#also the fact Five is only one not showing face

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {6}

Summary: After a confusing first night together it is time for the first public appearance with Charles. Warnings: angst, little bit of fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

An awkward silence filled the large space when you cut the engine inside the old factory and let the roller door close behind you. Charles rather elegantly dismounted and let you lock the motorbike up without a word. You had tried not to look at him too much after leaving the club but it was impossible to avoid now that there was nowhere to escape. 

“I’m going to shower,” you muttered. Charles sat at the edge of the bed and watched you walk to the only internal door. The old plumbing creaked as you turned the hot water onto full blast because it never reached any decent temperature above warm. You couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain when the water hit your body, each droplet like shrapnel on your skin.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked through the door.

“Never been better, Charles.”

You stared at a spiderweb that had appeared since your last visit until the water all too soon ran cold. A fluffy towel swamped your body and you relished the softness on your bruises, grateful you had stolen it from your bathroom. When you stepped out of the bathroom you found Charles still sat on the bed but now there were two beers condensating on the wobbly side table.

“Help yourself then,” you murmured as you grabbed a fresh pair of clothes from your backpack. “Look and I will throttle you.”

Charles turned his back as you dropped the towel and pulled your panties up your legs. Bending over sent white hot pain flashing through your ribs and tears burned your eyes when you tried to reach behind your back for the bra strap. Without the adrenaline of the fight everything felt ten times worse.

You jumped when cold fingertips brushed your spine and swiped your hands aside. “Let me.”

“Rumour has it you only know how to take these off,” you said as he clipped your bra into place. 

Charles turned you to face him and his eyes drifted down your body, lingering on the bruise blossoming on your ribs. “Since when have you cared about rumours?”

“I don’t, but your reputation precedes you. And, just so you know, I don’t have any friends for you to move on with after this ruse is up.”

“I don’t believe that,” he chuckled. “I think Alicia is your friend.”

“Alicia is too nice for her own good but she’s still on the payroll. I don’t think it’s friendship when it’s paid for.” You frowned as your stomach dropped as you realised what he had said and took a step back. “Plus, she is happily married so you’re out of luck there.”

Charles took a step to follow and caught your hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoffed. “No?”

“No. You’re not as alone as you think you are. You have people who look out for you, and that’s friendship whether you believe it or not.” You tried not to let the words penetrate the internal walls you had built but they crumbled a little when he carefully embraced you. “You also don’t need to keep fighting, you have control of your future now.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you admitted as you looked up under your lashes to meet his eyes.

“Then let me show you.” His palm cradled your cheek and his thumb caressed your jaw as you waited to see what he would do. “You can say no whenever you want. The choice is yours.” His eyes traced the shape of your lips before returning higher and his lips parted as he started to dip his head. “You are in control.”

It could have been the sleep deprivation, the crash of hormones after the fight, or the fact that he was as good looking as any of the models you had seen. But, whatever the reason for your weak resolve, you didn’t say no.

You didn’t say no when his lips brushed softly over yours, tentatively. You didn’t say no when he grew bolder and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the curve of your lips. 

“Stop,” you gasped when his hands began to glide down your body. They immediately froze and he pulled back with a deep breath. “I can’t tell if you are fucking with my head, Charles. You make me question everything I know about you.”

“I can only say ‘I’m sorry’ so many ways.”

“So you thought you would try fuck your apology onto me?”

“No,” he laughed. “That was purely self indulgent. Even when I couldn’t stand it I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“I told you, you’re in control,” he said with a nod. 

You returned the nod and jutted your chin to the bed. “I’m a cuddler, don’t read too much into it when you wake up with me invading your personal space. Or, you can take the couch.”

He looked at the ratty couch and shook his head before a grin grew. “I like spooning.”

You pointedly looked at sweatpants and lifted a brow. “Little spoon, I bet.”

Charles smirked and dropped down on the bed, making himself comfortable on your pillow. “Nothing little about it, babe.”

You scrunched up your nose and reached under the pillow for the Prema shirt you slept in but before you could pull it on it was ripped out of your hands. “Hey!”

