang the laundry alone, dreaming about a hot mouth on your neck and fingers inside of you.

You awaken the next morning to the sound of a whip.

The first time fades into the background. But the next three lashes make you get out of bed.

There's no sound that follows the lashes, which is the oddest part. No whinnies or animal squeals.

You go out barefooted, dirt already warm from the sun. Jason is in the yard.

In his right hand is the whip. On his back are four thin, bloody welts.

"Jason!" you say, hurrying to the yard.

He turns his head at the sound of your voice. Then he turns around and whips himself three more times in succession.

Your eyes widen. You grab his wrist with both hands, pulling hard. Jason drops the whip and stumbles back, slipping out of your grip.

He looks at you wide-eyed, chest heaving.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Have I... did I wake you?"

"Yes, of course you woke me! Why are you doing that?"

He immediately looks wracked with guilt. You soften, upset at yourself for being so harsh and frightened by your boldness. Have you forgotten your place so easily?

Then again, Jason's not so good at keeping you in your place either.

"It's alright that you woke me," you say. "I'm not angry about that."

Jason shakes his head. "I should've been quieter. Self-punishment deserves no spectator."

"Why are you punishing yourself?"

"Because I—" He shakes his head. "I have sinned. I have been... selfish. Desired things that aren't mine to want."

You reach for him, comfort like an instinct. Jason backs away.

"Please," he says, chest heaving. "Please don't touch me. I beg you."

His words sting. You drop your hand.

"You don't need to punish yourself," you say carefully. "You've done nothing wrong. You've... you've been nothing but kind to me."

Jason shakes his head. "If you knew..."

His eyes sweep over your body. You watch as guilt overtakes him.

"I have lost sight of my duty. I must overcome my desires."

"You're allowed to have desires," you say.

"Not these," he says heavily.

You watch him for a moment. He stares unseeingly in the distance. Blood from his back drips on the ground.

You take a deep breath and pull down one shoulder of your night shirt. Then you pull the other. Jason's head darts back. His eyebrows go to his hairline.

Neither of you move for a moment. Then you pull your shirt down further. Air hits your skin. You're almost to your nipples.

You look at Jason. He swallows hard and tries to angle his body away from you. It doesn't work. You stare openly at his bulge. Just the suggestion of your body gets him hard and ready.

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes wet. "Please—God, please forgive me."

Something alights in you at the thought of Jason's obedience. He may think his capacity to breed is a sin, but his body can't help but react. He's ashamed of how quickly his cock fattens, eager to spurt.

You wonder if he'd hardened shortly after he came yesterday afternoon. If he'd cried in embarrassment at how fast his body betrayed him, demanding he release his desire.

Even after a whipping, he's hard for you. Would he still be hard if you were the one holding the whip? Would he come if you struck him?

You pull down your shirt and release one breast. The air hardens your nipple.

Jason whines low in his throat, strangled and desperate.

"Please," he whispers. "Take mercy."

This is insanity. What will you do? Strip and have him take you in the mud?

Truthfully, you'd much rather he shamefully comes in the dirt. Even if it is a waste of seed. You like how dark his cheeks get.

So, you stop. Jason looks to the sky, likely praying for forgiveness.

"I'm going to make tea," you say, shirt still lowered.

He nods, body tight with tension. You walk across the yard and back inside. Then you pull up your shirt and prepare tea.

As the water boils, the whip whistles through the air six more times.

[billieshrry]

👏OKAY👏

Billie fluff!! Like desperately. Deep and detailed!!

Just Billie x reader cuddling at the end of the night in bed. Billie being the big spoon has her arm draped over reader and interlocking their fingers. Reader grabs her hand and kisses it all over saying affirmations. Kissing her fairy tattoos. She turns over and they just have a soft, fluffy wholesome make out sesh that is nothing but comfort and curing anxiety. Affirmations and hair play. My dream 🥺

Heres a cutie little blurb!!

You knew Billie had to be out late almost every night of the week. It was something you two discussed before you even got together, and again before you moved in with her. It was always clear to you that her job just required all hours of the day.

It just really sucked when you missed her.

Falling asleep in a huge, empty bed was never the easiest. Tonight in particular, however, was the hardest it had been for you to fall asleep.

