#Best season cue

[starlight-archer]

You know what, the ATLA live action has a fair few flaws with some characterisation, pacing etc. , but I enjoyed it, it was fun to watch and I liked it a lot, I think the casting was really good and I'm excited for a season 2 and 3.

However I think that what would have fixed its pacing is if they had 10 episodes instead of only 8. They tried to rush through too much plot at once and squashed it together a little too much. The original season 1 is 20 episodes, meaning 10 would be like combining 2 episodes for each one, which I think would work much better than squishing 3 or 4 into one.

The devil is in the detail after all, and they lost a lot of detail trying to contain everything into only 8 episodes. I hope they have more episodes for season 2 and 3 because I think it would help a lot with the pacing and give more opportunity for character exploration and growth.

Also let Zuko be obsessed with his Honour, let Aang be more playful and actually learn waterbending and let Katara be angry and bold.

#Atla #la atla #Aang #Katara #Zuko #atla remake #Let aang ride the unagi 2k24 #I think specifically aang and zuko were the best casting for their roles #I also think katara would be awesome if she just put a bit more fire into the role and had the chance to laugh with aang more #After all in the cartoon he was always making her laugh especially in season 1 #Especially when teaming up to tease Sokka #“maybe you should ask SOKKA'S INSTINCTS” 😒 cue snickering #Also Sokka not being in full Kyoshi getup was a criminal offence

[grinchwrapsupreme]

the reason darryl and whijo work so well together is because they’re both so earnest and sincere but they do it in such different ways like with darryl it feels like it’s a natural trait whereas for whijo it feels like it’s completely intentional, born out of kindness

#crazy ex girlfriend #white josh #whijo #darryl whitefeather #cxg #just watched the last ep of the first season where they're all at the wedding and the two of them are in tuxes #and the fact that darryl is like obviously we're in tuxes it's a wedding we have to be the best dressed #and whijo immediately gets over his concerns and goes yeah you're right and makes it specifically intentional #it's sooo good #they wind up balancing each other so well despite their differences #because josh takes his cues from darryl but isn't afraid to steer him in other directions when he needs to #like yes he'll own wearing a tux to a wedding no one else is wearing a tux to #but he'll also call darryl out on having dinner out of town #and gently encourages him to relax about certain things #anyways their dynamic is great and so nice to have going on in the background while rebecca is doing her whole toxic love triangle

[bamboozled-distress]

can anyone on the internet give me permission to write a small ficlet of the scene in Do Revenge with drea and russ where he tells her to throw paint balls and she throws it at him and they throw it at each other and then they kiss but instead I make it byler please can I make it byler

#literally i was watching it and first nick and charlie went to my head #bc 'colors of your' and all #buuuuut also byler #bc like i can totally see it guys #mike is super duper pissed off bc his parents have been fighting and will can see how shit it is and how unfair it is for mike #so he brings him to a place he found a while ago with el #yes they have the best sibling bond no i will not take any criticism #so and hes like throw it and mike is crushing and his terrible aim goes to will #cue the paintball fight and omgomg bonus points if this is like a bit after the finale of season 4 so theyre still in the process of #rekindling their friendship and mike and will are just so so happy that they can actually spend time together like before and heat of the #moment mike kisses will or will kisses mike #and cue the angst and will being like its okay and they just completely devour each other in paint #someone tell me i can write this i need validation from someone pls #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler <3 #but at the same time #you know the scene with russ on his motorcycle and then sees drea so maybe its mike who sees will in distress and literally #is so awkward about it and is like oh haha yeah and will grips onto his waist when on motorcycle and mike is panicking #omg wait i want both now #i wanna do both #SOMEONE PLS GIVE ME THE VALIDATION I WANT TO PLEASE

[hairmetal666]

Eddie stands at the bar, sipping at the whisky in his glass, eyes flickering over the crush of bodies and dark mahogany. He's at a premier party at TIFF, doesn't remember what movie it's for, is supposed to "mingle" according to his agent. And sure, he's charismatic, got a big personality and a loud mouth, but he's not good at networking; resents having to perform when he's not playing a role. Resents it more that he's an Oscar nominated actor, that his work doesn't stand for itself.

And then there's the Steve Harrington of it all. Heartthrob. America's Sweetheart. The boy next door. He's across the room, deep in conversation, but his eyes--they keep finding Eddie, scanning him with unmistakable heat.

They starred in a movie called Dying on the Pass. Played life-long best friends who became elite chefs and opened a restaurant together. The movie follows the dissolution of their friendship as the stresses of pursuing a Michelin Star drive them apart. It was a critical and commercial hit, cue awards noms, and offers pouring in, and--

Steve Harrington is his bed.

They promised, when filming wrapped. They swore it was the last time. They promised--

They basically shared a hotel room during awards season, woke up tangled together every morning.

They spent a torrid weekend in Atlanta after Steve wrapped on a Netflix action movie.

Six months after, they had a quick, furious fuck in the bathroom at a club in London.

Dangerous, stupid, but no one caught them. And here Steve is in Toronto, surrounded by press, staring at Eddie like he wants to eat him.

Eddie tries to ignore it. But every time their eyes meet, warmth pools low in his abdomen, and he wants.

They meet up eventually, pose for a couple of pictures, Eddie trying to ignore the way his skin tingles everywhere that Steve touches. Steve slings an arm around his waist, lets it linger.

After, Eddie goes out for a smoke, the patio blissfully deserted. He's half way through his cigarette when Steve steps out the sliding door, wrapping his hands in Eddie's hair, pulling him into a kiss. The cigarette drops as he grips onto the other man, a whimper slipping from his lips.

He should stop this, they're outside, anyone could see, and Steve isn't out--isn't--he's straight to the entire world, the straightest man alive. And Eddie, he's open about his preferences, identifies as queer, though lately he's been more interested in men--in one man, specifically-- and Steve isn't out, isn't ready to be and--

"Come back to my room?" Steve asks. Their mouths are still pressed together.

"Uh-huh," Eddie answers.

Steve whispers his room number before disappearing back inside. They're in the same hotel, on the same floor, like the universe wants them to keep hooking up. But Steve is being reckless.

Eddie goes to Steve that night with every intention of telling him they need to stop, to slow down, that they're going to get caught and he knows Steve isn't ready, but he doesn't. He doesn't that night and he doesn't two months later when they bump into each other in Venice, or four months after that in New York, or--or --or

It's dangerous, impulsive, too many close calls for them to keep it up and then--and then he's at a house party in the hills, an industry thing, the host is a wannabe big shot producer trying to get in good with the Hollywood elite. Steve is out of town. In Europe filming or maybe Australia for some event or--

Striding through the party, eyes locked on Eddie, and they're in a hallway, in a hallway where anyone could see them, but Steve is kissing him. They're kissing and it's rough and possessive and it stings.

Steve pushes him through double-doors, to the room at their backs, and Eddie wants to protest, to remind him they don't know if it's empty. But Steve is tugging the tie out of Eddie's hair, digging this hands into the now loose curls, and Eddie whines, lets himself be lead.

He's pushed against a table, and in the weak light from the windows, he realizes they're in the dining room. Steve grinds against him, muttering, "missed you so much, baby. God, it's been too long. Need you so bad."

Eddie moans, shifting to press more against Steve. "Missed you too, sweetheart, fuck."

They're kissing and Eddie's high on it, on Steve, can't get enough.

There's a loud burst of laughter outside the door, and reality smashes back into focus.

"Stop," he whispers to Steve.

Steve does in an instant, stepping back. Even in the darkness, Eddie sees the confusion and hurt mingling in the squint of his eyes, his light frown.

"Steve we--this is dangerous. There are people everywhere. Anyone could come in. There's a TMZ guy here, and we--need to be careful."

"Fuck," Steve breathes. "Eddie I--fuck." He presses his hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't get enough of you, man. Whenever I see you I just--I don't think--I see you and I want you so bad it hurts. Once every few months isn't enough. Hookups aren't enough. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and--"

"Steve," Eddie gently cuts him off. "I'm crazy about you. It hasn't been hookups for me for--" ever, it had never been, but he shakes his head instead of saying that. "But we've been reckless, sweetheart, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"It's not fair to you, though, right? Hiding and sneaking around with me."

"You need time, Steve. You deserve to come out on your terms, when you're ready. And if that means we're not public for a while, then we're not."

"What if I'm never ready?" He whispers. It breaks Eddie's heart, but it's a fair question for a man who got famous as an angelic child star in a series of fantasy-adventure movies before playing a quarterback with a heart-of-gold on the CW for seven seasons. He's always kept up a squeaky clean image, never in trouble, name rarely in the tabloids.

"Then we'll deal with it together."

"Okay," Steve whispers. A smile spreads slow across his face. "I'd like that."

--

Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are seen around town together often. Getting lunch, at parties, shopping. In an interview Steve says that Eddie's his best friend, they do everything together. There's speculation online, of course, but it's pretty quiet. So, they go to premiers and award shows and events together.

A year goes by and it's easy, light, fun. They're in love.

Eddie's messing around on his guitar, not with any intent just for the joy of it. He's on the loveseat in the office of their apartment--their apartment. Steve is in the kitchen, he thinks, or puttering in the garden.

They haven't talked about Steve coming out; haven't needed to.

"Hey," Steve says from the doorway. Eddie jumps.

"Hey yourself."

"It's Bi Visibility day."

"Is it now?" He's not sure where this is going

"I want to come out."

He puts the guitar down. "You sure?"

Steve nods. He doesn't seem nervous, just calm and steady.

"How do you want to do it?"

He crosses the room, climbing onto Eddie's lap, making Eddie laugh. "Works for me." Eddie gives Steve's ass a playful squeeze.

They start kissing then, Steve snapping pics on his phone randomly as they make out.

Steve won't let Eddie peak as he crafts his Insta post, not until it's done and live for his 15 million followers.

The picture he picked, it's a soft kiss, mouths open but lips only just brushing, noses pressed together in a sweet little bump. But the thing about, the thing that makes Eddie's stomach swoop, is the way they're both smiling, the way it's obvious just how in love they are.

Steve's captioned it with the words "Witness Me" and the bi flag.

He pulls his boy into another kiss, says, "Hey,"

"Hmm?" Steve doesn't pull away.

"Wanna go be visibly bisexual with me in the bedroom?"

Steve hops off his lap, strides across the room, turning to flash Eddie a devious smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #actors steve harrington and eddie munson #costars #hooking up #fluff #costars to lovers #idiots in love #feelings confession #coming out #bisexual steve harrington #it's not bi visibility day but i liked eddie using it as a come on #famous steve harrington #famous eddie munson #i don't totally know what this is

[emo-batboy]

Battinson on SNL

Idk how popular Saturday Night Live is outside of the US so there will be some links for context. That said, as a New Jersey native, I think Battinson would totally watch the show. And since he's a celebrity...👀

SO

To promote WE’s newest charity fund, Alfred signs Bruce up to be a guest host on SNL (à la this post) The announcement is made, and everyone’s like “oh this is going to be a disaster. That man can’t even hold eye contact or speak a full sentence without crying.”

But oh, that’s why it’s so funny.

Now, hear me out. Bruce’s strengths are displayed best when he’s himself. That’s why he’s so popular in Gotham. That’s why the internet calls him Relatable TM and a Disaster (Affectionate) and “Poor Little Meow Meow.” It’s his ✨ essence ✨

But he tends to get overwhelmed or self-conscious onstage, right? Because he can’t be Himself himself if he has time to overthink something. So after a few meetings with Bruce, the writers of SNL figure out the perfect way to keep Bruce from getting anxious.

They decide to load this episode with as many skits where Bruce plays different caricature-like versions of himself as possible. The objective? Make him break character and laugh so he doesn’t overthink. And if he breaks character, he’ll still technically be in character because he’s playing himself, you know? Genius.

So that’s how they go about structuring the show. During the few days they have to write, they decide to take everything about Bruce’s public image and either ramp it up to 11 or turn it on its head.

He speaks quietly? Turn it into a running gag. He dresses in all black? Make him emo. He tips well? Add that in too. He’s “depressed” and “sad?” Literally, all he does on screen is laugh and break character. What’s not to love?

Of course, Bruce also gets to decide what skits are in each episode as well. (Refer to this if you have no idea how SNL works.) He loves the idea, though, and he has a surprisingly dark sense of humor which bleeds into some of the sketches. They add in a few skits without him, and they’ve got their lineup.

It’s the wildest episode of the season. Here are the highlights:

OPENING MONOLOGUE

It’s the big night, everyone’s excited to see Bruce Wayne hosting a live sketch comedy show with no idea how it will turn out.

To begin his monologue, Bruce walks on, opens his mouth to start talking, and immediately two cast members appear as stagehands to set up six microphones in front of him. He is already struggling to keep himself together.

Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m host- Cast Member: *adds one more tiny microphone to his chest* Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m hosting tonight.”

It’s working. The audience loves it.

Halfway through, Kate McKinnon comes out in a dark cloak with a chalice. “Your sustenance, my lord.” *sees camera* “Oh. Sorry. Carry on.” And she shambles off. Bruce has to take a second before continuing.

Bruce knows when (most of) the jokes come. It’s literally on the cue cards, but he still falls into a fit of giggles.

There are a few more gags, including Lex Luthor peeking out from behind the band set-up, all teasing the show to come.

Overall, an amazing way to set the tone for the episode. Expectations have been set. Then the skits begin!

(Oh but before I forget: During every single live skit with Bruce, the writers have scheduled for one of the cast members to run in dressed as a stagehand and put an extra mic on him. They do not tell him when it will happen.)

SKIT #1

Between the monologue and the first skit, he has to do a really fast quick change, but to everyone’s surprise, Bruce is a natural. (Huh, wonder why.)

The skit is called Gotham PTA Meeting. We open in a meeting room full of stereotypical PTA moms setting down baked goods and gossiping. And apparently, there is a new PTA member attending today 👀

Right as the meeting starts, he enters. Bruce walks in wearing the most emo get-up imaginable. He’s got a Nirvana shirt, a comical amount of eyeliner, black skinny jeans, chain accessories, metal rings, AND a clip-in extension to give him fringe.

Someone immediately runs in and puts another mic on him.

PTA Mom: “Oh, Bruce! You made it! Did you bring a snack?” Bruce: “I brought lemon bars.” PTA Mom: “Why are they black?” Bruce: “They match my soul…they’re also vegan.”

He talks like a moody teenager. HE CONSTANTLY has to brush the fringe off to the side to read the cue cards. And because there’s so much eyeliner and he’s sweating a bit from the lights, it starts running everywhere.

PTA Mom: “Bruce, you’re a little quiet. What are your thoughts on increasing the school lunch budget?” Bruce: *eyeliner dripping down his chin* “I think it’s a great idea.”

SKIT #2

For a pre-filmed skit, they bring back the Chad character with Pete Davidson.

It’s 2 am, and Chad is working at a 24hr drug store in Gotham. He’s reading Twilight (the book is upside down) when the lights begin to flicker.

He turns around and tries the light switch, turns back around, and JUMPSCARE it’s Bruce dressed as Edward from Twilight.

Yes, he IS sparkly.

Bruce is awkwardly holding a bunch of items, all concerning. He plops down a few knives, several raw meats, Sudafed. Chad: “Oh hey.” Bruce: O_O “I’d like to check out please.” Chad: “Lit.”

Chad’s “No Fucks Given” energy and Bruce’s “Please Do Not Perceive Me” energy clash like titans. The whole skit centers around it.

Bruce: *sweating bullets* “Oh. You’re reading Twilight?” Chad: “Just the title.” Bruce: *throws the book through the window at lightning speed* “It’s not very good. You should probably read something else.” Chad: *shrugs* “Okay.”

Chad: “ID?” Bruce: “ID? For what?” Chad: “Sudafed.” Bruce: “Oh. I don’t really need that, actually.” Chad: “Already scanned it.” Bruce: “Haha. Of course.” *awkwardly produces a scroll from his pocket that says Bruce Wayne DOB: 1901* Chad: “Okay.”

Bruce checks out, Chad picks up a porno mag or something, and we see Bruce turn into a bat and fly off through the window behind him.

SKIT #3

The next skit they have is Celebrity Family Feud: Billionaires Edition. Again, Bruce plays himself, but he’s more of a background character. Instead, the skit makes fun of billionaires as a whole.

Bruce’s team consists of Kylie Jenner, Lex Luthor, and Oliver Queen. So just imagine three Lucille Bluths standing beside one another. 

Bruce’s bit? He just keeps handing cash to Steve Harvey every time he breathes in his direction.

Host: "We got the richest man in the world: Bruce Wayne!" Bruce: *hands him a roll of cash* Host: "Oh, what’s this for?" Bruce: "It’s your tip. I always tip." Host: "Oh, Mr. Wayne, you don’t usually tip the show host. I’m also a millionaire myself." Lex Luthor: *snatches it* "Well, if you’re not going to use it, I will…for charity, of course." Host: "Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Just a ton of fun quips, the usual.

At some point, Harvey says, “That’s batty.” Bruce: *ducks* “Where?!” Host: “Oh, I don’t mean Batman. He’s not here.” Bruce: “You don’t know that.”

This time, the mic bit is a bit different.

Host: “We asked 100 billionaires: How much does a loaf of bread cost? Top three answers are on the board.” Bruce: *hits buzzer* Host: Bruce, your answer is? Cast Member: *runs in with a megaphone and holds it in front of Bruce* Bruce: “TEN DOLLARS?”

Board dings! That was the #1 answer

Brucie Wayne for the win

SKIT #4

Next is a skit that dares to ask Gotham, “Why would anyone live here?”

The skit begins with someone opening a press conference for Wayne Enterprises. “And now presenting: Bruce Wayne!” Bruce walks in…

But it’s not him. Instead, it’s one of the cast members dressed in a black suit with horribly gelled brown hair.

Everyone in the audience is wondering where the actual Bruce is before another cast member runs onstage crying, “Help! Help! I’ve just been robbed! Somebody call Batman!”

A mini version of the bat-signal lights up…

We hear some generic hero music play…

And there he is: Bruce Wayne dressed in a horribly cheap Batman costume

(They got the cowl ALL wrong btw)

Bruce puts his hands on his hips in a weird superhero pose. Bruce: “I’m Batm-” Cast Member: *runs out to attach another mic to his costume* Bruce: “….I’m Batman!”

Cue all of the gags and digs against Batman. The fake Bruce faints then starts crying under a table. Someone calls Batman a furry. Bruce is barely keeping it together the whole time. Lord help him, but he asked for it. He approved the skit.

Bruce: “Looks like a job for my bat taser!” Cast Member: “Isn’t that just a taser with a bat on it?” Bruce: *whispers* “You shut your mouth.”

He saves the day, the police take the thief into custody, then Batman myStErioUsly disappears. Bruce: “Look over there!” *runs off* Cast Member: “Oh my gooood, how did he do that?”

CLOSING SEGMENT

Finally, they have the Weekend Update where Bruce comes on as himself for the final time.

Since they got his permission, the writers switch out some of Bruce’s jokes last minute. (Think Bill Hader’s Stefon which notoriously caused him to break character because the writers would mess with his cue cards.)

News Anchor: “Here to promote his newest humanitarian project: Bruce Wayne!” “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you today.” Bruce: “Thank you. This is probably the longest I’ve been out of the house.” News Anchor: “Since the Riddler catastrophe?” Bruce: “Since ever.”

News Anchor: “So Mr. Wayne! Before you make your announcement, any life updates?” Bruce: “Yes, actually. Just a few days ago, I adopted five- *starts losing it* five more children.” News Anchor: “Wow, really? So you have eight kids now.” Bruce: “Uh huh. *tears streaming down his face* One more orphan and I get the tenth one free.”

News Anchor: “So where can people find you online?” Bruce: “Well, I don’t have social media because I’m afraid of people, but sometimes I’m on Twitter.” News Anchor: “What about a phone call?” Bruce: “Oh no, phone calls- *giggle* phone calls give me fainting spells.”