“You are not going to sleep next to me in my brother’s shirt.”

“There’s not exactly a wardrobe full of options here,” you said as you tried to grab it back.

Charles caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth movement before tossing it on your shoulder. “There you go.”

“I like that one.”

Charles gripped the fabric and tore the shirt in half as your eyes narrowed. “If we are going to fake this, we are doing it right. My girlfriend won’t be sleeping in another man’s shirt.”

“Fuck you, Leclerc,” you swore. It was better to be swathed in his clothing than half naked in your own, that was the only reason you pulled it on and breathed through your mouth so you didn’t have to inhale the rich cologne that clung to the soft fabric. You couldn’t be blamed for your actions if your hormones liked the smell too much because one thing was certain: when he lay there shirtless you had no control over your filthy thoughts.

You turned out the light and threw yourself down onto the bed with a pained groan that had nothing to do with your ribs. It was difficult but you managed to turn away from the man whose eyes drank in the sight of his shirt on you. 

“Arthur said I wouldn’t recognise you in the ring,” he confessed in the darkness, “but I think that’s the first time I’ve really seen you.”

You didn’t know how to respond when your heart started to beat like a jack rabbit so you settled for a sedate, “Goodnight, Charles.”

The pallets groaned with his shifting as he rolled over and his arm curved low on your waist, missing your ribs. A soft kiss found a place on your heated cheek and he whispered his own, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“You’re distracting me,” you muttered as you saw the shadow moving again. “Stop fiddling.”

Charles walked into the reflective field of the mirror after showering and he struggled to get the cufflinks into his Valentino suit. He walked around the table you were fixing your makeup at and held his arm out. “Can you please help?”

You fixed the shiny white gold pins into place before completing the finishing touches that completely concealed the bruises on your cheeks. The arnica had done its best to bring down the swelling but if anyone questions your puffy eyes you would just claim a rough night's sleep. 

“Can you zip me up?” you asked as you stepped out of the robe and into the gown chosen for the event. Charles knuckles traced your spine as he dragged the zip carefully up while you held your hair out of the way and the delicate touch sent goosebumps chasing in its wake. 

The Cannes Film Festival would be the first official outing with Charles and would publicise the relationship just in time for his home race. After the photos were snapped on the red carpet there would be no more privacy and every interaction would be watched by his eager fans. You knew what to expect - hate and hypercritical analysis were nothing new - but now they would come from run of the mill 20 year old females instead of millionaire middle-aged men.

A knock at the door interrupted the staring contest you found yourself in with Charles in the mirror and you stepped away to slip your heels on.

“The car is waiting downstairs,” Veronica said as she waltzed into your room. 

“Then it can keep waiting,” you replied while you chose an understanded clutch that wouldn’t distract from the dress. “I need two front row tickets to the opera next Saturday.” 

“But you have a-”

You held a hand up to interrupt her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just get me the tickets.”

Charles watched silently from the door, his phone and wallet in hand, and stepped aside to dodge the surly assistant that breezed from the room as quickly as she entered.

“We are attending the Palace dinner with Prince Albert next Saturday,” he said after Veronica had disappeared down the stairs. 

It wouldn’t be a Monaco Grand Prix without a Palace dinner and you had agreed to be Charles’ plus one. “I know.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t have to explain my every move to you, okay?”

His lips pressed closed in a tight line and he nodded sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, feeling like crap for snapping at him. “I’m not used to having someone to explain my actions to.”

“I get it,” he said, but you got the feeling he really didn’t. He could talk to his family about what was happening in his life and they would listen, you didn’t have that luxury.

“We should go.”

The plush carpet absorbed your heel with each step and you held Charles’ arm a little tighter. Your father had been kind enough to remind you not to make an embarrassment of yourself and you really wished you had been able to take a separate vehicle. After escaping the last event with Charles they had made sure to keep you closer and stop that from happening again.

“Family photo,” your father said with a tight smile. “You too, Charles.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles stepped back into the frame and curled his arm around your waist, his palm warming your hip through your dress.