You don’t know what it is. Nothing bad happened today, you weren’t mad or sad or upset. Honestly, you were really tired. But you just needed Billie. You stayed up for hours, turning on the reading lamp to journal, playing games on your phone, doomscrolling on TikTok for way too long.

Finally, when you checked the alarm clock on the nightstand and it read 2:13 AM, you knew you had to go to sleep. That was, however, until you heard the door open and Shark’s paws patter out of the room. Billie walked in, her lyric journal in one hand, Aquaphor and a water bottle in the other. You were sitting up when she walked in, and she looked alarmed.

“You okay, baby? What’s wrong?”

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”

She puts her stuff down, coming over to the edge of the bed to kiss you softly before slipping her clothes and shoes off and changing into a baggy t-shirt to sleep in. After she did her skincare and brushed her teeth, she climbs into bed with you, and you instinctively lay down and snuggle into her.

“Turn off the light, please.” She whispers. You reach forward, clicking off the lamp, before scooting back into her, your back pressed against her chest. She drapes her arm over your body, reaching for your hand to squeeze it three times.

“I’m sorry I come home so late.” She mumbles into your hair, kissing your scalp over and over again. You bring her hand up to your lips, kissing it four times. Even though it was dark, the light from outside made her fairy tattoo just barely visible. You rubbed your thumb over the ink, admiring it.

“Don’t apologize, babe. It’s not your fault. Just miss you sometimes.”

She sits up on her elbow, looking down at your side profile. The moonlight creeps in through the curtains, perfectly illuminating your face. Your nose and lips sit so perfect, Billie thinks she’s falling more in love with you.

“You’re perfect, y’know that?”

You let go of her hand, turning around to face her. You look up into her eyes, and even though you can tell how tired she is, her smile grows when she sees your whole face.

“Kiss me.” You whisper.

She leans in, delicately pressing into your lips. It’s like she thinks you’ll break, she’s so gentle with you.

Her hands run into your hair, softly pulling and tugging, as your hands run down her shoulders and back up to her jaw. She kisses down your neck and back up to your face, leaving little pecks on your nose, cheeks, and forehead.

The kiss doesn’t turn into anything more, but you can feel the passion in between you two. You’ve never felt anything like it. Only with her.

Her lips find yours again and your tongues mix. You moan softly into her mouth before she pulls away, just enough to lean her forehead against yours. You stare into her eyes, seeing your own reflection in her dilated pupils. You’re so in love with her, it hurts.

“I miss you even more, all the time, baby. I promise.”

You sigh when she says that, running your fingers through her hair.

“You’re so beautiful.” You tell her. Billie just smiles, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. She lays back down and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I got so fucking lucky with you. You’re my angel.”

You giggle quietly and hide your head in her chest, shying away from her compliments. She lets herself relax into you, and holds your body into her own.

“Goodnight, my love.” She whispers to you before kissing the top of your head one last time. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

And just like that, you’re finally able to fall asleep.

————————————————————————————

I feel like I’m not that good at writing fluff so i never do it, but i hope u like it anyways!!

[sapphiremusings]

bride | vampire!aemond targaryen

cw: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,��� she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[wandascrush]

Let the light in

Summary: The Avengers are separated after being hunted down and forced to live life on the low, causing a painful break up with the love of your life. What happens when she finds you again? Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

A/N: Based off of this request

Warnings: Angst, violence, loneliness, blood, breakup, team separated, depression, kissing, comfort

Song: Let the light in- Lana Del Rey

The team sat around the dark living room, the familiar voice of one of New York's most famous news anchors echoing in through the air, “Good evening New Yorkers, today we open our headline with some shocking news:  Former Stark enterprise building, located on the upper east side, exploded earlier today by a missile attack on the Avengers. Sources say Tony Stark was currently using it to house new plans for an updated Avengers training arena and larger compound.  Two architects, three investors, and one security manager was injured. Two of the victims later succumbed to their injuries after the explosion. Reports confirming the source of the violence are still unknown, however the Avengers were believed to have been inside the building at the time- hence the attack. The founding members of the Avengers Initiative such as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Y/N L/N, and Clint Barton have yet to speak out. This marks the second targeted attack on our world’s heroes in nearly a month since the Maximoff twins incident in Barbados, where Pietro Maximoff was nearly assassinated. It raises the question for us all: Are our heroes being hunted?” 