It’s a great way of finishing the show, with the most genuine version of Bruce. Then, he gets to what’s really important!

News Anchor: “So if they can’t reach you on social media or on the phone, what else can our viewers do, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce: “They can donate to the Wayne Foundation’s newest charity called The Arts Initiative. It funds programs for the arts in underdeveloped school districts nationwide. I’ve already donated $30 million, and I’ve pledged to match every dollar donated within the next week.”

And that’s what he’s here for :) They share a link for where and how to donate. The anchors praise him for his charity, which he deflects because he can definitely afford this, and the 90-minute broadcast is over.

The camera pans away with the whole cast waving goodbye, and Bruce is seen keeling over with laughter.

Along with some of the other skits, these four specifically go viral. WE raises a fuck ton of money, and everyone loves Bruce.

THE END

LOVE YOU ALL!! Let me know what you think :D

#battinson #bruce wayne #batman #batman 2022 #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson needs a hug #gotham #dc universe #dc #saturday night live #snl #soft bruce wayne #batdad #batfamily #gotham city #brucie wayne #only in gotham #give battinson a child 2k23

[starkwlkr]

bitch, i’m a mother! | f1

female driver x f1 drivers (platonic) i like that almost every story i read about a female driver her team ends up being porsche and I’m not mad about it :) so for this fic, the reader is driving for porsche lol also I’m just making up names for the engineers and team principal. also because I’m in love with charlie hunnam, my man is gonna make an appearance

part 1 part 3

Y/N BEING THE MOTHER OF EVERY DRIVER IN THE PADDOCK

“Y/n is so great, you’re going to love her. She’s the best.” Oscar listened to his new teammate as they walked into the Porsche hospitality. The rookie immediately felt out of place with him being the only one in papaya colors while Lando was in casual clothes.

“Hey, Lando!”

“Lando! How’s it going?”

“Norris, hey!”

Lando greeted most of the Porsche team with a smile while Oscar nodded at them. “I hang out here sometime if you couldn’t tell.” Lando joked.

“So if I can’t find you in Mclaren . . ”

“There’s a big chance I might be here.”

Oscar nodded once again. “Noted. Where’s Y/n?”

As if on cue, Y/n walked into the Porsche hospitality with her team principal by her side. Once she spotted Lando, she called out his name. As the Brit approached the driver and team principal, he gave her a big hug. It was the start of the 2023 season and they hadn’t seen each in a while, of course he was going to give her a hug.

“I’ll see you around, Y/n. Nice to see you, Lando, and you must be mclaren’s rookie. Welcome to F1, I’m Adam.” The Porsche team principal greeted Oscar.

“Thank you—” before Oscar could continue, Y/n cut him off.

“I’ve heard so many great things about you! And you’re an Aussie too! What is it with Mclaren and Aussies? Whatever, I’m glad you’re here, Oscar. I hope you enjoy yourself. Have you eaten yet? I was just in my way to get breakfast. Let me tell you a secret, the Porsche hospitality has the best food in the paddock.” Oscar instantly felt at home with the female driver. She had a comforting presence that Oscar immediately took notice of.

“Told you she’s the best. Just wait until it’s your birthday. She bakes you a cake.” Lando told Oscar.

The entire grid was together for their drivers briefing early in the morning. After going over every detail of the upcoming Grand Prix, the race director decided to let the drivers voice their concerns.

“Does anyone have any questions?”

Y/n raised her hand. “I wanna know who banned the pit wall celebration.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know as well.” Lewis added.

“We can discuss pit wall celebrations at a later time. Excuse me, I am needed somewhere else.” The race director excused himself.

“Don’t worry, I don’t care about being banned. I’ll be there like a proud mom taking millions of pictures of you when you win.” Y/n whispered to Lewis as she layed her head on his shoulder.

“And I’ll be doing the same when you win.” Lewis replied.

“What about when I win? I also want millions of pictures taken of me and the exact same chocolate cake you baked for me for my birthday a year ago. Extra sprinkles please.” Lando smiled innocently.

“Fine, win first then I’ll bake. Shouldn’t be that hard unless you got a tractor for a car.” Y/n teased. “I love you, Lando. Of course I’ll take millions of pictures of you when you win.”

It was a perfect day to race in Silverstone. Like always, Lando had his family in attendance. He was in the mclaren garage when he spotted Y/n on one of the tvs being interviewed by Lissie.

“Hey, that’s my grid mum!” He told his engineer as if his engineer didn’t already know. His smile quickly faded when a blonde man appeared behind Y/n in sunglasses. Lando then watched as the man’s name appeared on the tv.

Charlie Hunnam, actor.

Who was he and why was he with his grid mom?

“Hey, that’s the dude from Sons of Anarchy! My wife watches that series.” Lando heared someone say. He continued to watch the screen as Lissie asked Charlie a question about Y/n.

“She’s incredible, absolutely amazing. I’m happy I finally get to see her talent in person.” Charlie replied, smiling at Y/n which made her blush.

“He’s British . . ” he mumbled.

After Lissie thanked Y/n and Charlie for the interview, the camera kept rolling on them as they walked away. That’s when Lando saw Charlie hold Y/n’s hand then pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“She’s dating a British man and she didn’t tell me?!”

Lando immediately walked out the garage and straight to the Porsche garage. He had a strong feeling Y/n would be showing her new lover around so he started there. He soon spotted the couple talking with the Porsche team principal, Adam.

“Oh, hey Lando! I was about to look for you. I want you to meet Charlie.” Y/n excused herself from Adam and introduced Charlie to her grid son.

“It’s very nice to meet you, mate. Y/n had told me a lot about you.” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard nothing about you. Nada, zero, not a single thing, zilch.” Lando then turned his attention to Y/n. “I think we need to talk.”

“Okay . . ” Y/n said confused as she turned to Charlie to tell him she would be right back. Lando took her hand and dragged her to a corner away from Charlie. “Lando! What’s wrong? Are you nervous about today?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Oh.

“You always tell me everything and now I kinda feel betrayed. Especially when i also found out he’s British!” Lando said dramatically.

“Lando, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it just sorta happened. We met a few months ago and he’s made me the happiest ever since. I wanted to introduce you properly today.” Y/n explained.

“He makes you happy? Like genuinely happy? Because if he doesn’t I will run him over repeatedly.” Lando warned.

Y/n laughed and brought Lando in for a hug. “I know you would, but there’s no need for that. I think he’s the one.”

“Before you leave, there’s actually one more gift for you and you don’t have to guess who it’s from.”

Logan was confused, but happily accepted the gift. It was the annual F1 secret santa and he had just finished unwrapping his present. A gift wrapped perfectly with a blue bow was placed in front of him. The tag read ‘From Y/n’ in neat handwriting.

“Thank you, Y/n! I don’t even want to open it, it’s wrapped so good.” Logan chuckled.

Every year, anyone who got a nicely wrapped gift knew it was from Y/n. And any year that someone new entered the season, Y/n would give them a gift during secret santa. She did it for Lando, George, Alex, Charles, Yuki and Guanyu when they were rookies and now she was doing it for Logan and Oscar. She had even sent Nyck a present as well, she wished he was in the paddock doing secret santa as well though.

“Okay, I’ll open it, I’m too curious.” Logan finally unwrapped the present and saw it was a Miami Heat jersey singed by LeBron James. Logan almost freaked out when he saw the signature.

“Holy shit! Wait sorry, I can’t curse, but holy shit!” He took the jersey out of the box and admired it. “This is incredible.”

“You love it?” He heard the familiar comforting voice of Y/n from behind him. “I hope it’s the right size.” She joined Logan in front of the camera.

“It is, don’t worry,” he chuckled as he gave her a hug. “Thank you so much, I love it.”

“I think you just adopted another son.” The camera man told her.

“I love all my grid sons equally.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 driver!reader #f1 one shot #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #platonic #f1 x female reader

[spencereidluver]

D is for Diana

summary: you overhear spencer calling his mother and telling her about you. how hes finally found someone like him and who can understand him

word count: 675

warnings: none, just fluff and spencer crushing

It was a normal Monday morning. The sounds of files rustling and pens against paper filled the room as people filled out their weekly paperwork. The only thing off was the slow speed the certified genius across from you was working. There was something on his mind, but from the look on his face, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood to share.

“Hey Spence, I’m gonna go make some coffee in a little bit, do you want some?” You asked, trying to find a way of cheering him up without trying to pry at him. 

“I’m good, thank you though.” He said without so much as looking up from his desk.

You let him work for a little longer, before you finally let it get the best of you, and you just had to ask him. “Okay, Spencer,” you said, finally getting him to look up at you for the first time this morning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he responded. “I’m just waiting on a phone call from my mom.”

That made sense. Spencer always got nervous when his mother was brought up. His phone rang moments later, seemingly right on cue. “I’m gonna take this in the conference room, I’ll be back.” 

Spencer opened his phone as he stood up, greeting his mother with a warm “hello.” He quickly ran up the stairs, nearly hitting himself with the conference room door as he entered. You giggled to yourself before getting up and making your way to the kitchen to make the coffee you’d thought about earlier.

_____

With a freshly made cup of coffee in your hand, you couldn’t help but follow your unconscious lead to the conference room, leaning against the door to make sure Spencer’s conversation with his mom was going well. You weren’t trying to be weird or creepy, you just were trying to look out for your friend. You knew sometimes his mom said things that hurt him, mostly without realizing it.

As you reached the conference, you heard the squeaky giggle you’ve heard so many times come from behind the door. You almost left it at that, but curiosity got the best of you as you leaned your ear against the wooden door.

“No, mom. She’s perfect,” you heard Spencer say. “Everything about her is perfect.”

There was a pause, Diana was talking. You wondered who he was talking about. Spencer hadn’t talked to you about a special lady before. Maybe you’d stick around a little longer.

Spencer began to speak again. “No, she is the nicest person I’ve ever met. She’s gorgeous too, mom… No, I haven't asked her out… No, no she doesn’t have a boyfriend… I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. And I don’t want to make work awkward if she says no.”

Work? The girl he liked was at work? 

“I can’t just ignore her if she says no mom. Our desks are right across from each other. I’d have to face her every day.”

Oh my god. He was talking about you. Your face turned a shade of red so dark it might be classified as maroon. Your stomach had so many butterflies it felt like it was migration season. 

You heard Spencer begin to tell his mom he’d have to be going soon, and you decided you’d better hurry back to your desk so he didn’t know you were listening. He’d die if he knew, you thought.

You thought for a second, before returning to the kitchen and pouring another cup of coffee in Spencer’s favorite mug. You knew he’d said no, but you also knew, especially now, how much it’d mean to him if he came back to a warm cup of coffee on his desk. You add 5 sugar packets to the small mug, just how he liked it. 

You returned to your desk, sitting your mug on your desk and Spencer’s on his. You grabbed a sticky note and a pen and wrote: "For Spence <3,”before sticking it to the mug and returning to your seat.

next chapter: E is for Even Guys Like Me?

a/n: i'm so glad that this group of stories has been so well received :) i've worked so hard on them, and am trying my best to get ahead so i can release new parts at least every other day. i love reading all the comments you guys have left too... thank you all for the support. i'm so proud of the next chapter, it's definantly my favorite one in the series so far. it's pretty long, but in my own opinion, it's worth it. the chapters are going to start getting more relationship centered, starting next chapter!

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

[lattenha]

TERRIBLE TWOS — P. SUNGHOON

SYNOPSIS! A rash decision on your end causes you and Sunghoon to break up. What you think is for the best turns out to be the complete opposite, actually. Cue two years later when a random encounter with your ex forces you to revisit past feelings that has never quite fully departed from either of you. PAIRING! Chairman!Sunghoon x Fem!Reader WC! 11.4k (Got carried away)

GENRE/CW! Exes getting back together, fluff, slight angst if you squint, smut (fingering, brief mentions of fem oral receiving, sunghoon has a 7 inch cock; i headcanon that, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie, lots of tongue kissing), swearing, reader is in denial just a tad bit, ft. non-idol!yunjin, reader is a struggling fine arts major, etc. MDNI

A/N: originally, i intended for this to be a simple one shot but it somehow turned out to be greater than that in the end lol. this was also my first attempt at writing smut; i've always wanted to try it but damn is it kinda hard. i feel like the title doesn't match or capture the story as good but whatever-- it used to be called 'seasons,' yet that didn't make sense either so... terrible twos it is! i hope you enjoy <3

“Y/n?” 

A trace of uncertainty laces the man's voice, his mind racing with the possibility that he might have mistaken a stranger for someone from his past. Internally, he winces at the prospect of this awkward mix-up, dreading such an encounter with a random person. He clings to the hope that his intuition proves accurate.

Could it really be her? Amid the bustling crowd, she always managed to stand out, an unmistakable aura surrounding her. Her presence eclipsed even the most vibrant of settings, radiating a unique energy that outshone a field of flowers.

When he tentatively calls out her name in a hushed tone, she spins around on her heel, and for an ephemeral moment, Sunghoon feels as though he's stepped into a scene from a classic romance film.

Time stills and so does he. 

Each of your movements steals his breath away. The way your hair dances in harmony with the wind, and how your eyelashes cast the most delicate shadow upon your high cheekbones. Your gradual unveiling leaves him struggling to swallow past an inexplicable lump in his throat. 

Sunghoon notices the moment your eyes widen. Behind those enchanting orbs, he discerns a flicker of nostalgia and a touch of melancholy. During your time together, he had the uncanny ability to read those emotions hidden within the depths of your eyes.

“Sunghoon…” You say no louder than a mere whisper that could easily get lost in the summer’s wind that passes through the both of you. 

Your heart throbs in your chest. The biological response is far too overwhelming that you can feel your stomach tying itself in double knots. You think you might need to be pointed to the nearest bathroom so you can barf up the swarm of butterflies that disturb your system. No doubt, does crossing paths with an ex whom you share a long history with manage to do that to you. 

“H-how are you?” You’re the first to strike up a conversation despite that being Sunghoon’s unspoken responsibility. 

How am I? Sunghoon has to brace himself to collect his messy thoughts. 

“I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

His response is curt and short. In any other setting, he would have elaborated on his answer but he wasn’t sure how much information was too much to reveal to an ex regarding the state of his well-being. You nod at his words, not really expecting much nor having high hopes that he would give you more to work with in this conversation of playing catch-up between an ex. 

See, your relationship ended amicably, with both of you acknowledging that the spark kindled between you two had faded out. With your mind elsewhere, too focused on your academics (so you like to say), and Sunghoon preparing to inherit his family’s business, there was little room for romance in either of your daily routines. Your typical weekend dates were swapped out for meetings with major corporations and other soon-to-be-chairman-related activities so that he could fully understand what the rest of his future held for him. 

Even though you missed having your boyfriend's undivided attention, you refused to act as a temporary roadblock that prevented him from making significant progress. Despite your heart and brain being at war with each other, you made the conscious decision to slowly back down from being his lover and tucked your face in the pages of your academic textbooks.

With Sunghoon too busy to even acknowledge that his girlfriend was distancing herself from him, you were the first to come forward, bearing the news that breaking up would be the optimal solution to your and his fading presence in one another’s lives. 

That night when you bid goodbye, he felt half his heart shatter inside of him. Little did you know that you carried the other part wherever you went, but now that you were no longer capable of sheltering that missing piece, it almost made him want to die inside more than just a tad bit— a lot, actually.

He pretended to play it cool as your back turned to him and he watched you retreat to your car, feeling both helpless and defeated. With an unflinching countenance, a tightly clenched jaw, and fingers gripped at his sides, Sunghoon longed for his feet to have chased after you, preventing your departure from his life. He yearned to undo whatever had driven you away, to rewrite his mistakes and reshape your shared history.

Sadly, not even the first star in the sky he saw at night could grant him something as demanding as that.

On the contrary, had those things happened, he wouldn’t be here today on a Thursday afternoon rekindling a connection that got tossed up in the air and fell through his fingertips.

“I—“ Before you get a chance to deliver your sentence Sunghoon’s hold on your arm prompts him to draw you to his chest. 

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, eyes simultaneously widening for the second time thanks to a certain ex. You look up at the taller one with crinkled brows. A mixture of confusion and a looming feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach that hasn’t quite left, tugging at your heartstrings. His intoxicating scent of Dior Sauvage is all too overwhelming for your nose to take in. You swear your head could start spinning any minute now. 

He’s so close to you. You’re so close to him. If someone were to come by and accidentally bump into you, you would be pressed up against his chest, breaking what limited distance is keeping you two apart. 

A bike rider disrupting pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk whizzes by, obnoxiously ringing the bell attached to their handlebar as if they aren’t to be blamed for riding on the concrete pavement, and it’s only then do you realize that Sunghoon was protecting you from getting hit. His body relaxes once he declares that it’s safe for you to comfortably stand in the open from any oncoming obstructions. 

“Sorry… acted on impulse.” His grasp on you immediately retreats to the inside of his pant pockets and you swear that his touch leaves a ghosting sensation on your skin. 

Sunghoon refuses to meet your lingering gaze, eyes averting to some random couple walking their dog across the street from where the two of you are standing. It’s almost funny how he fully believed two years ago that one day both of you would be exactly like that: dog owners who take their beloved fur baby on walks together and enjoy the simplicity of the little things that a relationship has to offer. 

“It’s okay, thank you,” You murmur, unsure of where things should go from here. 

A beat of silence comes and goes before Sunghoon has the chance to take the initiative to prove he’s different from his past self. 

The past self you witnessed throughout the duration of your shared romanticism. The past self who failed to convince you to stay because he never wanted you to leave his side. What he wanted was to work things out and to understand what he could do to change and make things better for the two of you.

Even if that meant you breaking up with him first to realize this.

“Listen, why don’t we…” He suddenly starts. Sunghoon analyzes your face and when your features evidently show that you’re all ears for what he has to say, he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Get dinner. Together.“ 

Although the question comes out more like a demand rather than a request, you’re slightly taken aback because you were almost certain Sunghoon probably resents you for the breakup— at least that’s what you tell yourself— and that he doesn’t want any business involving you entering his life for a repeat performance. The only different thing is that you’re his ex.

Can you blame him? It was so sudden.

The concealed hurt he tried to mask but failed to do so when you told him you wanted to end things, hoping it’d be left on good terms, rambling about how much you do and will continue to care for him no matter what he does in life or who he chooses to love after you. It seems you did more talking than he got the chance to, and Sunghoon wasn’t sure if you had this all planned leading up to that moment, or if he should’ve seen it coming. 

Whatever it was, Sunghoon could never hate or repent you, but you’re no telepathic mind-reader and wouldn’t know how he feels about you now unless you asked. 

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as you ponder the idea of sitting in a fancy restaurant with Sunghoon and sharing a long conversation over an expensive meal that is highly overpriced for its ridiculously small portions. 

“On one condition,” You quip. Sunghoon gestures for you to keep going and you clear your throat. “No five-star Michelin places, okay? I just want a simple dinner to make up for lost time.” 

The older male chuckles, nodding his head sensibly. If there’s one thing Sunghoon learned about you is that you were never hard to please and preferred the opposite of a high-end luxury lifestyle that he naturally grew up with. 

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 8, how’s that sound?” 

“That’s perfect but um—“ you purse your lips. “Do you… Do you still remember where I live?” 

“Of course. It would take a lot more than time and distance apart from each other, for me to forget your every being.”

Sunghoon leans in to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The underlying intimacy hiding beneath his actions has you contemplating what the course of your relationship would have looked like for the two of you, had you not broken up with a man as sweet and thoughtful as him.

Was calling it quits between you two a mistake? Should you have stuck it out just a little longer? 

You can only shove those thoughts to the farthest point in the back of your mind and recenter your focus to the handsome ravenette. 

Sunghoon, sporting a warm grin that gradually grows into a pearly white showcase of his perfect teeth and adorable canines, makes it worth marveling if second chances are a thing that people still stand by. 