“Who are you wearing this evening?” the journalist beside the photographer asked, recording device at the ready.

“These divine pieces are from Bouchra Jarrar’s private collection,” your mother answered with a soft pat to your father’s suit jacket.

“And what is this knockout piece?”

You had far less enthusiasm when the attention turned to you. “Alexandre Vauthier, haute couture.”

“If only he knew what a knockout you really were,” Charles whispered in your ear, earning a real smile from you that the camera quickly snapped at.

“And you, Charles?”

“I’m not sure, she dressed me,” Charles said with a wink to you, charming everyone in the crowd including the reporter.

“He’s wearing new season Valentino but he was distracted by the Hypercar race when we picked it out.”

Charles’ laugh teased your skin and he shrugged innocently. “Forza Ferrari, baby.”

You eventually made it to the end of the red carpet and into the cinema for the special screening of some new drama film up for an award. The lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent with the opening credits but your entire focus was on the hand that slipped into yours.

“It’s dark in here,” you whispered. “You don’t need to pretend.”

“Who said I am pretending?”

The armrest was suddenly much closer as you found yourself gravitating to him and your cheek came to rest on his shoulder before the title even appeared.

“Pretending would probably be easier.”

“Probably, but it’s too late for me.”

You didn’t tell him but you had the exact same thought.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 angst

[blacklegsanjiii]

Hi! Random headcanon of mine i thought you'd like

While watching the show i noticed that while all the boys are spread out starfish style when they sleep, Sanjis usually curled up on his side with one arm under his head and the other to jis chest

So ofcourse one of the reasons for this sleeping habit is protection and habit from his childhood but i also like to think that he's a bit of a cozy bug with that he lovess the be covered in all kinds of soft blankets that only his face or top of his head is really visible, and roll up as tight as possible (do i do this? Maybe maybe)

Also combines with that other people (cough luffy, zoro, ace, sabo and many more cough) are total cuddle bugs who will latch on the nearest object of warmth... Yeahh cozy vibes are good

That's so fucking good, thank you for catching that! That makes everything hurt so much worse! Sanji who curls up tight, not only for protection but also to conserve his warmth. So does Sanji absolute cocoon in himself in as many blankets as he can? Yes. Does it matter he can set himself on fire? No. Sanji is forever cold. Look at them going to Egghead, he was freezing despite the fact he can be on fire!

Also Sanji is so fucking touch starved? Tell me he's not. So like clearly he's finding all these warm bodies starfished around the Merry or the Sunny and rolls his eyes as he finds his own place to sleep, he could go to his bunk but without the others it's too quiet, so he'll curl up somewhere on deck and fall asleep. So let's go through the list of his boyfriends and what they do when they find their boyfriend curled up somewhere!

-Luffy will just fall on top of Sanji making the blond wake up and glare at him. Luffy just passes out instantly instead of acknowledging what he's done.

-Zoro will take the cook and put him in his bunk/hammock. Or to his quarters and lay the cook beside him, sometimes he wakes up to cook grabbing him like an octopus.

-I fully believe in Sanji will seek out Ace if they're dating because he's warm and curl up around the guy. He's gotta be so fucking warm. Ace is nicer than luffy and lays next to the cook instead of on. Sanji will find the heat and burrow into it.

-Sabo wears like eight layers already so he will shed like five layers to lay them on his boyfriend. Or if Sabo has eaten the fruit he will curl up around the cook in order to infuse as much heat as he can into the guy.

-Law sleeps exactly like Sanji. They don't touch and they are so cold. Bepo and Robin will put blankets on them.

idk if i should put the controversial ships in but here's the top five!

#answers #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #portgas d ace #vinsmoke sanji #zosan #revolutionary sabo #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #zoro roronoa #sabo one piece #trafalgar d water law #fire fist ace #acesan #sanace #sabosan #sanlu #lusan #sanzo #lawsan #sanlaw

[flipidifloppody]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐦.𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬‼️- angst, fluff, smuttt, abuse, crying, violence, toxic relationship, jealousy, not eating, mentions of sh and suicide, swearing, NSFW.

fem! reader , matt sturniolo.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -

Boston Massachusetts,

two best friends with two different backstories. One blinded by love that she can't see it going down hill. The other head over heels for HER but is too scared to admit it. But what will happen when the toxicness catches up on the relationship?