The screen went black, bye bye news lady. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “What’re we gonna do Tony?” You got no answer. 

 “Cap?”  

For the first time in the decade you’d known the team, (except for the Maximoffs & Peter) you saw uncertainty in all of their eyes. Tony threw his classic sunglasses on the couch, squeezing the middle of his nose in a useless attempt to massage an oncoming headache away, “Fury… thought it’d be wise if we split up for awhile-,” he was quickly shut up with protests from the group.

“It’s too dangerous. This isn't easy for me, but we're facing a threat that's beyond anything we've encountered before. I've crunched the numbers, run simulations – the Avengers need to disband temporarily. We scatter, go off the grid, and regroup when the dust settles.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. You know it is. This is exactly what they want-” 

“Tasha,” your gentle touch on her back always softened her heart, but not today. She didn’t even look at you. 

“It’s not the end, Nat. It’s like a strategic retreat. We're ensuring we'll live to fight another day. For once, I’m with Stark on this. We play it safe, keep low profiles, and spread out,” Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a hard look at everyone, “we’re family, we keep each other safe. And this is how we do it.” 

As much as the idea made your stomach churn, he was right. He always was. This was your family. Every holiday, happy memory, laugh and cry and battle and bruise was all with them. This team is how you met the love of your life. You loved each other, and if this is what needed to happen, then you’d do it. 

But that didn’t sit well with your girlfriend. 

“No, end of story. We’re not separating.”

“You know I don’t think it’s just you’re choice, Natasha. I mean we have to decide this together,” your fingers lightly brushed the edge of the bed, nervously playing with the soft sheets you had just bought.

“Exactly, and I. Said. No.” She was acting like a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat her veggies, crossing her arms and raising her voice an octave.

It was then when you saw something different in her eyes, those beautiful green orbs that held so much sadness and joy at the same time. But today they were cloudy, like a storm was brewing in her mind. You gently slipped off of the bed and stood in front of her, pressing your forehead to hers, “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” soft palms caressed the side of her cheek, immediately feeling her sigh into your touch. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You wish your words were true. 

    Two months later the Avengers were spreading out all across the U.S., saying choked up goodbyes and packing your things. It was agreed upon that there’d be a team meeting once a month, every month, for the next year until you could figure out who the threat was, and how to eliminate them. You thought San Francisco sounded nice, fresh, and a little more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of New York. And it was, for a time. You got a haircut, dyed your gorgeous h/c locks to a rich h/c shade. You bought a sweet little home with a bay window over looking the Golden Gate Bridge, started building an in home gym and library, and kept an extremely low profile. You finished file work and other Avengers paperwork at home, with a high security grade laptop. Natasha on the other hand, refused to dye her hair, or keep a low profile. She didn’t want to admit that she was depressed, but it was glaringly oblivious. Being thrown out of her comforting routine put a wrench in Natasha’s life that not even you, her beautiful girl, could fix. All day she would do her paperwork, workout, and just keep to herself. It was like you weren’t even girlfriends anymore. Finally, in the fifth month of living “undercover,” she finally agreed to go on a low key date with you to a small, cozy bar on the outskirts of the city. You got dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever, did your makeup real pretty, and even did braids on Natasha’s silky hair. She looked happy, finally. Adorning a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a low cut green top- her classic silver arrow necklace sitting pretty on her chest- your girlfriend looked like her old self again...absolutely perfect. 

“You look gorgeous, baby,” swift arms swept you into a gentle kiss, smirking against your lips and pulling you close to her waist. 

You thought that night would be perfect, but by 11 pm you two were home and icing her bloody knuckles, static tv voices echoing in the background. You felt hot tears rising to the surface, but you never let them fall. It’s not like you were just mad or angry or disappointed…no this was something more. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed by Natasha. You thought you’d never say that sentence, but then there you were, apologizing to the bartender for your girlfriend's rowdy behavior, and throwing $20 to the guy she completely knocked out before nearly carrying her out of the bar and into a cab. Within the next two weeks she packed her bags, and your home was changing once again, now empty. 

  8 months later 

    The team said that you’d only be separated for a year, or less, but you were coming up on a year pretty soon and none of you were any closer to figuring out who the threat is. But you, you moved on, strived forward, and kept going. Your breakup with Nat had been one of the most painful moments of your life, but you didn’t let it stop you. These days you hardly cried over her at all, never even thought of the old days. Well, except for last Tuesday, when you saw one of her old sweaters and lied in bed for the rest of the day, or on Thursday when you heard her favorite song and- well, never mind that. You were at the top of your fucking game. 