The next evening, Sunghoon unexpectedly arrived at your front door 20 minutes ahead of your readiness. While you were trying to situate yourself into your cami dress that paired well with the current season, a knocking sound coming from the entrance to your studio unit startled you in its wake. You tapped on the screen of your phone to check the time and crinkled your nose when the numbers staring back at you read 7:40. 

Sunghoon’s habit of arriving for an occasion earlier than expected was not unusual for his character. The taller's mannerisms crept into other facets of his social life after years of being trained to believe that "early is on time" and "on time is late." However, 20 minutes ahead of schedule was definitely new to you, and part of you can’t help but think if this is stemming from anxiety or if that’s just you projecting your nerves onto his much early arrival. 

“Just a sec!” You struggled to reach for the zipper to your dress, stress-sweating due to the pressure of having to rush through the rest of your routine.

After what felt like a millennia you finally managed to seal yourself shut into your attire and scurried to the front door where poor Sunghoon was waiting for you to answer.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get to the zipper of my dress and I don’t think me flashing you or my neighbors in semi-public is socially acceptable.” You awkwardly laugh, strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck and forehead from the accumulated sweat you managed to produce. 

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head at your guilty tendency to overshare too much information for the dramatics.

“No worries. I know I showed up earlier than expected. Don’t worry about me, do what you need to do.” He smiles softly and for a second it almost slips your mind that you’re no longer romantically involved with each other. 

Oh, how you wish you could leap at him and smother the dashing man with kisses all over his Greek god-like, beautiful face…

“Here,” The taller unveils a bouquet of flowers that he attempted (underline, attempted) to hide behind his back. In reality, you could already see bits of it peeking out but chose to play coy about the item he was holding back from giving you. 

You fawn at the striking arrangement of tulips that come in different shades of the prettiest of pinks. Tulips. Of course, he would remember that those are your favorite. His words from yesterday ring in your ears, and believing them, you truly start to confide that Sunghoon could never boot you out of his memory as easy as a snap of his fingers.

“The prettiest bunch of flowers for the prettiest girl.” Sunghoon cautiously says, unsure if that would be stepping a line. To be fair, there isn’t an official handbook on what you should or shouldn’t say to an ex— except for some of the more common phrases; whatever that may be.

You let out a lighthearted laugh at the bold, yet cheesy, compliment and invited Sunghoon into the safe haven of your apartment, ignoring the way your heart practically skipped a beat when he said that. 

He’s been here on plentiful occasions so he’s really no stranger to the arrangement of your flat and could probably draw out an entire floor plan if he wanted to. At one point he almost committed to the thought of moving in with you, but you were a firm believer that it would be best if he stuck to the minimalist mansion he decorated himself; it was passed down to him from none other than his father. Needless to say, Sunghoon was a pouty puppy that day.

“I’m almost ready I promise.” You say. “I just need to add some finishing touches and then I’m all yours for the night.” Immediately your hands fly to your mouth when realization dawns on you about the delivery of your words. 

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, and luckily, you miss the faint smirk that tugs at the corner of his plump lips teasingly.

“You know what I mean!” You panic, waving off the metaphorical atmosphere that surrounds both of you.

You excuse yourself and escape to your room as the tips of your ears start to flush with embarrassment.

Once the door leading to your bedroom shuts behind you with a mellow thud, your back presses up against the surface of the entryway. A loud sigh that you weren't even aware you were repressing since Sunghoon arrived breaks out past your tinted lips. With your mind a foggy mess and your heart threatening to leap right out of your chest, you’re under the impression that you resemble the stereotypical anime school girl the way your entire demeanor changes when you’re around him. 

But that’s the thing.

It’s only Sunghoon. 

It’s just Sunghoon.

So what if you guys dated in high school and partially during college? So what if he was the first and only guy you’ve been with, and even though you have no one to compare him to, he would still be the best ex you could ever have? So what if you regret breaking up with him because you got ahead of yourself and refused to be transparent with him? 

So what if you want him back…

You pat both sides of your cheeks to wake yourself from a philosophical dilemma. you refuse to go down a rabbit hole of emotions especially when you’re about to go out to dinner. 

You shuffle through your wardrobe in search of a certain pair of Converse that a special someone gave to you as a birthday gift. When you find it neatly stored away in its original packaging and the box that it came in you’re almost too eager to slip your feet into the collar of the Chuck Taylor’s.

You halt in your steps when you reach your vanity and grab your everyday bottle of perfume, spritzing one pump, then two, then three, and four more of the floral scent, that you’re showering yourself in it at this point.

When you've deemed that you’re completely ready and satisfied with your appearance for the evening, you exit the inviting comfort of your cozy chambers. Sunghoon’s back is facing you as you ascend into the living room. You can’t make out much of what he’s doing and he’s seemingly too preoccupied to notice your footsteps stalk across the wooden paneling. His neck is craned downward looking at something on the decorative table where you have a neat arrangement of framed pictures. 

“You still have this?” He turns around revealing the photograph that he was referring to, now in his possession. There’s a distant glimmer of emotion that you can’t quite make out peeking around the curves of his irises. 

You let out a resigned sigh. 

You’ve been caught red-handed for leaving a single trace of the past out in the open. 

Of all the furniture and miscellaneous objects that collect dust on different surfaces in your flat, Sunghoon chose to go for the photograph of you and him standing under a cherry blossom tree in Ilsan Park. Your arm was hooked around his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulder. The brightest of smiles stretched across your faces as petals danced around you. It was the perfect moment captured in stillness and you wish you could leap through pictures to relive that special day. A distant memory that feels like it happened not too long ago.

“I couldn’t get rid of it. It’s— That’s one of my favorite pictures of us.” You simply explain. 

It was true, because out of all of the selfies, candid photos, and other pictures you shared together with Sunghoon, your date to Ilsan Park remained your number one core memory as a couple. 

You watch intently as Sunghoon places the photo back where it originally belonged on the console.

“I think that’s one of my favorites, too.” He says as a matter of fact. “That or the one where we went to Lotte World and wore matching uniforms together.” The taller laughs.

You giggled, the recollection of your amusement park date flashing across your mind. You dragged him to go on each and every attraction with you as he stumbled in your tracks, struggling to keep up with your social battery. You felt like two high schoolers in love at the ripe age of 20 because being with Sunghoon gave you the impression that you were your 15-year-old self again. 

“I like that one as well! I thought I looked pretty cute in that uniform.” You grin sheepishly.

Sunghoon chuckles and it causes you to whip your head to survey him. His eyes crinkle before they’re no longer crescent and back to their original doe-eyed shape. 

“You’re still cute, y’know that?” 

The comment sends your heart ablaze along with the blood that rushes to the surface of your cheeks. You can only hope that the thin layer of makeup and blush you applied is strong enough to camouflage the effect that sunghoon has on you. It’s no secret that he was always a smooth talker and still is. It makes you wonder if he’s ever used that flirtatious skill on other women he’s come across after you— or if he has. 

You tut your tongue at him and reach for your crossbody purse draped on the couch that you lazily tossed aside yesterday after coming home. 

“Ready, m’lady?” Sunghoon twists the knob and pushes the front door open, supporting the weight with his broad frame to keep it from closing in on you two when you exit. 

“Wait!” You pip, halting in your steps. You briskly retreat to your room and grab the bouquet of tulips you left on the side table next to your bed. 

You scurry over to Sunghoon, cradling the arrangement of florals like it was your baby. The haired boy opens his mouth to say something but you’re too fast to retort, 

“I wanna show it off. They’re too pretty to be left at home.” 

He nods and motions his hand for you to leave the unit first. The taller gives himself a mental pat on the back for inquiring in a floral shop before coming to retrieve you for dinner.

Tulips are a girl’s best friend, after all. For you, at least.

Coincidentally dinner happens to occur at the one restaurant you frequently visited when you and Sunghoon were dating. It was a simple ma and pa spot only locals in the area knew of. They were popularly known for their cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup. You like to think of it as a secret only two of you know about and continue to gatekeep it from your friends or families from ever coming across of it. 

The owners grew familiar with both of you through your frequent visits and friendly conversations. your rapport with them resulted in a warm welcome every time you returned, often accompanied by a generous discount as a token of their appreciation. Since your last visit to their restaurant, a while has gone by, and you both have been overdue to make an appearance at the restaurant.

“Aigoo, Sunghoon-ah, it’s been so long!” Mrs. Kim exclaims, wearing the biggest and brightest smile that brings out the crinkles in her complexion when she notices two familiar faces. “And Y/n, it’s good to see you too!” She turns to you with the same mien still permanently plastered on her face. 

You bow your head. Her contagious smile has you mirroring her grin. 

“Come, come, sit.” She waves her hand for the two of you to follow in her trail as she leads both of you to your— undesignated but designated— table that you and Sunghoon would constantly sit at.

Before you even have a chance to pull out your chair, Sunghoon beats you to it with surprising swiftness. The aged wood scrapes gently against the floor as he courteously pulls the chair back for you. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you appreciate this chivalrous gesture, unable to contain a soft giggle of delight. 

Mrs. Kim watches the interaction between the two of you and smirks, completely out of the loop that you have broken up; still under the assumption that you’re both dating to this day. Who could blame her when in her eyes you were the perfect missing piece for one another in this world like you were made for each other from the start. 

“The usual?” She asks despite already knowing the answer to her question. 

“Yes please,” Sunghoon nods.

He sits after folding his blazer in half so that it can rest neatly on the chair's backrest. To add some fuel to the flame, he unbuttons the cuffs to his long sleeves and rolls them past his forearms so that they stop an inch below his elbows. The expensive watch that rests snugly on his wrist glistens, almost blinding you. You’re reminded that the man sitting across from you is responsible for an entire company under his name and capable of powerful things.

You gulp. You feel like you’re watching something you shouldn’t be and instead take an interest in the condiments that are pushed to the side of your table. 

Soy sauce, vinegar, napkins… 

When you think that you’re ready to re-center your attention onto Sunghoon once your racing heart has calmed down from its high, the taller has his eyes closed as he combs his fingers through his hair. His lips are parted ever so slightly and there’s a shine to his plush tiers.

He has to be doing this on purpose now.

You watch the way his Adam apple bobs when he swallows and you swear it should be a sin to look this effortlessly good in warm overhead lighting. 

You huff, a little too audibly for the male across from you to hear and his doe eyes flutter open. The sudden eye contact catches you off guard and you’re struggling to maintain yourself from the tension your mind is projecting. You shift around in your chair trying to find a more comfortable position.

This is going to be a long dinner.

After Mrs. Kim returned with your delectable dishes, the food vanished quickly as you guys delved into stories and shared the exciting highlights of your respective journeys. You and Sunghoon spent the rest of your meal at the table reminiscing about the past two years including the many ups and downs you’ve dealt with.

You learned that a month after your breakup, Sunghoon’s father officially stepped down, handing over the reins of the company to his son as the new successor. The ravenette confided in you, revealing that even though he had been groomed for this role his whole life, the transition wasn't as smooth as he had envisioned. The weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Taking charge of a major company brought with it a level of pressure he had never experienced before. The expectations were high, both from the company's board and the employees who had known him since he was young.

As he grappled with the complexities of his new position, Sunghoon couldn't help but reminisce about a simpler life. He missed the carefree moments he used to share with you, the laughter, and the ease of his unannounced visits when he would turn up at your door with snacks he bought from the corner store and canned beer. 

Eventually his determination and drive to persevere kept him standing strong in the face of these obstacles. With his family behind him, a supportive workforce, and you in the back of his mind, he knew he had people to look back on and make them proud. 

You praised the older for his character development, gushing at his transition from uncertainty to confidence, while sympathizing with the initial troubles he first started off with. Being a chairman at his age is bound to weigh heavily on his mental and emotional health, and you can’t help but wish that you had stayed by his side through it all in order to be that support pillar he needed at immediacy.

“So, what about you? I didn’t really get to hear your answer yesterday.” Sunghoon asks.

You blinked. “Me? Well, uhm…” 

A bubble of insecurity creeps into your stomach. Your mind races through a mental checklist of your own achievements, or rather, the lack thereof, especially when compared to Sunghoon’s impressive journey. While your lives have taken very drastically different paths, you can’t shake the feeling that at the end of the day, the two of you are worlds apart from each other. He’s the chairman of a highly respected company. And you? You’re just a college graduate with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. A pursuit that feels miles away from Sunghoon’s milestones. 

During the period that he was absent from your everyday life, all you managed to build was your art portfolio, which you eagerly sent to numerous galleries in a desperate bid to gain recognition as a struggling artist. Rejection letters became an all too familiar sight, each offering the same hollow praise— impressed but not interested. Those were dark times, where self-doubt loomed large.

Thankfully, your situation started to improve when you summoned the courage to step out of your comfort zone. You took to social media, opening art accounts on Instagram and Twitter, and sharing your artistic odyssey on TikTok. Yunjin, one of your closest friends and best friend since middle school, commissioned you to paint a mural inside a cafe she was working at. “I begged my boss for this to happen!” She said enthusiastically over the phone the night she asked you for the favor. Everything to you was a leap of faith, a glimmer of hope that prompted you to fully believe in the light at the end of every tunnel. 

In spite of your situation turning out for the better, it was impossible to ignore the inescapable sense of solitude and loneliness that clung to you like a shadow. It followed you everywhere you went. A mental reminder that, no matter how bright life was starting to seem, you still felt trapped and not completely content with yourself.

You convey these exact thoughts and feelings to Sunghoon in a messy ramble, hoping that this unintentional therapy session you’ve turned dinner into won’t scare him off. You can only hope that you’re not ruining the evening with a sob story of another art kid struggling to make a name for themselves in a society, where choosing art as a career path is at a greater disadvantage in comparison to your stronger counterparts. 

When you find yourself coming to the end of your rant, a wave of silence washes over the table, and you grab the nearest cup of water to gulp from. Ignoring the condensation that sweats around the glass and soils your palms. Your eyes look everywhere, purposefully avoiding Sunghoon and the tragic visage he’s probably giving you right about now.

“Y/n, look at me.” 

You raise your head, complying to his soft demand. 

“I’m proud of you,” he begins, and in that instant, a surge of emotion that has been suppressed for far too long wells up within you. “It takes a lot of courage and willpower to continue to follow a path you’re uncertain of.” The comment makes Sunghoon chuckle dryly, closely reminded of himself, shaking his head. “But look at you, you’re doing so great.”

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes— they combine like a gentle storm, and suddenly, tears brim your eyes, begging to spill over. Your vision is splotchy and you refuse to blink, save for ruining your mascara. You weren’t planning on being an emotional wreck tonight, especially over dinner with your ex.

“I understand how hard it must have been dealing with those struggles alone, and I wish I was there by your side to help support you when it happened.” Sunghoon continues. He pauses to take in a breath before resuming, “But I’m here now… I’m not going anywhere, and if you’d let me— I want back into your life again, Y/n.”

A solitary tear breaks free, followed by another, and then another, until suddenly your eyes unleash a torrent of waterworks like a relentless downpour from a stormy sky. You hide your face in a handful of napkins you hastily grabbed, unaware that Sunghoon got up to move from his seat and slipped into the chair next to yours. His touch catches you off guard but you immediately relax as he guides you into his embrace, allowing you to hide yourself in his arms; your face tucked away in his chest. He caresses your hair, his slender fingers thread through your styled locks as he lulls you to comfort from your shaken state.

The two of you stay rooted in that position until you confidently and mentally reassure yourself that you are okay; you’re going to be okay. Your breathing has calmed down from its high and returned to a normal, healthy rate as your tears subsided and are non-existent.

No longer conscious of your makeup— a matter far from substantial to care for anymore— you wipe away the mess around your eyes. Black clumps of mascara and some concealer transfer onto the napkin. Seeing the stains garner a weak laugh to emit from you. Sunghoon cranes his neck to survey what you’ve become engrossed with. He sees the ruined makeup and laughs lightly into your hair. 

You’re thankful that there aren’t many customers dining in tonight and that it’s just you, Sunghoon, and three other parties who are far too busy drinking, conversing, and laughing amongst themselves to acknowledge the young couple tucked away in the corner.

Mrs. Kim leads both you and Sunghoon out of the restaurant with a warmth akin to a grandmother bidding her grandchildren farewell, her heartfelt wish for your safe return home evident in her loving smile.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Kim. Thank you, again, for another delicious dinner.” Sunghoon bows at a 90-degree angle and the formality stirs a boisterous laugh from the frail old lady. You mimic his actions, also expressing your gratitude for the lovely meal and free dessert she served to you guys ‘on the house.’ 

“When you guys come back I better see a wedding ring on her finger, Sunghoon-ah.” Mrs. Kim scolds lightly. You almost choke on your own saliva at the remark, coughing awkwardly to cover up your bewilderment. Sunghoon does his best to maintain his composure for the sake of the elder’s oblivion.

“You guys disappear for two years and still no diamond in sight. I was hoping some big change happened!” She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, crossing her arms.

Sunghoon dips his head again in an apologetic manner. “You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.” 

You whack the taller’s arm giving him a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look, eyebrows scrunched with perplexity. The last thing you want is to continue to feed into Mrs. Kim’s false reality that the two of you are still a couple. Who’s to say that Sunghoon isn’t actually on the same page as you and everything is just a facade? I mean, sure, he’s been flirty here and there, bought you flowers, comforted you at dinner, and practically asked you to take him back… 

Your trust in Sunghoon has clearly waned, a result of your fluctuating self-confidence that leads you to confide in the pessimistic "what ifs." Your clouded judgment and self-doubt gnaw at your thoughts, casting doubt on the possibility of a reunion between the two of you. 

Sunghoon ignores the daggers slicing at the left side of his face and the buzzing pain you inflicted on him from the harsh impact of your hand. His digits dig gently into your side, drawing you closer to him. You stumble ever so slightly and flash an unconvincing awkward smile to the old lady.

You situate yourselves into the driver and passenger seats of his Hyundai Ioniq. You’re quiet when you pull the seat belt over your upper half, and for the first 10 minutes, not a single word was uttered from either you or the male sitting behind the wheel. Your mind loiters as you watch the building lights illuminating the dark troposphere of Seoul whizz by at 2x speed.

You and Mr. Kim will be the first people we come to with a wedding invitation.

Yeah right… You almost roll your eyes but catch yourself prolonging the idea of a hypothetical engagement and wedding ceremony with Sunghoon as your groom. 

Would he have gone down on one knee to propose to you had both of you remained lovers? 

You shake the contemplation loose from your prefrontal cortex. 

“Is it okay if I roll the window down?” You’re the first to break the ice. Sunghoon nods, his attention still focused on the road in front of him. Without looking, his fingers find the car’s air-con button to turn it off and he gives you the ‘go’ to proceed with your desire. 

The tempered glass descends and you’re immediately greeted with the beating rush of the summertime air. You giggle and rest your arms on the weatherstrip trimming of the Hyundai, your head poking out like an excited dog who’s riding in the car with its tongue hanging from its mouth. You close your eyes, taking in the wind that messes with your hair and brushes past your skin. It’s enough to transcend you into a different headspace, almost forgetting that you’re in a moving vehicle and not on some speedboat skidding across the water in Europe.

Sunghoon looks your way, unable to suppress the natural smile that lights up his face whenever he sees you. You truly are a surge of energy he needs when he wants to uplift himself if he’s feeling down. You’re his happy pill— so much so, that he wishes he could keep a chibi version of you for him to carry in the pocket square of his suits and let you rome on the wooden surface of his office desk to help him get through the work day. It’s silly and love-sickening, but Sunghoon only knows how to act a fool with you around him. 

His fingers drum against the padding of the steering wheel, waking you from your daydream. You hadn’t realized that you’ve already made it back to the city and are soon approaching your apartment complex. Your neighborhood is only a couple of turns away from your current destination as the two of you sit at a red light. You roll the window up, at least it was fun for the duration it endured. 

When he pulls up on the side of the street in front of your building, you try to find some lame excuse to stay with him for another minute longer, not wanting to say goodnight to him. You’re scared that this evening will be a one-off event and you'll return to your old ways, enveloped once more in the arms of self-isolation that consumes you completely.