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

it was not long ago that i got a message from my boyfriend, Finn. It was an unusual relationship. it was like i loved him to much and he just used me as a side girlfriend. but he still loved me, right?

the message read,

"hey, still up for tonight?"

i quickly grabbed my phone and typed back "yeah ofcourse i'm excited!"

it was left on read so i just shut my phone and continued getting ready for tonight before i got a message from matt. my bestfriend since i could remember, but also the boy that finn dispised.

apparently he was to 'clingy' or 'touchy' with me. i always thought it was normal though? i mean matt is a very touchy person but that's just the way he is.

the message read "hey, haven't spoke in a while, you okay?"

i replied with a quick "yeah but gotta go have plans with finn ttyl?"

he reacted to the message with a thumbs up.

-

i pulled on a fresh love hoodie (chris' brand matts brother) and the matching sweats to it, since we're only going to finns house to 'hang out'. i ran a brush through my hair to neaten it up abit before quickly plugging my phone into the charger to charge it up for a bit.

after it was fully charged i hopped into my car and was quick to put it in reverse pulling out of my driveway.

-

i was around five minutes away from finns house, like basically around the corner from it. the ending from 'les' just fineshed and i pulled into his driveway, getting out of the car and giving his door a quick light knock

he opened the door with a slight smile on his face, almost smug. i just ignored it and walked into the house behind him.

it was quite a basic house but it was big. bigger than my house and most of the houses on the street, he didn't really know how to decorate it though i could tell that.

he led me to the couch to sit beside him, to watch a movie but all he really did while it was playing was be on his phone supposedly texting his 'friends' but i know for a fact it wasn't

i tried to ignore the fact that he was literally not paying attention to me whatsoever, so i just pulled out my phone and saw a message from matt, i didn't see it before since my phone was on so not disturb because i actually wanted to spend time with finn.

"you having fun?"

i stared at the message for abit before responding

"not really he's basically ignoring me"

i stared at the bubble to show he was typing and zoned out staring at it, not realising he had sent a text and finn was trying to talk to me

"y/n? y/n?!" he basically shouted taking me surprise and lifting my head up

"hm?" i reply softly to then realise he was looking through the messages with me and matt, i quickly looked up in confusion and tried to grab it of him.

"wtf are you doing finn?!"

he ignores me and continues to swipe through the messages

"i'm definitely ignoring you aren't i?" he said with an angry- ish tone

"i-i'm sorry it's just.. you where on your phone the whole time i thought you were..?"

he shakes his head and shuts my phone off and stares at me

"if you wanna talk to him that much while WERE together then go be with him. but trust me that would be a big mistake wouldn't it?" he said adding more pressure on his grip on my chin forcing me to look up at him

"no- no finn it's really not what you think i promise.. we're just friends"

"hmm are you now" he says with a cooing tone. i just gulp and sit there feeling guilty over myself even though i wasn't the one in the wrong here.. it was him. what did i do wrong?

"see have nothing to say now do you. i'm your boyfriend y/n not stupid little matt got me?"

i gulp and swallow "i know your my boyfriend i only see matt as a friend i swear"

he nods in approval before harshly softening his grip on my chin and placing a kiss on my lips softly and then sitting back down on his phone acting as if nothing had happened.

-

it's been around 2 hours since i got home, i went home coz i said i felt sick, i really didn't though i just wanted to get away from him he always controls me and it gets really frustrating sometimes. i know he's my boyfriend and all but cmon i've known matt for ages ofcourse i see him as only a friend.. right?

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

a/n: this one is only short since it's the first part but there will be longer parts part two might be out tomorrow or the day after i don't know since it's gonna be longer than usual. i don't plan on doing any more series just yet but maybeee😽

@sturnsfav @strawberrysturniolo @hoesformatt @lovingmattysposts @lovingchrissposts @sturniccz @sturnioloslurps @sturniolo @sturniololoverr

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #spotify

[tobiasdrake]

*deep breath* Okay. Here we go.