  Ms. Romanoff, on the other hand, had moved out of San Francisco completely and settled in Washington D.C. from the last you heard. She attended the monthly zooms, same as you, but you two never addressed one another. Natasha pushed all of the heartbreak she harbored deep, deep down until she would lie down for bed and reach out next to her…but you were never there. 

[ginkgo-phyta]

I'm back again 😅

Hopefully, I'm not the only person with this opinion, but how do you think Spencer would react if his significant other told him that they thought he looked hot with his bulletproof vest on? 👀

omg is this injured spencer request anon?? I NEED TO KNOW im so sorry if it's not tho, whoever you are thank you so much for coming back!! i love you with all my heart you should use a special emoji as like ur own lil signature! :D

okay so i wanted to try blurb(?) format but mmm okay not really cuz just a wall of text was stressing me out but this is def more informal than my other work (look no capital letters!) and because i love you so much i present two scenarios for you :P... i cant fight this feeling anymore guys he rlly is so hot in his vest im becoming my most feral self grrrrr RAH RAH ALRIGHT hope you enjoy, my love!

OKAY SO SPENCER REACTING TO YOU TELING HIM HE'S HOT IN HIS FBI VEST gn! reader, fluff, second scenario a little steamy in tone but nothing explicit just h*rny vibes, no other warnings

if you weren't a profiler: you'd never thought about it before- spencer in his bulletproof vest. sure, you knew that his job required him to go into sticky situations where the prospect of gunfire was imminent and he would have to wear proper equipment, but you never put two nd two together. you never even thought of a kevlar vest as something that could be hot...until you saw a picture of him wearing it.

"what the hell is that." you blurt out, voice serious with hints of concern.

"huh?" spencer's as clueless as ever, a little worried about your reaction. he was just showing you random photos his team members had taken over the years, all printed out for easy viewing courtesy of the ever-so-accommodating penolope garcia. someone had taken a pic of a beautiful lake where the bau had saved yet another victim, the sun dipping below the horizon line of pine trees, painting the sky purple and pink. "um...the sunset?" spencer was confused, "i guess maybe it was kinda a weird time to take a photo, but no one was hurt and we caught the unsub and the sky really did look-"

you cut off his rambling with a wave of your hand, eyes never leaving the photo in front of you, "no, no...what's that." you point to what you were talking about, a figure standing off to the side.

spencer takes a minute, becoming even more bewildered "...me?" in that moment your world changed.

"oh my god... "you whispered in a daze, firmly pulling the picture out of spencer's fingers and into your own, "what...what are you wearing?"

"honey what's wrong? it's just my bulletproof vest. i know it might look a little funny, but it, y'know, keeps me alive..." he scratches the back of his neck. a couple seconds of silence pass, but to spencer it feels excruciatingly long.

"spencer," you look at up at him deadpan "you look so fucking hot." to say your boyfriend was shocked would be an understatement.

he was absolutely blown away by your response, so much so that the way his face contorted looked borderline disgusted. "wha-what?? huh? what?" he clamored, eyes flitting over your face to find any sign you were joking.

"seriously, baby, you look so good. oh, my God!!" you almost shriek, gripping the picture tighter, the widest, dumbest grin pulling up your cheeks as you giggle like a schoolgirl.

spencer smiles at your reaction, still a little perplexed "you really think so?" the notion begins to sink into his bones, making him giddy.

you very enthusiastically nod your head, "are there any more pictures of you like this?" you rip the rest of the photos out of spencer's hands, scouring through them at light speed. out of nowhere, spencer laughs out loud, his nose scrunching in delight.

"i...don't know what to say. i'm flattered you think that," a wonderful blush shimmers over his cheeks, "but no i don't think there are. sadly." he playfully adds.

you stop all movements, slowly turning towards him, suspiciously calm. "well then," you grab your phone and suddenly stand up "looks like i'll just have to ask penelope for some!"