Your grip on the door handle tightens. 

“Sunghoon,” you shift your view in his direction. “You don’t mind walking me to my front door, do you?” 

The male smiles with his eyes.

“Who am I to not accompany a lady when needed.” 

Sunghoon makes quick work to unbuckle himself from the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to open the door for you. He holds out his hand for you to take, which you generously do so, and grants him the unspoken permission to whisk you away into the levels of your residential building. 

The elevator ride is a close resemblance to the trip back to your place, however, there’s a contrasting atmosphere waiting to burst like a champagne bottle and spill over. Sunghoon’s holding your hand the entire way and you don’t resist the notion. 

When you approach your unit at the end of the hall, you fish for your keys that are sitting at the bottom of your bag. Sunghoon’s hand slips out of your grasp and you almost whine at the loss of his warmth and touch, but you know he’s only doing it for you to use both free hands to ultimately unlock your door. The click! of the lock coming from the other side is an indication that you can push past the door once the knob is turned.

You stand there, hesitant to enter your own home. 

“I guess— this is it?” You murmur tentatively to yourself and the taller. You rock on your heels purposefully stalling time as you force both him and yourself to stare a little longer at the iron numbers detailing your front door. 

You let out a rigged breath.

“Tonight was great. The longest I’ve been out of the house in a month, really.” You cringe pathetically at the confession knowing that a month ago Yunjin was the one who pulled you out of bed to get some fresh air and sunlight because you were hiding away like a vampire. "Thank you... Sunghoon, for treating me to dinner and spending the evening with me..."

He remains stoic and unusually quiet, making it challenging to decipher what he’s thinking or feeling. You wish you could enter his mind to get a glimpse of how his brain functions. You’d hate to seem pitiful for hoping that his advances from today were, if at all, genuine.

If what he said at dinner was coming from the heart.

As you contemplate what might be your last encounter with your 'the one who got away,’ Sunghoon astounds you with yet another trick up his sleeve, when he secures your wrist in his delicate grasp. Forever one step ahead of you, his lips collide with yours in a passionate fervent. The only appropriate reaction that you can give him in response is to return the kiss with just as much fervor. The strap to your purse slides off your shoulders and lands below you with a little thud thanks to Sunghoon’s antsy hands pushing it out of the way.

He cages you against the surface of the door, your back bumping into it when he forces the distance between your bodies to dissipate. Bothered by the tiny gap that prevents you from being as close as you possibly can to him. The only active barrier is now the layer of clothing he’s wearing and the tiny dress that nearly clings to your every curve. He can’t wait to impatiently rip you out of it and slip in a “I’ll buy you a new one, princess.”

Your hands find sanctuary in his soft hair. How you missed tugging at their roots when he’d go down on you in bed, on the kitchen counter, and in the shower with your one leg supporting your entire weight as Sunghoon made the other side dangle over his shoulder. Those positions are tempting, and biologically the flashbacks of your sexual activity with the male feed into the expansion of your slick that gradually soils your panties.  

You squeeze your thighs together. The pressure of your inner fat is an empty feeling of pleasure that you wish Sunghoon could replace with his tongue, fingers, cock, or all three one at a time. The male notices this cry-for-help and trails his right hand down the sides of your waist. He stops at the lace hemming of the cami dress, bunching the material to provide easy access to your mid-thigh. His fingers dance on your skin, traveling upward ever so slowly in an antagonizing fashion that almost infuriates you for his teasing manner in the heat of the moment. 

Sunghoon reluctantly breaks the kiss. The evidence of your already smudged matte lipstick has left a faint trace on his plump tiers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, mouth ready to latch onto the sensitive area he knows best that will cloud every crevice of your mind with nothing but want and lust. At the end of this night, all that you will know is how to be his obedient cocksleeve like the good girl he’s conditioned you into.

The sound of someone clearing their throat on the opposite end of your apartment’s hallway is akin to a record player scratch. You’re grateful that the construction workers, or whoever built this place, designed the structure of your building to be a certain way so that the split-off point from the elevator wasn’t a simple corridor style where you could see both fire exits at each side. Instead, it was more so a wide V-shape. 

In other words, no one really caught you and Sunghoon in semi-public eating one another’s faces. 

You stop to share a quiet laugh with Sunghoon and ultimately enter the safe space of your flat, out of your neighbors point of view where they could have had a free, front-row seat to some juicy content. The door closes behind you, you can barely get out of your shoes and make it past the front step leading to your living room when Sunghoon’s haste to have you underneath the sheets with him in your bed has you stumbling backward. He catches you before you can register that you would have fallen onto your ass against the hardwood. His lips serve him well, contributing to the situation as a distraction that redirects your every inner thought bubble. 

Sunghoon casually kicks off his shoes, adding them to the haphazard pile alongside yours— the least of his concerns at the moment.

The kiss from outside repeats itself, and this time, Sunghoon can contently resume what he intended to do had another tenant not interrupted the mood. But the voyeurism exploration kink in him would have liked either sequence of events. 

His tongue traces a wet stripe up your neck, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. You dully bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the whimper that is sanctioned at the back of your throat, trapped by a surge of lust and anticipation. Sunghoon’s mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear, and his hot breath tickles. 

“I wanna hear you, baby.” He slurs. “Don’t be shy on me now.” 

Sunghoon’s lips sheathe that sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to gasp. Your shoulders tense at the foreign feeling of his mouth on your body, and you’ve forgotten how good it was to receive a hickey. You relax under his touch when he gives the soft fat of your waist a reassuring squeeze.

His canines graze your skin while he sucks on the same patch, switching interchangeably to lap his tongue at the area when he begins to see a blossom of red and purple hues mix together, creating the prettiest bruise that would surely take more than a couple of days to fully heal. You groan when his teeth apply the right amount of force onto your flesh, leaving indents in their wake. His perverted mind relishes in the fact that only he is capable of marking you in ways that no other man could ever come close to.

He steps back to fully appreciate his canvas, that is you, and the absolute masterpiece that you are to him.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to your lips, this time with a gentler, more tender spirit, devoid of any sloppy motions. It’s delicate, a striking contrast to the heated lip-locking session the two of you were entranced with just moments ago on the other side of your apartment door. His larger palms cup your face as the pads of his thumbs caress the apples of your cheeks, making you feel loved and cared for.

Sunghoon lures your tongue into his mouth, clamping his lips around the muscle. He suckles at it, eliciting the cutest whimpers that he missed hearing from you since you’ve been gone. 

“Hnngh… Hah,” you pry yourself off of him, a string of your shared saliva connects the two of your equally moist lips. 

Your puffy lips shimmer in the moonlight streaming into your livingroom, as if the moon itself decided to play a starring role tonight. You squeeze his bicep, noticing that the muscle has doubled in size since you last touched it. You peer up at the taller through your eyelashes and Sunghoon has to conceal his primal instincts from fucking your throat with his raging hard-on. 

Your fingers graze the fabric of his long-sleeve collar, tracing delicate patterns across the black tie donned around his neck. Something about being able to witness a man up close in a suit never failed to provoke a flood of arousal from overwhelming your erogenous zone. Specifically, Sunghoon. It’s a shame— not really— that it eventually has to come off. With a deft touch, you begin to unravel the four-in-hand knot, a testament to Sunghoon’s meticulous self-preparation. The silk unravels, revealing its intricate texture beneath your fingertips. 

You assist Sunghoon in removing his suit jacket next, observing it gracefully descend to the floor. You briefly wonder why he's so nonchalant about leaving such an expensive garment on the ground, but he dismisses your concern with a wave of his hand. After all, as a chairman, he has the means and privilege to easily replace such clothing items.

You decide that it’s your turn to take the lead for once and initiate another heated session of sultry lip service. Your mouth kisses Sunghoon’s with primal hunger. Teeth clash, and you see no remorse for your hostility sponsored by pent-up sexual frustration and longing for some sort of relief that only Sunghoon can render. 

In a poor attempt to unbutton the last layer of clothing that shields Sunghoon’s upper half, your fingers fumble with the small disks that are fastened by the slits. You whine frustratedly against his lips once you realize you’re not making much progress. It is incredibly hard to multitask when your tongue is being manhandled by his.

“Here, lemme do it.“ Sunghoon mutters in a low growl. 

He tears open the placket just like he would to a bag of chips, and the buttons you were struggling to relieve him of pop off in ease, taunting you for your lack of efficiency at getting him out of his attire. He wriggles his arms free from the restraints of his sleeves and shrugs the apparel from the summit of his shoulders, allowing the ruined piece to join his suit jacket on the floor.

“Your turn, babe.” 

He twirls you around, your back fully pressed against his front as the tent in his pants pokes at your globes. The thrill of his length nestled between your ass spurs you to grind yourself on him, a staggered exhale of his hot breath fans the curvature of your trapezius, prickling your skin. The cotton material of your underwear cultivates a sticky sensation the longer you stay trapped in it.

“S-shit baby, you’re a fucking tease.” Sunghoon grabs your chin, forcing your head to turn his way so that he can seize your lips in an inconsistent kiss. Alternatively, it’s a tongue duel of him wanting to shove the muscular organ down your throat.

“A-ahh,” You moan helplessly.

He yanks the zipper of your dress. The item peels off of your bust, exposing your bare skin and naked torso simultaneously. You have to wriggle your hips past the remaining fabric in order to fully reveal your bare figure to Sunghoon— besides your damp panties that is.

“No bra today? It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen…” Sunghoon taunts.

“N-no…” You squeak, shaking your head.

“No? Use your words baby.”

You turn to face him, your perky mounds that come into his view are a sight for sore eyes. Even in the dark and scant amount of natural lighting from the celestial object in the night sky, is Sunghoon competent at reading your flustered features. How you manage to be cute yet look so lewd all at once is beyond his comprehension.

“I-I didn’t wear a bra because I thought it’d be easier to go without one.” You mumble, telling the truth.

“That’s better,” Sunghoon coos. He pecks your cheek and you smile at the reward.

“Eeek! S-Sunghoon!” You burst into a fit of shared laughter and giggles when said name scoops you into his arms, your body cradled against his chest, as your legs dangled over his one arm while the other supports your back.

“Just practicing when we’re both walking down the aisle at our future wedding.” Sunghoon jests.

Tenderness fills your eyes when you look up at him. He’s joked about the hypothetical conception of marriage twice in the night that you’re fully convinced it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea. Given that both of you are ready and first rekindle the status of your relationship, of course.

Sunghoon grins. There’s a gentle kindness to his pearly whites, and you reach up to press a chaste kiss to his jawline.

He relocates to your bedroom. Gently, he lays you down on the bed, your body propped up on your forearms, bearing the weight of your upper half. With an unwavering gaze, you study Sunghoon closely, every detail of his expression and every nuance of his presence.

His eyebrows knit and meet in the middle, fixated on undoing his pants to escape from their restraints, followed by his underwear soon after. His stiff member rebounds off his lower abdomen, precum leaking from the mushroom tip. A satisfied exhale leaves his mouth. He stalks over to you with a sly smirk, towering your smaller frame when he crawls on top of the bed, his knees plant themselves into the mattress and his additional weight dips the space where you lay.

You whine when his length ghosts at the expanse of your inner thigh, suspense and arousal continue to bubble inside of you. Sunghoon murmurs for you to lay back. “Make yourself comfortable,” were his initial instructions before hooking the waistband of your panties with his fingers and dragging them below your legs. The undergarment was tossed to the side.

You nibble at your bottom lip and screw your eyes shut when a slender finger circles the perimeter of your labia.

“You’re so wet babe,” Sunghoon purrs.

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat when he slides his index finger through your inner lips, gathering an abundance of your slick to bring to his mouth for a taste. Both eyes flutter open in time to witness Sunghoon suck at the digit drenched with your arousal. The sight is sinfully lewd, nearly too much for you to handle. Your face reddens and you fight the inclination to hide behind your hands.

“You taste so good, too.“ He licks at his lips. “Wanna try?” Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, and you can’t find it in you to turn down his offer when he looks so innocent— yet acts like the devil himself when he’s overcome with lust. You nod your head with approval.

His duality needs to be studied at Harvard, you think in the back of your mind.

Sunghoon plunges his index finger past your hole, triggering your back to arch an inch off the bed. He chuckles lowly and watches as your hands grab desperately at the sheets beneath you to steady your sanity. The singular digit curls inside of you. Your unforeseen shock is vocalized in the form of a moan and Sunghoon repeats the motion several times.

“O-oh my god—“ You gasp.

The ravenette withdraws his finger and taps at your mouth, signaling you to open. You submit to his implicit dictation. Your lips encase his pointer, tongue swirling around it like a piece of sweet candy you’re tasting for the first time.

You bat your eyelashes prettily and moan. “Mmmh…”

“Dirty girl,” Sunghoon sniggers. He retracts his finger and you let it slip past your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound.

“Can you please give me your cock now?” You plead with a pout, doing your best impression of an endearing set of puppy eyes.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Let me at least prep you first, baby. How long has it been since you’ve had someone’s cock inside of you, anyways?”

You part your lips but close it just as quickly. To be candid, you've never been one to actively immerse yourself in the 'I'm single' scene. Your only foray into it was with Yunjin, roughly three weeks after your split with Sunghoon. The two of you ventured to a club, but it proved to be a brief endeavor. Within two hours, the fifth shot became a catalyst, turning you into an unending fountain of tears.

“Y/n?”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry…”

“I’m sorry baby. Did I overstep your boundaries?” Sunghoon cups your face with his right hand, his eyes scan yours, sincerity and concern laced in those chocolate orbs of his.

You stifle a giggle. Of all boundaries he could have crossed he draws the line at asking for your body count and not him fingering you.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing just… I think it’s ironic you ask me that now and not before we did all of this.” You motion to your bare bodies when you say ‘this.’

Sunghoon’s ears redden.

“But don’t worry, Hoonie.” You hook your arms around his neck and pull him closer to pepper his face with several reassuring kisses. “I don’t mind it all. Now can you please fuck my brains out!”

Your ex (whatever he is to you at this point) throws his head back to share a quick laugh, shortly pressing his forehead against yours.

Without warning, he buries three fingers in your pussy; your hips twitch at the sentience. They slide in and out without strain and together the two of you watch as he finger fucks your hole to “prep” for his cock. The squelching noise of your juices fill the room in addition to your moaning, and Sunghoon confronts a hurdle of his patience wearing thin, wanting to fuck you senseless.

His digits leave your hole and you whine immediately at the loss. Sunghoon uses the mass quantity of slick as a substitute for lube to lather on his angry cock. He shuffles against the bed, forcing your legs even further apart to fit himself in between them. The stretch burns your muscles but is soon forgotten when the tip of his length is rubbing your folds, occasionally bumping your swollen clit which generates a needy whine.

Sunghoon’s face screws with ecstasy when his shaft inches past your entrance. Your walls hug his length and he whimpers at the tight muscles that suffocate his erection. You squirm under him, tensed and breathing heavily. It’s hard to relax when seven inches feel like it’s splitting you in half after a long hiatus from sex. Sunghoon notices your discomfort and stills his hips from pushing further, allowing you the necessary time to adjust.

“Sorry baby, I know it’s been a while. You can take it, right? Like the good girl you are?”

You nod. He kisses your forehead, cheek, and lips to soothe your anxiety, using his lips as a distraction to keep your mind from zoning in on his cock. He seizes the opportunity to fit the rest of his length inch-by-inch, and you feel like a virgin all over again when the burn of his cock stretching you open is almost too unbearable.

“Sshh, it’ll be alright, baby.” He wipes away a loose tear. “I’m gonna move, tell me when and if it’s too much, okay?”

“O-okay, Hoonie…”

Steadily, Sunghoon recedes his hips, cock following in suit, just enough for the tip to be the only thing that your pussy clenches on. He snaps forward, your boobs jiggle at the motion and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when he repeatedly thrusts at a steadfast pace. The pain you were once scared of is no longer a fear you have to worry about, as pleasure is the only thing you know how to feel.

“F-faster, harder, p-please Hoon.” You fight through broken moans to let your voice be heard.

“Shit—“ He curses.

Sunghoon’s fingers dig into the plush fat of your waist while his other hand presses into the space of your bed next to the side of your head. His eyebrows knit, focused entirely on increasing the speed of his thrusts. He continues to piston fuck your pussy, abusing your hole in the utmost gratifying procedure. Your thighs jiggle each time that his balls slap against your skin. Everything reminds him of an amateur homemade video he’s seen from other couples perform on Pornhub. He’ll have to ask you some other day if you’d ever be open to filming your own tapes to watch back.

“Mmh, right there, Hoonie.” You sigh dreamily, locking your legs around his waist and linking your ankles together. “You’re fucking me so good— Aah!” A high pitch squeal slips from your vocal box when his tip probes at your G-spot.

“F-fuck,” Sunghoon leans in close, relying only on one forearm to hold himself up from crushing you with his entire weight. He hides his face in your boobs, tongue flicking at the sensitive bud that hardens in response. He persistently thrusts deeper, his cockhead pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Hnngh… Y-yes, yesyesyes!” You chant. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and tugging whenever his mouth would suck or massage at your breasts. “You’re gonna— make me c-cum!“

Sunghoon’s unrelenting despite your warning. He can feel your walls clamping around his shaft, signaling your impending orgasm, and it taunts him to force himself deeper within your warm cavern at every jerk of his hips. Your hands fall to his biceps. Nails digging into his skin as your face distorts into extreme pleasure.

“I’m so close too, baby.” He groans. “Just.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Couple.” Thrust. “M-more!”

“I’m cumming! I’m c-cumming—“ Your hips tremble with a frenzied urgency as your pussy pulsates around Sunghoon’s cock. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp and a long, impassioned moan escapes your lips. The sheer intensity of the moment leaving you incoherent and lost in ecstasy.

Sunghoon twitches inside of you. “Hah— you’re so— fuck!— s-sexy,” He grunts. Your head thrashes at the overstimulation of his length continuously pumping into you and you push at Sunghoon’s chest weakly, crying on his cock for him to slow down. You whine, whimper, plead for mercy so that your pussy can recover from the intense orgasm you just experienced not too long ago. In spite of that, he ignores your pleas and concentrates on finishing. It isn’t until white ropes of cum are shooting at your walls when his thrusts start to get sloppier and progressively come to a stop.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon exhales through gritted teeth. Both of you are a panting mess trying to catch your breaths as your chests rise and fall synchronously. The ravenette pulls out slowly and he groans when he sees his seed spill out of your hole, it closely reminds him of those hentai comics he’s read through illegal websites.

“I’ll get something to help clean you up.” Sunghoon lifts his weight from the bed but you reach for his forearm to grab him. You don’t have to say anything for him to understand that you don’t want him to leave your side. He brings a hand to yours, the pad of his thumb grazing the hills of your knuckles soothingly. “It’ll be fast, I promise.”

Not even 30 seconds has gone by when he re-enters your room with a damp cloth. He wipes at the areas where a mix of your cum and his seed litter your skin with sticky residue. He discards of the ruined cloth before joining you in bed where you welcome him with open arms. He plops down next to you and you turn to lay on your side so that you can get a proper view of his handsome face in post-sex afterglow. You reach out to gently touch his moles that adorn his features. The moles you missed seeing as the first thing in the morning when you’d wake up with him by your side. He grins lazily and cranes his neck to bring his lips to your forehead.

“Sunghoon…?” Your faces are merely inches apart from one another. Though the close proximity is not a foreign situation— especially after just having sex— you speak to him with a hushed tone.

“Yes?” He inquires.

“At the restaurant, you implied that you wanted to get back together again… Is it true? Do you really mean it?” Your lips are quivering and you mentally berate yourself for being so soft hearted in these types of scenarios where emotions are high, vulnerable, and transparency is called upon.

Sunghoon breathes shakily. “I really mean it. I miss you, Y/n.” He tucks away loose strands of hair that fall on your face. “These past two years without you have been hell. The first couple of months were so bad, I almost reconsidered being the chairman for father’s company so I could fight for us. Fight for you. I’m sorry if that part of my life got in our way as a couple, and I wish I had made more of an effort to be around you.”