I don't think the Netflix Avatar show likes women very much. It's a great show for fans of Aang, Sokka, Zuko, and Iroh specifically. All four of those characters get a ton of great material. In fact, it's super great for Sokka stans, because the show takes him ultra-seriously and can't go five minutes without one character or another (usually a woman) praising him.

But the way it handles its female cast is troublesome.

Katara

So, all three of the main trio got some changes made to their stories. They changed Aang's story so that he wasn't running away from his responsibilities; He was just clearing his head and somehow accidentallied himself into a tsunami. Whoopsy-dooodle. Aang did nothing wrong.

They changed Sokka's story so that him being a leader of his people and a great guardian warrior is treated with complete seriousness. Multiple times, characters stop to talk about how brave and noble Sokka is for taking on such an intense responsibility, and tell him to his face what a great warrior and a wonderful leader he is. Also his misogyny is erased.

And they changed Katara's story so that she directly got her mom killed because she sucks at waterbending.

Katara tries to waterbend to attack the Fire Nation soldier but couldn't manage it, provoking the soldier to start actively searching for her and forcing her mom to fake a waterbending attack and draw his fire. They changed Katara's story so that her bad decision making fucking got her mom killed.

This is treated with the same level of severity as "Sokka was bullied by mean kids and also his dad doesn't think he's good enough to be a leader."

"I hoped Sokka would do better but not everyone is meant to have people's lives in their hands," Sokka's dad says of him.

Yeah, you're right, that's totally comparable to watching your mom get barbecued because you tried to waterbend in a situation you shouldn't have and then failed.

In fact, they give Sokka's greatest trauma more weight because it gets examined again with Yue next episode, while Katara actively getting her mom killed isn't brought up again at all. We get traumatized glimpses of it throughout the season leading up to the reveal, but after this scene in episode 5, it never comes up again.

But to be fair, Katara was a child. An event this significant would surely have motivated her, driving her to become the great waterbender she is now, right?

No! Katara sucks at waterbending and needs men who aren't even waterbenders to teach her how to waterbend. She requires instruction from Aang in episode 1 to learn how to waterbend, then from Jet in episode 3 to learn how to waterbend better.

And unlike the show, her relationship with Aang isn't a give-and-take; Katara doesn't teach Aang a single goddamn thing. He never learns to waterbend. She is a strictly a pupil throughout the whole season. Though she at least gets officially labeled a master in episode 8, so there's that.

In any case, the whole traumatic memory thing isn't even the only time she's directly compared with Sokka. Episodes 3 and 4 see Katara and Sokka bicker over whose morally dubious side character is better. Sokka likes the Mechanist and Katara likes Jet.

Ultimately, Katara is forced to eat crow when Jet turns out to be the worst, while Sokka is vindicated when the Mechanist sees the error of his ways and reforms. But not before two separate arguments where Sokka calls Katara childish and accuses her of acting like a little girl.

Arguments ultimately resolved when Katara apologizes to Sokka for not adequately respecting his very serious and ultra important role as village protector and leader. Gives him a whole speech about how great and glorious he is. And Sokka... appreciates Katara learning to respect him properly, I guess, because he never offers any similar sentiments back to her.

The show just... They need you to know how important Sokka is, okay? It's very important that you respect Sokka.

Suki

Suki suffers tremendously from that whole "Sokka's misogyny was removed" thing. Y'know, because they need something else to do with that episode. The show is deeply aware that Suki is Sokka's love interest, so they just do that right off the bat. Suki falls madly in love with him from the moment they meet, and spends the entire episode making goo-goo eyes and trying to get him to Notice Me Senpai.

They still do the "Suki Trains Sokka" stuff. But Sokka is a serious, dignified manly man worthy of the deepest respect now, so of course they don't make him wear the Kyoshi uniform. Instead, the main purpose of his training is to allow them to flirt some more. It's less martial arts training and more an excuse to grope each other and near-kiss.