"wait! wait, no!" spencer calls after you as you start speed-walking away, your shirt barely escaping his fingertips. he yells out your name, his serious tone interrupted by a giggle of his own as he begins chasing you, "get back here!" he knows: garcia can never ever find out about this...

if you were a profiler: you had seen spencer don his FBI branded bulletproof vest hundreds of times over the years. although you had pined over him for years and were now finally in a relationship with him, seeing him like that didn't make you feel any type of way really. sure, you thought he looked strong and handsome, but most of the time you were too caught up in the case or situation at hand to focus on how he looked. until now. something had shifted in him in the last few months, not just with his ever-changing haircut, but within the way he held himself; more confident, more sure of himself, even more cocky, if you will. whatever it was, it drew your eyes to him in his tight little vest like a lightbulb draws in moths- instantly and continuously. it all came to a head when you caught the unsub responsible for drowning and resuscitating his victims until they couldn't be brought back to life. spencer dove into the lake with emily to apprehend the killer while you had helped the kid he had hostage reunite with his mother. you smiled at the scene in front of you, the teenager running into his mother's shaking arms, her holding him close in a tight embrace. another good ending, you thought to yourself before turning back to watch your fellow profilers make the arrest. suddenly, you mouth goes dry. there spencer reid stood; soaking wet, clothes sticking to his skin, chest rising and falling as he panted to catch his breath, his hand pushing his wet hair out of his face. and that stupid, goddamn kevlar vest. oh, fuck. the others walked away from the dock to situate everyone and themselves in respected vehicles that sat back on the road a few hundred feet away from where you currently were. as spencer moved to follow behind emily, hands trying to flick the water off of him, your gaze stopped him in his tracks. he stood there, a bit confused as to why you were walking towards him, seemingly entranced, instead of beelining behind everyone else.

he spoke out your name, but you remained silent, stopping just a couple feet away from him. you took him in one more time: the way his shirt became translucent, granting you with peeks of his skin; his sleeves rolled up, showing off his delicious forearms; the way his soaked pants choked his thick thighs. you became woozy with desire. spencer watched as your eyes dragged over his figure, drinking in every inch of his dripping body. "oh, baby..." you voice drawled out as soon as your gaze landed on his bulletproof vest, "you're absolutely soaking wet." spencer's eyebrows shot up his forehead at the suggestive twinkle in your timbre. you approached him further, chest just inches away from his. if he wasn't so intrigued by your reaction, he would have been a bit more cautious of lingering teammates. your hands came up to ghost over his vest, "did i ever tell you how good i think you look in this?" you looked up at him through your lashes.

spencer chuckled, "in the bulletproof vest?" you nodded in response, but spencer still couldn't really believe it. "uh, no, actually, you haven't." his eyes glinted at the way you bit your lip, his hands moving on their own accord to rest on your hips. you could feel droplets of water seep into the material and lick your skin, but you didn't give a rat's ass.

"well, you do." you whisper, hands wrapping around the back of his neck as you pull yourself up to press a kiss to his lips, "really, really good." your mouth moves enticingly with his.

"oh? is that so?" he whispers against your lips, diving back in, his fingers digging in your hips. he graciously kisses you for a moment before it dawns on him that you're both still at work- in an active crime scene, at that. "mmh, mmh!" he vocalizes between kisses as he tries to move his head back a smidge. his eyes peak open just enough to see if anyone else was around. your lips are addicting, rendering him unable to fully tell you to stop, unable to fully pull away himself. he's relieved when he spots no one. still, he know this is far from appropriate. spencer's hands move up your body to wrap around your wrists behind him, pulling them away from him and the same time he pulled away from you, "okay, okay!" he breathes out with a chuckle, "i believe you now" he tries to catch his bearings, but your pouting face causes him to laugh again

"spencerrrr," you groan at the loss of your beloved's kisses and he turns you around and pushes you towards the spot where the others vanished, walking behind you with his hands on your shoulders, your body held at an arm's distance.

"let's go, angel." his words brought out a hmph! from you. "we can do more of that later at home" he whispers, leaning in ever-so-slightly.

you turn your head back to get a glimpse of him, your eyes and smile equally wide with excitement, "can you bring the vest with you?!"

A/N: OKAYYYY lemme stop myself before things get filthy LOL do yall know which episode im referring to in the second scenario? that end scene will always get me my eye are GLUED to spencer the entire time GODDAMN. okay anyway i hope you liked this anon!!! pls tell me yalls thoughts <3