You sniffle, “It wasn’t just your fault. I should’ve communicated instead of thinking I know better and that I thought what I did was for the greater good— because it wasn’t. And you’re right, the two years I spent without you were awful. I never wanna go through that again.”

Sunghoon loops an arm around your waist and guides your head to bury against his chest.

“We don’t have to.”

Morning rays gently infiltrate the room as Sunghoon stands before the full-length mirror in your shared master bedroom. His voice carries across the space as he greets his loving wife, 'Good morning, Mrs. Park,' while he meticulously adjusts his tie.

You stir in bed. The unwelcome intrusion of sunlight forces you awake despite the supposedly blackout curtains you requested when you first moved in with Sunghoon. You sigh in irritation. Dismissing the hope of another ten minutes of sleep, you push yourself upright, your arms stretching above your head, accompanied by a vibrant yawn. Sunghoon, amused by your morning ritual, chuckles softly.

“Still sleepy?” Your husband turns to face you after successfully finishing the Windsor knot of his tie. You blink away the fog of grogginess from your eyes and grin when you get a clear vision of your husband clad in his usual work uniform.

“Mmm… you’re so handsome.”

Sunghoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, touched by your kind words that always seem to set the perfect tone for his day. He approaches your side of the bed with a confident saunter and takes a seat beside you.

“Any plans for today, my lovely wife?”

You can't help but giggle at his endearing habit of calling you 'wife' and 'Mrs. Park.' It's become a sweet tradition between the two of you, a reminder of your loving bond that has grown since your wedding day. You twist your hand to observe the silver band that ornaments your ring finger. The diamond twinkles back at you in the bask of the light.

“I think Yunjin and I are getting brunch, then we’re going shopping right after, and later in the evening we’re gonna drink some wine and paint as we gossip about our husbands.”

Sunghoon laughs. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of yourself then.” He nudges your side playfully and you giggle. “Don’t forget to fit me into your schedule. Let’s go out for dinner tonight.”

“Cold noodles and ginseng chicken soup?”

“Where it all started.”

You envelop yourself in your husband's embrace, showering him with affectionate kisses. Starting from his moles and moving to both cheeks, his nose, forehead, and, ultimately, his irresistible lips, you express your love and absolute adoration for him with each tender peck.

“I love you, Mr. Park.” You murmur against his plush tiers.

His fingers delicately sweep aside the loose strands of hair obscuring your face, as he lovingly takes in every captivating feature, examining them with deep worship.

“I love you more, Mrs. Park.”

Two years ago you and Sunghoon sealed the knot in California. The ceremony took place at the Alila Ventana wedding venue, perched on a cliff along the rugged coast line of Big Sur. It offered a dramatic landscape, nestled amidst towering redwood trees, and a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean; the perfect picturesque backdrop for photos and videography. The outdoor spaces, gourmet dining, and coastal elegance were truly significant factors of your reception.

Sunghoon kept his promise to Mrs. Kim when the time came to send out the wedding invitations. Her excitement was beyond words as both of you entered the restaurant, radiating a newfound delight. Her gaze immediately fixated on the sparkling diamond ring on your finger— the same one she had scolded him for, which was now complete.

Come time to exchange your vows, Sunghoon's heartfelt declaration to cherish and devote himself to your love made it extremely difficult to keep your makeup in tact. Yunjin, your appointed maid of honor, had to step in to hand you tissues one after the other. The audience laughing to themselves at your showcase of emotions.

True to his words, Sunghoon carried you bridal style as he stalked down the aisle. Your families and friends cheering from their seats, their joyous applause resonating through the air. The warmth of their smiles and the happy tears in their eyes mirrored the love that enveloped you both in that moment.

Since then, life with Sunghoon after marriage was anything but dull.

#cgi-aenergy #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen #enha #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon enhypen #minors dni

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bioluminescence | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season one — you thought all bellamy blake wanted was sex and other women, but when you sneak outside of the camp walls at night, bioluminescent plants are not the only shocking discovery you make, and not everyone is happy about it.

warnings: fluff, swearing, jealousy, mention of sexual themes, (L/N) use, roma

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

word count: 4.1k

Sleep was a rare luxury after you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to Earth, especially since you were all crowded in a small camp surrounding the drop ship. Teenage hormones, anger, violence, and trauma were not a great combination for peace. So, it was either crying, fistfights, or the incessant moans of couples who couldn't keep it in their pants for more than five minutes that usually kept you awake at night.

You were certain it was Bellamy Blake and his two model-looking female companions who were often to blame for that last subject. Although to everyone in the camp, it was very obvious that their relationship was solely physical, neither Roma nor Bree seemed to appreciate when other women talked, interacted with, or even sat near him. Clarke was a heavy target because of her co-leadership with Bellamy. And so were you.

You were within the inner circle, the informal 'Earth council'. You were also handy with a rifle and knowledgeable in tracking, so it wasn't exactly surprising whenever Bellamy took you with him on various missions and hunts. Sometimes though, he would bring you with him even if the task wasn't within your skillset—those were the times you were left feeling a little confused.

Nevertheless, a small friendship sprung from it. You weren't best buddies, but you weren't opposed to each other's company either. That was a big no-no to Roma and Bree and they frequently expressed that fact through passive-aggressive tactics.

This night was no different from others. Thankfully, it was the never-ending fistfights that kept you awake instead of other's carnal endeavours. You opened the flap of your tent and stepped out into the crisp air; autumn was definitely approaching. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked around the camp, unsure of where to wait out the commotion. Everywhere was taken, so you decided a brief walk in the woods wouldn't hurt. Well, you hoped it wouldn't. At least if the Grounders killed you, you would finally get some undisturbed rest.

As you made your way over to one of the fence-wall openings, you ran smack-bang into a barely dressed girl with long brown hair. Roma.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," she spat, scrutinising your appearance from top to bottom.

Ignoring her lovely remark, you eyed her jeans and the way her upper half was only covered by a grey sports bra. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now I'm not." She smirked, eyes flickering to Bellamy's tent.

You grimaced. I so didn't need to know that.

Right on cue, Bellamy emerged from his tent, fully clothed. He scanned the surroundings before his hardened gaze briefly landed on Roma and then settled on you; it was impossible to miss the way his face softened when your eyes met. Strange.

"Jealous?" she asked, regaining your attention.

"Unlikely."

You brushed past her, though she made an effort to forcefully knock your shoulder and spit another curse at you. Classy.

Bellamy took a step toward you. "Hey—"

But you simply moved past him, continuing toward the wall and saying, "A real gem you've got yourself there."

At least Bree was all bark and no bite.

You could hear him sigh as the distance between you both grew.

Truth be told, you were a little jealous. An unfortunate truth but still a truth all the same. You knew you were beginning to feel something deeper for Bellamy and it was becoming difficult listening to other girls brag about their nights with him. Not like you would ever tell him though—he wasn't a relationship type of guy and as far as you could tell, his feelings for you were platonic.

Never mind. You could settle for his friendship... for now.

You had made it outside the camp walls. At first, you planned on circling the fence for a while, but when your eyes caught on something glowing from the opposite side of a tree, you strayed from your path. Rounding the tree's trunk, you found a glowing neon-pink flower; the species of which you were unsure, but it was beautiful. Then, in your peripheral vision, there was something else lighting up your vision, something blue this time. There was another flower just a few trees away.

And again, you walked over to the strange plant, only to find yourself now on a journey that kept leading to more and more glowing flowers the deeper into the woods you trekked. They were almost everywhere and at this point, you were practically running with an excited grin on your face. In the near distance, numerous radiant colours lit up an area covered by a thick cluster of trees. You wove yourself through branches and leaves, pushing your way into the bright section of the woods.

Once you emerged from the trees, amazement morphed into your expression. You had stepped into a small meadow filled with glowing flowers of various colours that covered the forest floor. There were countless species, but they all shared the same mesmerising radiance. Much to your disbelief, there were even electric blue luminous butterflies that concealed the tree trunks and fluttered in the air.

"Bioluminescence," you whispered to yourself.

It was so beautiful, you could have cried.

Maybe you should just leave the camp and build a hut here. It would certainly beat living with the others.

As you moved further into the small clearing, the butterflies flew closer around you. Holding out an arm, one butterfly tentatively circled your hand before landing in your palm. You laughed in amazement, watching as the small creature curiously crawled across your hand and ticked your skin. Okay, that settled it—you were definitely a Disney princess.

The sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling suddenly pulled you from your amazement; it was coming from where you had entered the clearing. You reached down to your belt only to find the knife holster on it empty. Of course, you didn't bring your knife. You had left the camp's safety and didn't even think to bring a weapon. So stupid.

Before you could reprimand yourself any further, a tall figure emerged from the tree line. The tight dark blue shirt was an easy identifier as to who the figure was. And so were those deep brown eyes.

It was Bellamy. "Woah."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your tensed body relax again.

His gaze swept across the vivid tree-encompassed meadow, sharing the same wonderous expression you once had. The overpowering glow from the butterflies turned his tanned skin a light blue, defining the contours of his face and arm muscles. He sort of looked otherworldly.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked.

The incident before you left camp quickly returned to mind and it was evident in the slight irritation etched on your face. He didn't need to respond for you to realise that he had followed you. Great. His little girlfriends were going to have a field day tomorrow if they saw him come after you.

Bellamy's eyes found yours, taking note of your negative reaction. His steps were cautious as he began walking towards you. "I could ask you the same thing."

He stopped in front of you, peering down through a few stray strands of dark brown hair whilst wearing his infamous lazy smirk. No wonder girls were always fawning over him; he was gorgeous, and he damn well knew it too. Even you were falling into the very same trap. Unlike them, though, it was the moments you shared with him when you were alone that conjured your attraction to him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had also learnt that he was surprisingly a decent human being. More than decent actually, despite how he presented himself to others.

He treated you with respect—a lot more than many others had ever done. You had learnt to trust each other, communicate effectively, and work as a team. Sometimes, you would even find yourselves discussing things that you both intended to keep within till the day you died, things that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

No matter how much you hated it, you couldn't help but develop feelings for him. Even when it seemed he was preoccupied with other women.

Bellamy eyed you, waiting for the snarky retort he knew you were putting together.

You sighed and turned around, crouching on the floor to inspect one of the neon-pink flowers. "Shouldn't you be teaching Roma and Bree gun handling safety in your tent right now?"

That line was dangerously close to sounding like jealousy and you knew it. You bit your tongue because Lord knows you were most likely to expose your feelings for Bellamy through word vomit.

If only you had been facing him to witness the shame washing through his eyes.

"Funny," he said. "But no. I've got more important things to do."

"Like what? Making sure your best hunting partner doesn't get killed by glowing plants?" you joked, glancing over your shoulder to see his reaction.

It wasn't a grin or smirk like you expected. Not even a little chuckle. Instead, he simply stared at you with this intense look in his eye; it was almost sad but also like he was trying to communicate something to you telepathically.

"Something like that," he murmured.

After those words left his mouth, something about the atmosphere shifted. You suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion and his soul-piercing stare was not helping. There wasn't a wide selection of movies on the Ark, but you had watched them all, including all the romance movies. The only thing you could compare Bellamy's gaze to was Mr. Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice. Reluctance. Longing. It was all there. Had you been completely wrong about his feelings for you? Or were you just imagining it?

The likelihood of Bellamy sharing your same feelings seemed impossible, so you chalked it up to your wishful imagination.

You stood back up, facing him but avoiding making eye contact. "Well, I—uh," you stammered. "I'm not going back. Not yet."

"I didn't come here to take you back."

That made your gaze meet his.

Why did you come then, Bellamy? you thought.

He side-stepped you and you turned to see him wandering deeper into the meadow. He began observing each and every beauty and oddity the small sanctuary held, touching the petals of every flower with a delicateness you had never witnessed before. Soon enough, you felt compelled to join him.

The two of you must have spent an hour in that meadow, inspecting each species of flora, hovering your fingertips through the glowing cusp of each plant as if you could feel its light on your skin, laughing together when a butterfly landed on the tip of your nose. Sometimes you caught Bellamy watching whenever your face lit up with excitement as you discovered something new. He never really looked at what you had found; he just looked at you, but you were too overjoyed to even contemplate why.

You felt like you had entered a dream, protected from the outside world where there were Grounders, war, and bitchy brown-haired girls. Everything real was forgotten, even your unrequited feelings for Bellamy. You just enjoyed his company in this dream and pretended it would last forever.

Somehow, you had both ended up lying on the forest floor side-by-side, surrounded by flowers as you stared up at the starry night sky through the tree crowns. It wasn't as cold as before; you guessed it was because of Bellamy's close proximity to you. One of his hands was behind his head, the other on his stomach. His warmth was radiating off his skin and onto your own.

You could have fallen asleep if you closed your eyes. Probably not the most logical idea though.

Bellamy's quiet, yet deep voice disrupted the silence. "It's just a distraction, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Those girls," he clarified, and you watched as his words turned to mist, carrying into the black sky. "If I focus too much on the fact that I have to control an entire camp of teenagers, fight a war against the Grounders, while taking care of Octavia and y—" he cut himself off, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I just feel like I start to lose myself."

Your focus shifted from the sky to him. Even he didn't seem to be looking at the sky anymore, despite his gaze still being pointed straight upward. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Serious and sombre—much different compared to how they had been just a short while ago.

"Well," you began softly. "We can't have that. You already seem a little rough around the edges, Blake."

A grin slowly formed across his lips and he shook his head. He turned his head to the side, looking down at your smiling expression from where he lay. The weightiness from before had melted from his demeanour. Because of a little distraction.

You had thought those two girls he spent most nights with were there purely for his own physical needs or because his attraction to them was greater than his self-control. Never had you contemplated the fact that it might have been because he was mentally struggling with the hardships of being a leader. Of course, how could you have? He had never told you before now.

Your brows furrowed. "Why tell me?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and the grin fell from his lips. A sense of seriousness returned but this time it was less heavy. It seemed more like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Like a declaration. Like a long-awaited confession.

You felt something warm brush against your hand; it gently grazed over your knuckles, lighting a fire beneath your skin. In Bellamy's dark eyes, you could see the reflection of his hand caressing your own and your heart leapt to your throat.

"Why do you think?" he murmured, his eyes flickering between your own, urging you to connect the dots instead of making him say it aloud.

Your lips parted and the crease between your eyebrows deepened. 

Every time he picked you first to be his partner on a mission, every deep conversation you shared when no one else was around—they all had a hidden meaning. All the times his hand brushed against yours as you walked in sync side-by-side, the times you caught him staring at you through a one-hundred-person dense crowd, or the way he would step in front of you as if to shield you whenever there was even a hint of danger—it was all because...

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah." His eyes flickered between yours before he turned back to the stars. "And I—I understand if you don't feel the same way; I know I haven't given you much reason to. From those girls to the... the radio, and the culling on the Ark. If I could take—"

His sentence was cut short as you leaned over him, pressing your lips to his. You could feel his pulse racing in his lips. Or was it your own? Probably both. Your hair fell to the side and his mouth started to move against your own. He began to rise, moving you up along with him until you were both kissing in a sitting position.

Bellamy's hand moved to cradle your jaw, his lips slow and tender. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be, with his lips on yours in the middle of a fairy-tale-like meadow whilst surrounded by a field of glowing flowers and beautiful winged creatures.

The butterflies weren't just circling you now, they were somehow fluttering around in your stomach too and it felt exhilarating.

Unfortunately, the kiss did have to come to an end at some point. Even so, the warm fluttering in your stomach never ceased. Bellamy had pulled away first, his hands gently falling from your jaw and back into his lap. He was looking at you and at first, you were afraid he would get up and leave, or tell you he had changed his mind. But he didn't. A smile crept across his lips—not a self-satisfied smirk or a tantalising grin, but a genuine smile.

Forget the butterflies; your stomach was doing somersaults now. He found your hand once more and interlocked it with his own in your lap. His thumb drew small circles on the side of your palm almost as if he knew you needed a reminder that this moment was really happening.

"That was my first kiss," you admitted.

His smile became a little nervous. "Was it okay?"

Was it okay? This boy was a little clueless if he couldn't tell that you thoroughly enjoyed having his lips on yours. So, you answered him with another soft peck to his lips, then pulled back again to see his reaction. He chuckled, nodding his head to say he understood.

"We can always come out here to practice if you want," he said, this time with a smirk.

You laughed. "I think that's a good idea."

He tucked a lock behind your ear and gently brushed pieces of hair away from your face. You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. Well, it was probably more of a violet hue due to the intense blue glow from the plants and butterflies. Either way, it still revealed how nervous he made you feel.

"It's getting late. We should probably head back and sleep," you said. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, creating his own little innuendo with your words and your eyes widened. "Not together! Alone, I mean. In separate tents. With clothes... on..." you trailed off, realising you were only digging yourself a deeper hole.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

He just chuckled and rose to his feet. "Come on, (L/N). Let's go sleep."

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he helped you stand up with him.

For a brief moment, you gave the area one last look, imprinting the memory into your mind. Who could have guessed that when you left the camp walls you would enter a fairy tale of vivid colours and electric butterflies? Or, even more surprising, that Bellamy Blake would later confess his feelings for you? All you had wanted was an escape; instead, you got a dream come true.

Bellamy pressed a hand to your lower back, guiding you with him towards the tree line in comfortable silence.

The walk back to the drop ship was pretty quiet. No more words needed to be said; a conversation that clarified what you two were now could wait for tomorrow when your brains weren't clouded by fatigue and the fresh excitement from confession. Some things hadn't changed though. Bellamy still stole glances at you every now and then, as you did him, earning a nervous smile and blush each time either of you got caught. Your hands alternated from brushing against one another to ever-so-slightly linking pinkies.

Okay, maybe things had changed a little.

You passed each flower that had led you to the meadow and this time, they became less and less as you grew closer to the drop ship. As you came up on the camp walls, the sound of fighting and conversations had died down and was replaced by the faint crackling of dying fires.

Finally, you both stepped through one of the openings and were within the camp. There didn't seem to be anyone awake; with the way the moon was shining down straight overhead, it was clear why. 

Your pinkie fell from Bellamy's and you moved in front of him, taking a few slow steps backwards. "Uh, that's my tent over there," you said, gesturing behind you.

His eyes never left yours as he continued to walk toward you. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?"

A grin stretched across his lips as he hummed and reached for your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands wound around his neck, a smile present on your face as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your own. His lips had just brushed against your own when someone behind you cleared their throat and you both jumped apart.

Bellamy peered beside your head, semi-glaring at the interrupter behind you.

What a surprise it was when you turned around to see Roma, arms crossed—clothes on, thankfully—and looking severely unhappy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said with a scowl.

Perfect. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Looks like her field day had come early.

No way. You were too tired to deal with this. You gave Bellamy an apologetic glance before attempting to slip away through the gaps between tents. Unfortunately, it wasn't in Roma's best interest to let you off so easily. She caught your wrist and jerked you back toward her.

Bellamy looked like he was about to step in, but you beat him to it.

You tore your wrist from her grasp, words dripping with bitterness as you said, "Never do that again."

For a split second, she looked the slightest bit intimidated, but then quickly covered it up with disdain. Her gaze flickered from you to Bellamy; it was hard to miss the way she straightened her posture and tried to look more presentable for him.

And for a split second of your own, you felt the slightest twinge of fear that Bellamy would change his mind about you and leave with her again. But at that very same moment, he gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to his side, dissipating all your previous worries.

Both you and Roma looked down at your interlocked hands in disbelief.

"Listen, Roma." He sighed, sounding like he was desperately trying to keep his cool. "I think it's best if you and Bree find another tent to sleep in from now on."

Her disbelief turned into pure astonishment. "What? Are you serious?"

Bellamy lightly squeezed your hand.

God, he was putting this girl through the five stages of grief. You almost felt bad. Then you remembered the daily torment she had been putting you through just for existing and the remorse immediately washed away.

"Because of her? She's not even—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she realised any insult thrown at you would end badly for her. It's not like Bellamy would hurt her, but he did have power over the camp, so he would probably force her to share a tent with Myles or something. His non-stop babbling would drive her to insanity.

She gave him a defiant look. "What if we don't want to leave?"

"I'll take the tent down and move it somewhere else."

"Then Bree and I will make both your lives a living Hell."

You could hear Bellamy suppress a laugh. "Unlikely," he echoed your previous words.

Roma looked to you as if you could help her case—the audacity. You gave her a sarcastic 'what-can-you-do?' shrug which just enhanced her seething temper. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere and the moment she realised, you swore you could see her ego literally deflating.

She made a short high-pitched noise of frustration and spun around, her hair whipping melodramatically through the air as she practically stomped back to Bellamy's tent. You could hear her call out to the other girl inside, telling her to 'pack her shit' and that they were moving tents. Not long after, the blonde-haired girl emerged from the tent flap holding a bundle of clothes. Roma must have explained to her what happened because they both shot a venomous glare in your direction and then walked off in search of another tent.

You sighed in relief as they disappeared out of sight. You were about to walk back to your own tent, but Bellamy tugged you back to him once more, his arms wrapping around your torso as your hands fell on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she'd handle it better."

You fiddled with the material of his shirt, half-smiling. "I told you she was a gem."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "My taste of women has been a little... questionable."

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling your body up against his. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your waist, sending a wave of goosebumps across your body.

"You should really try breaking that trend."

He had that same intense look in his eye as when you were both in the meadow. This time it didn't hold any sadness or longing, but rather a sense of finality and affection, like his greatest wish had finally come true—that would make two of you. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as his face grew closer to yours.

The heart thumping in your chest almost gave out as you reflexively leaned further into his warm embrace.

"I already have," he murmured before his soft lips descended upon yours.

And the butterflies returned.

#yes roma is a warning #wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake #bellamy x clarke #bellarke #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake x reader #bellamyblake #the100edit #the 100 #bellarke fanfiction #bob morley smut #bob morley #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake x y/n

[silverstonesainz-archive]

one night only

─── only three floors up, marks the end of a night he could only ever dream of

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader warnings: nsfw!!! minors dni!!! (includes f receiving fingering, m receiving oral, & p in v, unprotected) foul language, and mentions of cheating.

His mouth is watering. As ridiculous as it sounds, his mouth is watering. He stands at the other end of the red carpet, waiting for his cue to take his walk when he sees you walk by in a sleek black, floor length dress. The neckline is high, tying around your neck, but the back hangs dangerously low. He admires the soft skin of your back, the way he can see the dimples sitting at the bottom of your spine. 

He’s never craved anything more in his life.

“Alright Charles, you’re all good to go.” The sweet lady smiles up at him, stepping back to give him room to walk across the carpet.

Charles mutters a thanks, nodding graciously before stepping out onto the carpet. After years of having phones and cameras shoved in his face, you would think he’d be used to the flashing and screams of him to look this way! He does his best, a tight lipped smile gracing his features as he tries to look at multiple cameras before walking further down the carpet. He tries to catch sight of you again, but instead he’s met with his first interviewer. The lady beams widely, introducing herself but Charles doesn’t hear her. He’s beginning to feel overwhelmed, the constant screaming and shouting for whoever else is walking down the carpet behind him. He tries to get through the interview, pulling out gracious answers about his team’s disaster season and his rise to and then unfortunate drop from the top. 

“Max! Max! Over here!”

Charles is slightly distracted, turning his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his friend and rival. But he has to do a double take when his green eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar sleek black dress. The reporter asks him another question, one he completely misses as he stares at you in awe. But what really gets to him is the way Max’s hand rests on the skin of your back, holding you flush against him. 

“Charles?” 

The lady next to him taps his shoulder, forcing Charles to tear his eyes off your figure. He can feel his face heat up, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Scusate! Potrebbe ripetere, per favore?” Sorry! Could you repeat that please?

He does his best to get through the rest of his walk, taking more photos and answering more questions until he finally gets to the entrance of the gala. He finds his table, sitting down and immediately going on his phone. It isn’t long until the event begins and introductions are made. Most of the event is a blur, Charles drowning his sorrows in flutes of champagne and overcooked steak. 

He barely registers his name being announced, a proud call to his achievement of Vice Champion. The Monegasque smiles curtly at his peers, mouths thanks to those who clap for him. And as he steps up on the stage to accept his trophy, his eyes scan the crowd. He knows exactly what– or rather, who– he is looking for. And in the sea of wide eyes, he was looking for one pair in particular. And then he spots you. Charles shouldn’t be surprised that you were looking at him, everyone is looking at him. He should be used to hundreds of eyes on him, hell he should be used to millions. But your eyes are the only pair that light his every nerve ending ablaze. You’re leaning forward, elbows on the table as your cheek rests in your right hand. Your eyes are wide, stuck to him under the bright lights that illuminate the stage. His suit suddenly feels too tight, the spotlight overheating him. He might pass out. 

But he doesn’t let it show. The media training from years of being in front of the camera takes over, ready made responses roll off his tongue. He says his thanks to his team, to the people in the factory, to Mattia, to his family and to all the people who helped him along the way. He wonders if you know he meant you. From the way you shift in your seat, he would guess yes. He wants to smile at you, to acknowledge you in some way if not with words, but then he sees Max lean in and whisper something in your ear. His stomach turns at how quickly you look away from him, how you lean into the man’s touch. He forces himself to look away, to avert his gaze towards his brother who just smiles up at him, unknowing of the younger Leclerc’s turmoil.

The applause grows in volumes, cueing him to wave and walk back to his seat. As he lowers himself into his chair, his hand loosens the tie around his neck. Several people at the table congratulate him personally with kind smiles and gentle pats. He thanks them all before reaching for the glass of water and drinking all that’s left in it. 

“Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay? 

Charles nods at his older brother, setting the glass. “Oui. Juste au chaud..." Yes, just warm…

The night drags along for Charles. More awards, more applause, more champagne. By the end of the night, he was a little more intoxicated than he should be at a work function. He clutches onto the trophy, his trophy, as he exits the ballroom, listening to the people directing him to his next photo-op. The champagne is swirling in his head, making the floor beneath him tilt left to right ever so slightly. For a man whose career depends on accuracy and balance, he was lacking some in that very moment. Charles is greeted by even more people, more champions and winners alike, all with their own trophies cradled in their arms. 

“Charles, if we could have you stand next to Max please.” A man rests his hand on Charles’s shoulder, his other arm extended to point to the spot next to his fellow driver. 

Charles makes eye contact with Max, and both drivers exchange awkward, closed mouth smiles. The Monegasque driver walks over, planting himself close enough to his friend for their shoulders to be touching. His grip on his trophy tightens, worried he may make a fool of himself and drop it. His knees lock, and he stumbles a bit in his place, effectively bumping into Max. The Dutch boy chuckles softly, eyes crinkling as he watches Charles regain his balance. 

“Too much champagne, no?”

Charles’s cheeks tinge red as he nods, “Way too much mate.”

The two drivers laugh, and the press has a field day. Shutters and flashes go off, trying to capture the moment of camaraderie between the rivals. The not-so-rare moments of laughter and conversation between the two of them are a must see shot, and Charles is sure they’d be plastered on every newspaper, blog, and instagram by the time he wakes the next morning. 

They take a couple more pictures, more posed than the last, and a couple of shots where both men hold their trophy high and proud. Then they walk off, as if the moment never happened. Max bids him adieu, a happy holiday season, and Charles does the same before being led to the next photo-op or interview, whichever was left on his agenda for the night. 

But then he spots you again, waiting patiently behind all the cameras for Max. He can’t help the jealousy bubbling in him at the way you smile at his rival, how soft your eyes are for him. He watches the way your hand finds Max’s arm, the way it slips down the black sleeve of his jacket, fingers finding refuge between his. His dinner begins to climb up his throat, and he forces it back down with a thick swallow. And for the briefest of moments, he sees your eyes flicker from Max to him. Charles watches for your reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead you return your gaze to the man in front of you, a small smile and subtle nod like you’ve been listening to him the entire time.

The night ends much later than Charles would have preferred. He was finally allowed to leave after the third photo-op with his Vice Champion Trophy. He’s sick of the flashes, of the shutters, of all the congratulations and hopeful stares. He didn’t want to spend another moment in that room, with the constant reminder that he was second best at something he poured his heart and soul into. He couldn’t handle it.

Lorenzo drops his younger brother home, but not without another round of congratulations. "Félicitations Charles. Nous sommes si fiers, papa est si fier.” Congratulations Charles. We are so proud, papa is so proud.

Charles walks up to his front door with his head hanging low, remnants of his one too many glasses of champagne weighing him down. He fumbles with his keys, forcing it into the knob as he quickly unlocks his door and shoves it open. With a huff, he drops all his belongings on the side table in the foyer, the silver trophy included. He’d deal with it in the morning. 

He undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, and shrugs off his Ferrari jacket. It isn’t long until he’s left in his briefs, falling onto his plush couch and flicking on the TV to fill his empty Monaco apartment. The pad of his thumb presses the plus on the remote, moving through Monaco’s late night TV. He lands on a dubbed version of Friends, lowering the volume level until he can barely hear Joey and Chandler’s voices. He lays back against a throw pillow, letting the hum of the television lull him to sleep. 

Dreams don’t happen very often for Charles. Between jet lag, the limited hours of sleep, and his mind filled with the car, the care and nothing but the car, there wasn’t much left in him to dream of anything else. Tonight would be the first time in a long time, with the help of Brut, does he finally dream of something worth remembering. But it comes in flashes, flickering so fast he can barely keep up with the changing scenes. It’s bright eyes that stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him. 

The knock on his front door pulls him from his dream. Charles groans softly, shifting on the plush couch as he chases a flicker of his imagination. He hoped that the knocking would go away, that he’d return to a fantasy that only lives in his mind. But the knocking returns, louder against the hardwood of his front door. It’s still dark out. He couldn’t have been asleep for longer than an hour. When Charles looks at his phone, it reads 1:03 AM, and he groans. His dick is painfully hard, aching over the dream he just had. Charles pries his eyes open, looking down at his black briefs, the bulge of his hard cock more prominent than he expected.

The person on the other side of his door knocks a third time, this time louder and much more desperate. He mutters tired, French nonsense as he drags himself to the front door in his underwear and socks. He doesn’t even bother to check who’s even knocking, his hazy mind assuming it’s his younger brother in drunken stupor, or better yet a fellow driver in need of something. He makes half an effort to adjust himself, not in the mood to give whoever was at his front door a free show– or an explanation as to why he was hard at one in the morning, all by his lonesome. 

The last thing he expects to see is you, still in the same sleek black gown and mascara smudged on your waterline and pink cheeks. Flushed, clammy cheeks that have strands of hair sticking to them. He’s awake now, wide awake. 

“Can I come in?” 

How could he deny you? So of course, he steps aside and allows you to step into his home. He shuts the door behind him, leaning against the hardwood as he watches you move about his space. With your back to him, he adjusts himself again, suddenly very self conscious about his state. But you don’t seem to notice, setting your purse down next to his pile of belongings on the entryway table. You don’t even acknowledge the obnoxious silver trophy sitting right there, walking right past it to fall onto the couch. 

Charles grabs a worn jumper and puma athletic shorts that rests on a chair, slipping it over his body. When he looks over at you, your head is in your hands and your shoulders shaking up and down. He frowns, listening to your quiet cries, unsure of what he can do to make everything better. He figures he could start with a glass of water. You hear him move behind you, the clinking of dishes and gentle thuds of cabinets closing. You hear the water running, and then the soft pit pat of Charles’s feet as he makes his way over to you. 

He kneels in front of you, glass of water in hand. You finally look up from your hands, and Charles offers you a reassuring smile. He offers you the glass, and you take it from his grasp. Charles moves to sit next to you, leaving a couple of inches between the two of you. He watches you as you gulp down the water, watching it move down your throat like it was the first time you had drunken water in days. You set the glass down on the coffee table, eyes flickering up to the TV.

“You were watching Friends?”

Charles’s gaze shifts to the TV, watching as Rachel talks with Ross. The volume isn’t loud enough for him to understand what they’re talking about, but he’s seen this episode before. “Mmm, yeah. Needed some background noise so it wouldn’t be so quiet.”

You nod, looking at the expanse of his home. It’s messy, with clothes strewn everywhere and miscellaneous items placed in places they don’t belong. The biggest shock is that there aren’t any dirty dishes lying around, but you could chuck that up to the fact he probably doesn’t eat at home very often. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks you. 

You shake your head, “I just want to go to sleep Charles, and forget that tonight ever happened.” 

He doesn’t push any further, even if he is curious over your current state. He wants to know what made you cry, why your first instinct is to come to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, that you knew you could find refuge with him. Maybe it was for an ego boost, or yet again another thing for him to use to justify why he keeps letting you into his life. 

He leads you into his room. His room is probably the tidiest place in the whole apartment, it almost looks untouched. You watch as he pulls out drawers and cabinet doors, handing you a shirt of his and a pair of boxers. When you retreat to the bathroom, Charles pulls back the covers, spraying a bit of the room spray his mom got him to get rid of the mothy smell. He hadn’t slept in his own bed in months, it almost felt wrong to be standing in his room at that moment. He’d spent the better part of the year on the road, and even while on breaks he found it hard to sleep in the quiet of his own apartment. 

You come out of the bathroom not too long later, rubbing your eyes as you make your way over to bed and climbing in. Charles stands awkwardly, watching as you pull the covers over your body. He watches as you fluff the pillows, shifting them around to create more space. 

“Are you going to join me?”

Charles can’t help the knowing smile that graces his lips, shaking his head subtly. “I really shouldn’t…”

“Please? It’s not like we haven’t before…”

A point was made. But there weren’t any boundaries before. Nothing was holding him back before, but now… now there's far too much. He should’ve shook his head, said good night, and returned to his place on the couch, letting Friends put him back to sleep.

But you sit in his bed, wearing his clothes, staring at him with a stare he can’t ever say no too. So with a sigh, he moves to the space you’ve left for him in the bed, laying under the covers as you cozy up to his side like you’ve done in the past. Your fingers lay on his sweater clad chest, pressing the fuzzy lining against his burning skin. Your face is nuzzled into his neck, warm body so dangerously close to him. It’s sickening, how right it all feels.

“Why are you so stiff?”

Was he? He didn’t notice. Charles puffs out a breath through pursed lips, a dry chuckle rumbling from his throat. You pull your head from the crook of his neck to look up at him. He feels your gaze, but he refuses to give into the urge to turn and look right back at you. But he sees your wide eyes, the questioning in your gaze as you patiently wait for an explanation. 

“I dunno.” He finally says. “I didn’t even realize.” 

You lift your head, perching it in the palm of your hand with your elbow digging into the pillow next to him. Now he can see you, see the way your brows are furrowed almost playfully, as if you aren’t convinced of his answer. Charles turns his head slightly, just enough that you could see all of him under the blue light of the moon peeking through his windows. He offers you a small smile, a soft whisper of hello, one you return with the same soft hi. 

“I’ve missed you,” You confess. 

It should’ve made him angry. The revelation should’ve reminded him of the reality of you and him. It should’ve been a swift slap to the face, a reminder of why you miss him when he’s been available to you all this time. You chose to stray far, to find happiness elsewhere. But instead it clouds his vision. Pulls him further and further to a reality that was only meant to live in his head– in the daydreams he kept in idle time. He reaches up towards you. He shouldn’t have. His fingers brush the hair back behind your ear– it burns him. Charles feels himself lean into you as your other hand comes up to comb themselves through his hair, pushing it back while your nails gently scratch his scalp. Your hand comes down from the top of his head, sliding effortlessly along his skin, cupping his cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hums softly, another sweet smile on his lips as he lets his head fall into your hold. 

“You miss me?”

“You know I do.”

You lay like that for what feels like eternity. A blissful eternity. 

Charles’s index finger traces from the top of your temple, along the outline of your face. It’s slow, soft, damn right sensual the way he traces every dip and curve. You feel his calloused skin along your jaw, down the length of your throat. You gulp. He smirks. 

“I like when you do that.” You whisper.

He hums softly, index finger tracing back up your throat. His name tumbles from your lips, breathy and nervous. He chuckles. You almost hate him for it. 

Charles drops his hand after he traces your shoulder. You let out a breath and he laughs softly. “You should go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

You fully sit up now, relieving your arm from carrying the weight of your head. Charles doesn’t move, he just watches as you fiddle in your spot until you decide you’re comfortable. He turns his head to the table by his bed, bright red numbers reading 1:56 AM. When he returns his gaze on you, he catches you tying up your hair, arms stretched over your head as you pull the length of your locks through the white scrunchie. His shirt rides up your body slightly, just enough to catch the black lace of your panties hugging the flesh of your hips. 

His mind is hazy as flickers of his dream begin to replay in his mind. His cock twitches in his briefs, he shifts uncomfortable under the covers. You don’t notice, instead laying back down by him in the same position you once were: head in the crook of his neck and hand splayed over his chest. He wonders if you feel the rapid thump of his heart, the way it shakes his ribcage. 

You do. “Your heart is beating so fast.” 

He has no response. And with the lack of one, your fingers leave his chest and find themselves under his sweatshirt. Charles gasps at the cool pad of your fingers dancing along the muscles over his abdomen and up to the skin of his left peck. If his heart wasn’t ready to jump out of his chest into your hands then, it surely is now. For the second time tonight, you lift your head to look down at him. He turns his head this time, tips of your noses brushing when he does so. Charles rests his hand over yours, the soft material of the jumper the only barrier between his skin and yours. 

He answers the question you ask with your eyes, the why clearly expressed in them. “This is what you do to me.” You bite down on your bottom lip, breath hitched in the back of your throat. His heart doesn’t cease, it doesn’t find its normal rhythm the longer you hold it. It beats excitedly for you. “Whenever you look at me, touch me, god you could simply enter a room and my heart is in a frenzy.”

“Charles…” You are breathless again. Nothing else follows his name, not when he slowly sits up and you are forced to back up and fall onto your back. His hand is back on your face, the joint of his index finger trailing down the side of your face. The tip of your nose tickles his, a taunt at just how close his lips are to yours. 

His head inches forward, but backs up in the same beat. What is he doing? You are no longer his to ruin, no longer his to make you tremble the way he is now. He feels how your body goes rigid in anticipation, waiting to see how he will touch you and how you will melt into him. He watches the way your eyes scan his face, micromovements from left to right as you count the seconds until he moves. You are a vision, laid out before him, a perfectly painted picture that he thought he’d only ever see in his dreams. 

Charles is a selfish man, he finds out. Selfish when it comes to you, selfish when it comes to consuming you. And maybe it’s his rival, your boyfriend,  just three floors up probably wondering where you’d gone that gets him off. The way you don’t push him off when his nose bumps yours, or the breath that shakes your chest when he inches his head forward again. It’s the way you welcome him dangerously close, that convinces him that what is bound to happen, is okay. He smirks, the corner of his lip curled upwards at the thought. Max might’ve won the championship, but you’re here in his bed, waiting for him to make a move.  

“Pourquoi es-tu ici, belle?” Why are you here, beautiful? He whispers, the ghost of his lips on yours, “Hm?” He pulls away again, fingers coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear again. “pourquoi es-tu dans mon lit?” why are you in my bed? 

Words have yet to leave you, to tumble past your lips to tell him to stop. Your hands had ample time to push him off, to say goodnight and find your rest from the long night behind you. But the scent of Charles at two in the morning, the smell of minty mouthwash while he speaks to you, the pads of your fingers touching you so tenderly is all but a ruse to convince you not to stop what is surely about to unravel. You feel the torch being lit in your gut, the way your cunt aches for him. 

And you are no better than to deny yourself of getting your fill of Charles.

You meet him halfway, much to the Monegasque’s surprise. Your lips mold into his, and Charles is quick to reciprocate the movements, his hand coming up to the back of your head to pull you even closer to him. The kiss is sloppy, a mess of teeth and spit as you pull onto each other in desperation. Charles shifts his body over yours, cock growing hard at the way your legs fall open and make room for his body. 

No time is wasted as he grounds his hips against yours, hard member rubbing against your clothed center. You sigh into his mouth, fingers clawing and gripping at his brown locks in your tightly wound fists. He rocks you back and forth as he pressed himself against you. Soft grunts and groans bubble from Charles, vibrating against your lips before he pulls away and leaves wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck. You release his hair, fingers gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over his head. Charles kneels between your legs, finishing the job for you as he slides the sleeves off his arms and the neckline over his head before tossing it on the floor somewhere in the room. 

His chest heaves as he stares down at you, links pink and plump, wet with you. You blush, fingertips reaching up to lay flat against his toned abdomen, sliding your hand down towards the hem of his shorts. Charles doesn’t move a muscle, allowing you to pull on the waistband of the team provided shorts, snapping against his skin. He scowls playfully, right hand dipping under his shirt on your body, laying flat against the top of your underwear.

“Je peux jouer aussi, amour.” I can play too, love.

You try to buck your hips up, encourage the boy above you to touch you where you’ve dreamt of him touching you. But he presses down on you firmly, restricting you from moving all too much. You whine softly, and he smiles. Charles leans down to find your lips with his, kissing you so hard you feel your head spin. Both your hands come up to cup his cheeks, to keep him from leaving you again. 

The joys of a Formula One driver, you realize, is how great they are at multitasking. They’re quick on their feet, able to focus their mind on one thing while their body acts on a different task. Charles is the greatest testament to this, with how quickly he pulls off his shorts while his lips remain attached to yours. His fingers tug on your underwear, pulling it down your legs to give his middle finger the room to slide against you. He feels your body relax under him, how you melt into his hold, lips lazily keeping up with him as he kisses you. His middle finger moves up and down, up and down, collecting your arousal before pushing it into you. You moan his name at the feeling of his finger stretching you out ever so slightly, the way he curls it to tickle your g-spot before pulling it out. 

Charles pulls away from the kiss, eyes casted downwards as he watches the way his middle and now ring finger dance along your pussy. Up and down, clit snug between the pad of his fingers as he presses down lightly. You shudder, a soft grunt coming from you when he does so. He smiles, sliding his fingers down towards your entrance, eyes back on yours as he pushes his digits into you. A fire is lit in his stomach at the way your brows furrowed, the soft whines the push past your lips. You don’t see the way he smiles, not with your eyes squeezed shut as he fucks his fingers into you. 

You aren’t sure how long you’d last with the way he pumps his fingers in and out, over and over. The fuse has been lit, you feel yourself inching closer to the edge. But you know Charles just as much as he knows you. You predict the exact second he’d pull his fingers out of you, the sigh that leaves your lips when he does, and your orgasm deflating inside you. What you count on is his husky voice commanding you to open your mouth. To that your eyes fly open, staring up at him curiously, only to be met with dark eyes and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Open your mouth, belle.” He says again. 

You do so, with much hesitation. Pink lips part, and Charles can’t help but picture the way they’d look wrapped around his cock. The way he’d fit perfectly in your throat like he does in your pussy. He aches. Your lips are parted, tongue partially out, and he rests the fingers the were once inside you on it. 

“Sucer.” 

Your pupils are blown, no more second guessing as your lips clamp around his digits and you begin to suck off your own arousal. You stare up at him with lust-glazed eyes, bobbing your head up and down on his fingers. 

“You like the taste of yourself, belle?” He taunts, “The taste of what I’ve done to you.” You moan softly, nodding on his fingers. “I wanna feel that mouth elsewhere.” 

He pries his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to push him off and onto his back. It is your turn to find your place between his legs, fingers quick to grasp onto the waistband of his black briefs and pulling them down his legs. His cock springs up, smacking against his belly, veiny and angry, already leaking with precum. Charles rests himself on the headboard, hands behind his head as he awaits your mouth. 

You were never as teasing as Charles is, never one to play games in the heat of the moment. You played on your desperation, played on your cock-starved self as you pumped your right hand on the hardened shaft of his dick, pursed lips pressing a kiss to its head. You kiss your way down his length, and it’s when you’re at the base of his dick do you finally lay your soft tongue flat against him and lick upwards. He groans softly, watching as you lick up and taking him into your mouth all in one swift, fluid movement. The sight proves to be better than what any dream could ever make up. Your eyes are brighter than he’d ever imagine, filled with lust as they stare up at him through thick lashes. Flushed, clammy cheeks have strands of hair sticking to them. Pink, swollen lips, wet with spit. Pink swollen lips, wrapped around him.

He savors the feeling of the warmth of your mouth around his length, the way your head bobs up and down, and the soft gagging each time he hits the back of your throat. You stroke his ego with the sloppy sounds, the way you try to suck him off all while simultaneously trying to swallow the excess spit the drips from your mouth. Charles’s left hand comes to hold your hair in his fist, his right cupping your jaw as his thumb begins to rub circles on the hinge of your jaw. 

“You’re so pretty like this baby, choking on my cock,” He hums, tilting his head to get a better view of your tear stained cheeks. “You’re so good to me.” 

You hum around him, throat relaxed as you take as much of him as you can. Charles throws his head back in ecstasy, the head of his dick squeezed tightly at the top of your throat. He could’ve came right there, spurting his seed for you to swallow. But he stops himself, yanking the ponytail in his fist. You gasp for air, looking up at him with wide eyes and drool sliding down your chin. Charles’s cock twitches. If he could’ve taken a picture, he would’ve. 

Instead, he guides your head up to him, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip to swipe away the excess spit from the blowjob you had just given him. Then he presses a kiss on your lips swiftly, hands moving to grab your hips and pull your core over him. You allow yourself to sit on him, slick cunt sliding along the length of Charles’s dick. He hisses against your mouth, lips forced from yours as he looks down at the way you rock your hips against him. 

Your hands cup either side of his jaw, forcing his gaze to return to you. And when his green eyes bore into yours, your hips stop moving. Charles’s grip on your hips loosen, but they still hold you with such force, warmth from his palms penetrating your skin. Both your chests are heaving, gasping for air as you try to come down from the intense moments shared not too long ago. His eyes study your face, pick at every mole and every scar, every little detail he committed to memory because who knows when he’d ever see you this way again. 

You pull his shirt off your body, completely bare before him.

“I want you.” Your voice is soft, a whisper, as if you’re afraid the man three floors above this one would hear your confession. 

“I’m yours.” 

Neither of you take the words for its surface level meaning, nevermind the deeper connotation that it held. He’d never know just how much you meant the words I want you, if you meant them the way he meant I’m yours. But he’s okay with that. He’s learned to be okay with never knowing. For him, those two words held so much truth, it held his heart together. Two words allowed the moments to follow it to be okay, to be something you would both carry with the other til your six feet beneath shit soil at a cemetery on a hill. 

The way Charles kisses you is an outpour of everything he feels for you, every ounce of love for you that sits in his chest. It’s every word unspoken, every touch not shared, every memory he wished he could’ve made with you. It’s filled with everything he has left to give you, and he lets you take every last drop. His mind is hazy, unable to decipher the way you kiss him back, just accepting the languid motions of your lips moving with his. His hands guide your hips upwards, while yours grip his cock to line it up to your entrance. Slowly, then all at once, you sink down onto him. A mix of muffled moans fill the room, the sweet rush of relief as Charles fills you up with every inch of him. Your breath is hot against his face as you struggle to breathe. He feels you clench around him, hugging him so beautifully he wished you could stay like this forever. 

He let you set the pace, watching the rise and fall of your hips as you bounce on his dick. It’s slow, deliberate, sure to take all of him with each stroke. He savors your warmth and wet, savors the way your cunt is made for him. His eyes fall shut, senses heightened with the loss of one. Your nails dig into the skin of his chest as you pick up the pace, desperate for your own release. Charles lets you use him to get off, to chase the orgasm you so desperately crave. He forces his eyes open to watch as you slowly fall apart above him, the mess of moans, the whines and call of his name as you tremble around him. He feels your pussy pulsate around him, your cum dripping all over him. 

You lean your head onto his chest, pressing a chaste kiss above his right nipple. 

“Do you have one more in you baby?” He asks, lifting your off of him and flipping you over so that he is hovering above you. You nod lazily, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “That’s my girl.” 

Charles does the work, pumping his shaft that’s wet with your slick. He rubs the head of his dick along your slit before plunging into you once more. You cry out in pleasure, arms tightening around him as you pull him closer. His hips roll into yours, pushing in and out of you. It’s almost perfect, the way he fucks you while your heels dig into his tailbone to pull him in closer. The way he kisses you so tenderly while fucking you into his mattress. Your hands release him, clambering above you to grip onto the pillow. Charles is so close, and he knows you are right behind him. He licks his index and middle finger before placing them onto your sensitive clit, rubbing circles over and over until you come undone once more. It’s your orgasm, the way your cunt holds him, the way you chant his name over and over like a disciple to their messiah, the way your chest puffs up into him, that pushes him over the edge into his own euphoria. He fills you up with his cum, your name leaving his lips in breathless sigh. 

I’m yours, he thinks to himself, not just for tonight. For always.

He looks up at you, heart filled with warmth as you smile at him. Not a sliver of regret, just pure ecstasy. Charles pulls out of your reluctantly, only leaning in to press a quick kiss onto your lips over running into the bathroom for a wash cloth. He cleans you up, and then himself, before rolling back into his place in bed. And for the third time that night, you find yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck and your hand resting on his chest. 

Panic sets in when you let your exhaustion take you. Not an ounce of regret, no. He’d never regret the opportunity to fuck you, to slip inside you and feel your warmth around him. No, never. The Monegasque panics for you, for his moments of selfishness turning you into a liar. He panics because just three floors above him is your boyfriend in bed, in bed where you are meant to be. He wonders how you manage to fall asleep so easily, how you melt into him like it’s all you’ve ever known. He’s now too afraid to hold you properly, too afraid to let his hand find refuge on your skin. How does he let you go now? How does he let you walk out of his home after tonight? 

He doesn’t know that. But he does know that when the sun rises in a couple of hours, he would have to.

While you fall asleep, the Monegasque stares at the ceiling. Nothing, not even the sound of your mellow breathing eases his quick beating heart, eases the anxieties building in his chest. He stays awake until the sky shifts from black to blue and the sun begins to peek through the curtains, teasing a new day.

Your phone rings, pulling you from your dreamless sleep. You remove yourself from Charles’s hold, rolling over to grab your phone on the nightstand to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, where are you? I’ve been calling you all night.” 

Charles watches as you shoot up from your place in bed, hand still resting on his chest. He sees it now, the panic, the sliver of regret he was searching for just hours prior. He watches as you offer an excuse easily, almost naturally, while moving about Charles’s room to pick up your belongings. You crashed at a friend’s place, is the excuse you give Max on the other end of the line. Charles hears the soft tenor of the Dutchman’s voice as he pleads for you to return home, a plethora of apologies tumbling out of the receiver. 

You bid adieu to the man on the other end of the phone, hanging up immediately after. You try not to look at Charles, not as you pick up your discarded underwear and the dress from the night before. Charles gets up behind you, not saying a word as he walks out of his room, only returning with a glass of water. You give him a quiet thank you, gulping it down before finally looking up at him. 

Neither of you want to address the mess made in bed nor the words with secret meanings. There is an unspoken agreement that neither of you would ever mention it, that last night would fizzle out and be left as a secret between him, you, and the moon. So Charles takes the empty glass from your grasp instead, setting it on his night stand.

“That was Max?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Max."

He hates the way he has to tiptoe around you now, forced to forget the way you were just wrapped around him hours ago. Now he has to stand there, offer you a smile like a friend would. Like a friend should.

"Our little secret, yeah?" You whisper, brows furrowed but eyes filled with pleas that he'd agree.

He's a selfish man when it comes to you. Charles can't lie to himself about the twisted imagination of how he'd let it slip, let it be known to the champion that he had his way with the greatest prize of all.

But for you, he would never be selfish. Whatever you asked, he followed. So he nods, a pained smile painted on his pink lips.

"Our little secret."

"Listen…” You pause, eyes moving to trace the tired features of the boy before you. “Thank you for letting me in, and for letting me spend the night.” 

Charles nods, doing his best to mask his pain and perturbation behind a smile. But you see right through his up-curved lips, behind the faint squint of his eyes and the light indentation of his dimples. 

“Of course, anything for you.” 

Guilt warps your features. He’s glad it does. He wished you would’ve just walked out, said goodbye and went on your way. But instead you open your arms and wrap them around his neck. And he lets you. Charles returns the gesture with very little hesitation. His arms wrap around your middle, face burying itself in your neck as he holds you close to him. He holds you like his life depends on it, like it’s the last time he would ever hold you.

The sentiment is shared.

This was the hard part, the “letting you go” even though you were never really his to keep anyways. This is the part he dreads the most. You were his, but for a night. One night only. 

He walks you to the door, leaning against the frame as he watches you go down the hallway of his apartment complex.

“Goodbye Charles.” 

He sends you off with a tired smile, and resentment in his chest. He waves as you turn back and make your way further and further from him. Sends you off with the last of him, watching as your hair sways and your head lifted high. He watches as you make your way to go three floors up, where a harsh and cold reality sits waiting for you. Three floors up, to a man who has taken everything from him. Three floors up, where you belong.

note: do i hate the ending of this? a little. but i hope you like this. as always, feedback is so greatly appreciated. smooches.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader

[ayoyoungg]

If she’s not crying while listening to Cagayake!GIRLS then what is she doing

#me at the moment #I set myself up knowing full well what would happen #I’ve been listening to k-on character songs playlists the past couple of days #cagayake girls came up on the shuffle first 3 seconds cue instant tears #nostalgia + me also laughing at myself #like I was instantly transmitted back to 12yo me dancing along to the opening #WANTING all that was in the op (and show) #the joy k-on (especially 1st season) gives me #k-on really had the best op & eds #I distinctly remember the op hooking me in like it was just everything #k-on really saved me and I have so much love for the franchise #me #jt #just thoughts

[randomishnickname]

Must-read Destiel fics - my superduper Nov. 5th rec list

Three years ago, on the blessed day of November 5th, 2020, I had:

never seen an episode of SPN,

only had a vague inkling of what the two pale coconuts were on about,

and I hee-heed and ha-had with the rest of Tumblr about the love confession scene and the Internet errupting in an unparalleled craze

At first I thought, that's it.

Then ... I got curious. I watched some YouTube Destiel supercuts. I read some fic (I think @andhumanslovedstories beautiful Cas/OC fic was my entry point?). I read meta. I watched some more YouTube scene packs. I read even more fic. I watched some of S4, some of S1, some random fan fav episodes. And then Destiel lodged itself so deeply, thouroughly into my brain that it took over and hasn't relinquished control in the last two years. The most tenacious, pervasive brain worm to date.

This ship got it all, and this fandom got it all, and there's such delightful, powerful, batshit crazy, romantic, expertedly crafted fanfic out there, it's like being a starving child in the world's biggest candystore.

So without further ado, here's some of my very favorite fics from this infinite trove, with all my thanks to the wonderful writers who keep delighting and awing me with their dedication and craft. There'll of course be some recency bias at play but you can browse my bookmarks over here to chose from over 100 excellent and well-curated SPN stories.

💕CATEGORY: SWOONWORTHY💕

Wildly romantic fics that warm you up from the inside.

It Won't Be Perfect by someonetoanyone (10K words) Summary: Dean daydreams about what it'd be like to let himself love Cas freely.

Why I love it: the humor, the spot-on characterizations, and the quintessential late season Destiel-ness of being so deeply love with your best friend that it's too big to actually do anything about. Just. So warm.

Rock Lobster by Ginger Fail (13K) Summary: Cas decides that the lobsters Dean planned to cook need to get back home. Impromptu beach vacation ensues!

Why I love it: This road trip story is fresh and invigorating like a sea breeze! Fun, entertaining and full of deep, deep fondness.

Seek to Know You Better by ahurston (32K)

Summary: On a road trip, Dean and Cas play the 36 Questions That Lead To Love.

Why I love it: They’re so deliberatedly, carefully starting a relationship here. They try so hard to bridge the gaps and meet each other halfway. A very mature take on love that feels nourishing.

☢️CATEGORY: BRAINWORMS GALORE☢️

Fics that make you go BARK BARK BARK.

samson went back to bed by piesexuality (9k, @twoheadedcas) Summary: Cas strikes a deal with Chuck - keeping his family together comes at the price of their free will.

Why I love it: What if Cas got his revenge for the Mala'ak box? What if love came at the price of everything you've been fighting for? What if a story twisted the knife oh so sweetly? Each word of this one lands a punch. Made me insane in the best of ways (cue pinned fanart).

In sickness by @saintedcastiel (41K) Summary: S4 redux but Castiel has a fetish: giving Dean the sniffles.

Why I love it: This one is soooo. Can barely find words for it. It taps into Cas' early season alienness and psychosexual obsession with Dean, brilliantly demonstrates Casdean vs Samruby parallels, and each word is just. Perfect. ARGH!

so much smoke in a hall full of mirrors by AreYouReady (6K, @autisticandroids ) Summary: Godstiel is losing his heavenly war. Crowley provides a compliant Dean-doll for him to release his frustrations upon.

Why I love it: Urgh, this one is sooo dark. Taps into the scary, intimidating and alien aspects of Godstiel so well. Gore, consent and psychosexual issues galore. Delicious.

Special mention: In a Parked Car, Exhuming Ophelia by @an-android-in-a-tutu (17K). Still need to comment properly ;)

💣CATEGORY: EMOTIONAL WRECKING BALLS💣

Angsty fics that tear you to pieces to remake you better.

What Used To Be Mine by someonetoanyone (48K words) Summary: Dean never makes his apology prayer in Purgatory - Cas dies, Dean mourns.

Why I love it: Oh god, this is a heavy hitter. Just, straight up insurmontable grief, packaged in poetic, raw language to make you shed tears and tears. Loved it so much.

Ignite your bones By ilovehowyouletmefall (67K, @angelinthefire) Summary: Dean accepts Chuck's deal: killing Sam to save the world.

Why I love it: Cruuuuel cruel premise for a story that doesn’t pull its punches. It gets dark in Dean’s head and everyone around him suffers. Wonderfully written. The ending set my brain on fire.

Right Where you Left Me by outdean (93K, @armandgender)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty after 10 years to find Dean married to another man.

Why I love it: This one is a riiiide. When grief has become a part of you but your love comes back… When you return from the dead and have to carve a new space into the world for yourself... nothing is easy here, but the emotions are INTENSE. Also, autistic!Cas for the win.

Special mention: Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (50K) and Clear skies in spring by enochianprayer (WIP)

💥CATEGORY: EPIC RIDES💥

Expansive, wild adventures with lots of ups and downs

Spirit of the West by teen_dean (140K, @urne-buriall)

Summary: An 18y old Dean grew up on a horse farm – cue veterinarian Castiel. The summer of a lifetime ensues.

Why I love it: So this is one of my very favorite stories, ever ever, and I cannot recommand enough to immediatedly suscribe to the author’s Substack to be able to follow it in „real time“ next summer. It’s cinematic, rich, full of darkness and light, it’s everything a story can aspire to, I’m just. I just really love it.

Second Verse, Same as The First by LaLaCat1 (135K)

Summary: Endverse!Cas is sent back to the start of S1 and is determined to make things right this time round.

Why I love it: a desperate and badass Cas, unfridging everyone, a thrilling plot, moments of awesome for the entire cast, gripping action scenes, a romance for the ages… this is a genuinely amazing story.

back road, black road by eden22 (167K)

Summary: 18y old Sam gets kidnapped by Hell on his way to Stanford. Dean tries to deal.

Why I love it: So this one’s not Destiel-centric but does have wonderful Destiel moments. It’s also very heavy on the gore and the angst (NOT for the faint of stomach), but expertly crafted, fascinating and frankly it deserves more love. Held my breath for half the read and never knew where it’d take me.

Special mention: It's The End Of The World (As We Know It) by tiamatv (140K)

🤪CATEGORY: DESTIEL INSANITY🤪

Uproariously funny stories about the intricate rituals these two weirdos get up too.

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall (26K)

Summary: Dean teaches a newly human Cas how to be „a real man“.

Why I love it: Dean coming to Big Self-Realizations while trying to have platonic threesomes with Cas is so perfect. Very endearing, tender and funny. Also, smoking hot sex.

the cheapest room in the house by biggaybenny (89K)

Summary: Dean downloads Grindr for Cas

Why I love it: Just. Late season Dean being deranged about Cas’ sexuality while everyone watches on in utter confusion. Equally hilarious and deeply moving

according to all known laws of life by @sobsicles (29k)

Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty to a Dean who won’t stop playing gay chicken.

Why I love it: They are both such petty, insane weirdos in this one. They said „can every situation be turned into a squabble“ and didn’t wait for an answer. So funny, so tender

Special mention: Wedding Vows and Negotiations by GingerFail (6K)

That's it, enjoy and leave your writers some much-deserved love!

#destiel #fanfic rec #supernatural #spn #spn fic #deancas #nov 5th #destiel fanfic #dean x castiel #my posts #long post #it was so hard to choose TT_TT #this fandom is amazing

[samstatsupremacy]

My notes from the 92NY Q&A

Someone from Mayfair Witches is in IWTV S2 and Mayfair S2

Ben Daniels sent a thank-you letter to Rollin Jones re: working with such a beautiful cast and lovely project (and called himself Santi-baby in it). Jacob did his best Ben impression and read the email aloud to us.

The two actors Rolin KNEW they wanted from the beginning were Eric and Ben Daniels, before they even started casting

Jacob refused to pit Loumand and Loustat against each other. Said they have different vibes

Sam insists that we won't see "the real Lestat" until S3. We're only seeing everyone else's perception of him (very tongue-in-cheek). In response, Assad said, "Armand has a very good memory. Maybe the most accurate!"

Jacob said filming the Dreamstat scenes with Sam was like slipping on a glove, or an old sock (cue slightly inappropriate giggles from audience)

Delainey said her chemistry read with Jacob felt like everyone else in the room just faded away, and she bonded with him first on set

Lestat plays Harlequin instead of Lelio this season, and the moderator was so affected by Sam's performance that he said "I got pregnant after watching it." Rollin said it was "moves like Jagger" on that theater stage lol. Sam had trouble reconciling this part but he did have fun

Any time Jacob gets complimented, he tries to brush it off. He's so humble!

Delainey said Claudia knows Louis better than he knows himself, and Jacob* thinks he knows her but he doesn't

Eric said that Daniel's impression of Dubai situation is he's just sick of the lies and games from Loumand. He won't be intimidated, and if you push, he pushes back harder. He will not be bullied (much like himself, he added)

Lots of hype for ep5 of this season. Eric said it was the most traumatizing episode he's seen in his life. Everyone else agrees that it gets pretty heavy re: young Daniel's interview

Eric said "working with Jacob is like flying" and Jacob said "the feeling is entirely mutual" - so sweet!

Assad was so preciously nervous bc he admittedly still gets intimidated by the cast. He was struggling to finish his thoughts. He did praise how open and loving the whole cast and crew are. It was cute.

"When Louis meets Armand, Armand is kind of lost but putting on this facade of power that Louis sees through" (Assad's words)

Question: any fun moments off set that still make you laugh? Response: Sam and Jacob look at each other and just burst into laughter. They really struggled to find an answer that they felt was appropriate to share and barely answered it 😅

Q: What series would your character binge?

Everyone answered as their character:

Armand: Buffy

Daniel: Breaking Bad

Claudia: The OA

Lestat: The Real Housewives

Louis: The Real Housewives ("YOU LITERALLY TOOK MY ANSWER" to Sam)

This doesn't even cover the encounters I saw at the stage door. I'll do a separate post for that, maybe

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #vampterview #I'M ON CLOUD NINE #just looking at my selfie with Jacob and giggling #iwtv spoilers #totally forgot to add that tag last night..... or to put this all under a read more i was just too excited to share!!

[bwabys-scenarios]

🎄Christmas Season with JJK Men🎄

🎁!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!🎁

characters: Gojo, Choso, Nanami

⚠️warning: suggestive in Gojo’s, smut in Choso’s and Nanami’s, you’re pregnant in Gojo’s and Nanami’s⚠️

A/N: If this does well, I’ll do a part 2 with more characters!! I have only watched the first season of the anime, and it was a while ago so please be nice!! I might not know the characters too well, but I’m trying my best to give y’all content!!

NSFW JJK taglist: @iluvies @zeniiis @highbats69

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Gojo

He throws a Secret Santa for his students a few days before Christmas, and as his wife you attend. It’s the first Christmas you’ve been married and your first time meeting his students, so they all(besides Megumi, who attended the wedding and loves you to death) nearly die of shock.

“Are you being paid for this? Like a girlfriend for rent?” Nobara asks, looking you up and down then glancing at her mentor.

“Oh you wound me!”

Gojo holds you in his arms, his hand moving to your tummy. “And I was so excited to introduce you all to my lovely wife and child!”

“CHILD!?”

You smack his head. “Satoru! We were supposed to keep that a secret!”

Nobara and Itadori accept you as his wife when they watch you scold him as if he were a disobedient child.

The Secret Santa was fun, ending with a Christmas movie and cookies. The three teens wished you a marry Christmas before telling their mentor how lucky he was.

“I am pretty lucky, aren’t I?”

He kissed the top of your head, leading you to the car by your hand. “My sweet girl deserves nothing but the best, I know that too well.”

You’re treated to hot coco and a nice warm bath when you get home. Your husband offered to sing you Christmas songs as you bathed, but you (fortunately) declined. He could be a bit clingy during the holidays.

The night ends with soft lovemaking, gentle kisses, and another Christmas movie. He’s so excited to spend your first Christmas married together, and who can blame him!

Choso

He likes to celebrate Christmas with family, so once you’re together he INSISTS on accompanying you to your family’s annual Christmas party. You need to teach him about a few traditions and social cues, but besides that he’s pretty good around your family.

He helps put up decorations, gets along with your little cousins, and he even brings Itadori along with him. Choso is a family man, he really enjoys being surrounded by people who care.

As soon as the two of you are alone, it doesn’t matter if you’re staying over with your parents or not, he’s got his hand in your panties, trying to get you off. You’re his princess, and he heard that you’re supposed to give people presents for Christmas, Choso just wants to make you feel loved and special!

He just loves you cockwarming him while you watch Christmas movies together, keeping his hands on the fat of your hips, gently kneading.

“Mm… merry Christmas, princess… so pretty, fuck…”

It goes from this to him talking to your parents about how happy he is to be invited 30 minutes later. You’re just trying to ignore the feeling of his cum pooling down your legs, thankful you wore baggy sweatpants.

He learns most of his knowledge on Christmas from movies, so he’s determined to kiss you under the mistletoe. He stood under it for nearly an hour, waiting for you to finish talking to your family.

You find him standing there, pouting like an abandoned puppy.

“You’re so silly, Choso. You could have just asked for a kiss.”

The two of you share a soft kiss. He holds back any groping or tongue because his brother is there, but once you’re behind closed doors… RIP your coochie.

Nanami

Unlike the other characters on this list, Nanami much prefers spending a quiet Christmas alone with you. He’ll visit your family before Christmas, but Christmas Day is for you and him alone.

He wakes you up with breakfast in bed. Nanami’s love language is acts of service and words of affirmation. He spends the morning with you in his lap, feeding you breakfast as he tells you just how grateful he is to have you in his life, especially during Christmas.

Honestly, I feel like Nanami may have a bit of seasonal depression, and you’re the reason he’s able to really enjoy the holiday.

Nanami likes to surprise you with your gifts by pretending Santa is the one that brought them. He leaves you in bed at 3 am to arrange your gifts, and you playful pretend to be surprised. You’re both adults and he knows you’re just going along with it, but it’s just some innocent fun that makes him enjoy the season. He’d honestly be a great father, and now you want a family with him even more.

Since you usually make meals for the two of you, he took over the duty of Christmas dinner. Once it’s lunch time, he serves you a plate of your favorite Christmas foods. He spends the entire day thoroughly spoiling you.

The two of you stay in pajamas, lazily snacking and watching Christmas movies while snuggling on the couch. It’s moments like these that make him feel alive and content.

At night, you have sleepy, snuggly sex. He keeps you close to him, thrusting in and out while holding onto your hand. “My darling… I’m so, so happy… this day couldn’t have been better…”

You hope your Christmas present for him, a positive pregnancy test, will make him even more happy when you show him in the morning. Unfortunately, you are much too sleepy and comfortable with his cock nestled inside of you to get it at that moment.

But when you show him in the early morning, he cries tears of joy.

“This is perfect… my sweet angels…”

#x reader #anime x reader #requests open #headcanon #reader insert #smut requests #jjk choso #jjk imagines #jjk nanami #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #choso smut #choso x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #fem reader #fem!reader #female reader #x reader smut #smut headcanons #jjk x y/n #nanami smut #gojo smut #gojo x y/n

[cuubism]

I complained that Morpheus's season 2 cemetery fit wasn't tits-out, @magnusbae said "tits in outfits are so devastating because you know there's tits to be seen but they're in," I decided that's something Hob would say while drunk and that he should say it to Dream's face. And here we are.

--

“Listen,” Hob says, with the slurred, utter conviction of the very intoxicated, “listen. This’s. Important.”

“I am sure,” Dream agrees, sipping his wine. He himself is not drunk, but he’s gaining a surprising amount of amusement from watching Hob.

“You listening?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Hob sighs, looking down into his glass. “You’re a good listener.”

Before Dream can respond to this, Hob shakes himself.

“But listen. S’such a tragedy you know?”

“What is?”

“Tits,” Hob says passionately, and Dream chokes on his wine.

“In,” he manages, once he’s swallowed and not asphyxiated, which felt dangerously possible despite his nonhuman form, “what way?”

“Always covered up,” Hob says mournfully, face crumbling. “Should be more societal—” he stumbles over the words, tongue heavy in his mouth, “socially acceptable to just. Be tits out. You know?”

Dream is not certain he himself has a strong opinion on the matter. He does not spend much time contemplating others’ breast tissue.

“Perhaps one day it will be,” he says, in an attempt to soothe Hob’s devastated expression.

“Can’t come soon enough,” Hob agrees, and raises his glass to Dream’s in a toast to the matter.

Dream obligingly clinks their glasses, and after Hob has drunk, swaps Hob’s glass of beer for a glass of water. Hob doesn’t seem to notice.

“Horrible to know that they’re there and you can’t even see them,” Hob continues.

“Torturous,” Dream agrees. “Unsurvivable.”

“Nah nah nah,” Hob counters, waving a hand. “Tits is a reason to survive.”

“I see,” Dream says, hiding a smile. He suspects Hob will be too hungover to even remember this in the morning. Probably it is for the best.

“Eleanor had great tits,” Hob sighs. “Among other things.”

For a moment Dream worries his cheerful drunkenness will tip over into melancholy, but then Hob adds, seemingly oblivious to how he’s blowing past his usual boundaries, “You know. I always thought—” he hiccups “—that you would have. Fuckin’. Bangin’ tits.”

Dream drops his wine glass.

It shatters against the table, but he pays it no mind as he stares at Hob, who’s looking off into the middle distance, lost in a memory.

“Dunno why,” he says. “You’re always so. Covered up. But I know there’s something there. You’re beautiful, you’re…” he trails off.

Dream does not know what to say to this, to the revelation that Hob is thinking of him in such a way. It strikes him more strongly than even hearing the word tits applied to his person, which is its own hard shock indeed.

Perhaps he is more drunk than he’d thought, for the first response that does come to his mind is would you like to see them?

This is undoubtedly a cue to end the evening.

“I think perhaps you should have some water and sleep now, Hob,” he says. “Your body will not thank you tomorrow.”

“Mmm,” Hob says, not really listening to him. “Yeah…”

Dream takes him by the arm and pulls him up from the table, manages to maneuver a stumbling Hob to the stairs at the back of the inn, to his bedroom, where he lays Hob down on the bed, pulling off his shoes. Hob reaches for him, and for a moment Dream is afraid Hob is going to grab at his chest, but he doesn’t, just lightly touches Dream’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words all blurred together, and something in Dream’s chest tightens.

“Sleep now, Hob.” He brushes a hand over Hob’s forehead, and Hob falls asleep instantly, relaxing into the pillow.

Dream lays a blanket over him, leaves water and aspirin on the nightstand. Stands, observing Hob, for longer than is proper or necessary. And then takes his leave to the Dreaming, where Hob’s words, drunken ramblings though they were, circle him for hours afterwards.

--

The fact of the matter is. Dream wants Hob. And has for some time. He does not know when exactly it struck him, only that he has increasingly become fixated on Hob’s hands, on the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his eyes. He has not known how to broach the topic. He has never had a lover who was a friend before.

Nor had he known whether Hob would be receptive to such a thing.

He supposes he has that answer now.

Hob has also handed him, though he probably did not realize it, an easy way to convey his interest. It will also, Dream thinks with a little smile, be somewhat… amusing to surprise Hob with the reality of his desire. Likely he never thought that would be the outcome of ranting to Dream about his breasts, such as they are.

I will visit him tits out, he resolves. Tomorrow, when he wakes.

--

Dream is no stranger to more revealing attire, though he has not cared to wear it since his captivity. This, he thinks, is worthy of making the change. He garbs himself in normal slacks and boots, his usual long coat open and unbuttoned— but under it is a sheer, long sleeved shirt, ruffled collar, cut out over the chest precisely as Hob had requested, drunk though he was. Truly, Dream thinks, observing the look in the mirror he has manifested in his chambers, the fashion of this decade is interesting indeed.

Thus clothed to the requirements, Dream commands his sand to take him to Hob’s flat, now that he can feel Hob has woken. He stands in Hob’s living room, and he waits.

Hob comes into the living room at the sound of his arrival, rubbing his eyes, still sleepy and hungover. He’s still in pajamas, and clearly has not been awake long. “Listen, Dream, I’m so fucking sorry, I should not have said— oh holy fuck.”

“I thought this would appeal,” Dream says, and watches Hob reel, eyes wide.

“Appeal. Appeal? Appeal to what, my fucking dick? Oh Jesus Mary and God-fucking-dammit, I’m making it worse—”

Dream is feeling very validated in his choice now. He smirks, taking a step closer. “You were very passionate last night. I thought perhaps. You would like to test your theory.”

Hob’s eyes are still huge. He swallows, throat bobbing, gaze bouncing between Dream’s eyes and his lips and his bare chest.

“My theory,” Hob says faintly. “Are you coming onto me? Please tell me you’re coming onto me and not just trying to break me. Because you broke me, I’m broken.”

“Until you spoke last night I… did not know that you thought of me like that,” Dream admits.

“Didn’t know? And here I thought I was the most obvious—” he bites the sentence off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not dreaming, am I? I guess it could still be you…”

“You are not dreaming,” Dream confirms.

Hob steps closer to him, then, as if hypnotized. Strokes a thumb lightly over one of Dream’s bare nipples, and Dream shivers at the touch. Then Hob presses his hands flat to Dream’s chest, cups what little flesh is there in his palms. Dream does not have a particularly substantial chest but Hob seems compelled anyway.

“Are my ‘tits,’” Dream asks, quoting Hob from last night, “‘banging,’ Hob Gadling?”

Hob goes bright red, but doesn’t remove his hands. “Yeah, Dream,” he says, strangled, “you have the prettiest little titties I ever saw.”

This is not something Dream has ever cared about or even considered about himself, but he preens anyway.

“And if you’ve no objections I’d really like to get my mouth on them,” Hob continues. “You free now? Or did you come just to upend my world and run?”

“I am ‘free,’” Dream confirms. This is, in fact, his desired outcome. “Is that the only place you will put your mouth?”

“Fucking hell.” Hob kisses him then, rough and hot, hands going to Dream’s waist to pull him in so their bellies are touching. Dream hums in pleasure. And Hob pushes his coat off his shoulders. It falls to the floor, unheeded. “No, I want to fucking bite you. Kiss you everywhere. And I dunno what you have going on down there, but I’m going for that, too.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “‘What I have going on down there?’”

Hob huffs. “Well I don’t know, you personification of insanity. What do you have going on down there?”

“What would you like me to have going on?”

“No,” Hob says, half a whine. “Don’t say shit like that, I’m not a strong man. Come on.”

He takes Dream by the hand, drags him towards his bedroom. And Dream smiles to himself. A desired outcome, indeed.

#this is the most ABSURD thing i ever wrote for this fandom but i make NO apologies #dreamling #dreamling fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #magnusbae #tits0ut #never have a put such insane sentences in dream's mouth #the titlet

[greatwyrmgold]

After finishing Dungeon Meshi, I had a lot of thoughts. Most of them were thoughts I'd seen echoed by other people, but there's one thing I don't think I've seen anyone else say:

Everyone hates Laios.

Obviously Kabru makes hating Laios his whole personality for a while, and the western elves think he'd be a dreadful dungeon master Lord of the Dungeon, and half of his party gets annoyed by his enthusiasm for monster cuisine. But I'm not talking about that.

Let's start with how almost literally everyone thinks he'd be the worst possible Lord of the Dungeon.

(cut this down)

This isn't just Kabru being in his "hating Laios is my entire personality" phase; everyone assumes that Laios's desires being fulfilled by the dungeon would be bad for humanity.

To be clear, they're wrong. Sure, Laios is susceptible to the Winged Lion's temptation, but so is everyone. At least Laios's stint as ersatz dungeon lord didn't have a body count! (Unless you count the Winged Lion's clones.)

But that doesn't matter, does it? People hated him before he reveals his obsession with monsters, and they have no shortage of reasons. Laios keeps talking about monsters and asking unwanted questions, he can't hold a normal conversation, he can't read the room or understand social cues, he doesn't fit in anywhere.

Laios does his best to act normal (most obviously when he pretends not to notice the Golden Country spirit because no one else sees it), but it's not good enough. People can still tell that he's different. They hate him when he acts weird and they hate him when he acts normal. Don't take it from me; take it from Chilchuck.

The left panel is the whole reason this post exists. It states in plain English that Laios would still be ostracized even if he only said "reasonable" things. People's distaste and distrust of him isn't rooted in how he acts or what he says, but in who he is.

...

Pretty much anyone who knows what they're talking about accepts that Laios is autistic. Probably also Falin, maybe also other party members, but Laios is definitely the poster boy for Dunmeshi autism. And the reasons people hate him are pretty closely aligned with his autism. That's usually subtext, but Shuro says the quiet part out loud.

Shuro doesn't know about the monster-eating or think Laios is gonna destroy humanity. He just can't stand Laios's eccentricities. And he's far from alone.

We don't see a lot of Laios's childhood, outside his interactions with Falin...but the subtext isn't great. You don't need to be a seasoned dungeoneer to recognize that someone is "different"; any kid can do it. And from the sparse glimpses we've seen of the Thorden parents—Laios's nightmare, the little indications that he shaves to avoid looking like his father, etc—they don't seem to have accepted their son's differences, either.

I doubt anyone in the Dungeon Meshi world knows the word "autism". If you tried to explain it to the Thorden party, their reactions would probably range from "Are you sure that's a thing?" to "Come on, everyone thinks like that sometimes, right?" But you don't need words to recognize difference, or to loathe it, or to make different people's lives hell. To make them want to escape their lives, by whatever means are necessary.

Is it any wonder Laios identifies with monsters, when so many people already treat him like one?

#dungeon meshi #laios thorden #characterization #autism #ableism #essay