Suki's just a waifu now. She still fights real good, but all of the stuff that made her relationship with Sokka interesting has been erased.

Yue

Yue, similarly, leaps straight to shipping from the word go. They write out her fiance, Hahn, by having Yue briefly meet Sokka earlier in the season. She spends one minute talking to him in the Spirit World about Spirit World lore; In that time, she falls so desperately, madly, unfathomably in love with him that she breaks off her marriage to Hahn and devotes herself to waiting for him to one day come to her.

"Never have I known such joys as that time you let me explain the spirit bear Hei Bei to you. Truly, we are destined to be together for life."

Like with Suki, they go out of their way to have Yue and Sokka already be a ship from the word 'go' so they don't have to spend time developing any kind of meaningful attraction.

They just. They really want you to know that Sokka is the manliest and most desirable man ever to walk this earth. It is very important that you understand how great he is. Women hurl themselves into his arms with zero effort whatsoever, because he's just so goddamn irresistible.

Fortunately, Hahn is super okay with this turn of events. He's the most chill guy ever, he gets along perfectly well with Sokka, and he completely supports Yue's right to dump him! In the famously misogynistic Northern Water Tribe, no less! What a swell guy. Aren't men swell?

June

June gets hit with that "rewritten as hollow waifu" stick too, but her eyes are set on Iroh. They rewrote June to be super attracted and flirty towards the man who was her unwanted sexual harasser in the source material. So that's fun.

Also, she barely does anything. Zuko hires her to find Aang, she succeeds, and then she fucks right off out of the show - But she manages to find time to express how unbelievably sexy Iroh is twice during that time.

She seriously just dropped into the show to flirt with Iroh and leave. She is unbelievably inconsequential.

Kyoshi

And then there's Kyoshi. They really want you to hate Kyoshi. She's constantly shot from below, as if looking down on Aang and the audience. Her voice takes on a demonic echoing reverb at one point as she's screaming at Aang that "THE AVATAR MUST BE A MERCILESS WARRIOR!!!"

She despises Aang, calling him a coward for running away from his responsibilities - Which, I remind you, is no longer a plot point because they unwrote that flaw from his character. So she's just a complete and utter asshole, shot from the asshole angle, yelling violently at him with asshole sound effects. They want you to despise this woman.

Azula

Awkwardly, they do not seem to want you to despise Azula.

There's a lot to be said for how Ozai treats Azula in the original show. The way the favoritism he shows her is every bit as cruel and manipulative as the unfavoritism that he shows Zuko. Ozai does not love Azula. He loves the reflection of himself he sees in her eyes, and his encouragement urges her to polish herself to ensure his reflection always shines through.

This is not that. The show instead erases the favoritism entirely. Ozai doesn't really care one way or another about either of his kids. He plays them against each other, bragging openly to Azula about how great Zuko is and unpleasably writing Azula off as weak and useless.

They've rewritten the dynamic between abusive father and his two abused kids in order to take Azula's pride away. Reimagining her from a gifted prodigy who excels at imitating the toxic behaviors of a father who doesn't truly care for her, to a put-upon overachiever tearing herself in knots to live up to the standards of her unpleasable father.

This results in a truly wild portrayal of Azula as insecure and jealous of Ozai's seemingly love for Zuko. Here, she is simply a browbeaten child constantly complaining to her friends about how mean her father is and conspiring to get one up over Daddy's Golden Child Zuko.

Which she fails at, because she backs Zhao. Zuko deftly defeats her without even realizing they're in competition.

Conclusion

The season ends well for some of these women. It ends promising that maybe we'll see Katara teaching Aang some day. It ends with Zhao bragging that Ozai just used Zuko to train Azula so maybe we'll see the more confident and misguidedly proud Azula some day. Yue becomes the moon like she's supposed to. June's still out there so maybe she'll get to do something again some day.

Katara gets to fight Pakku and lose, but she looks pretty cool. She gets to fight Zuko and lose, but she looks pretty cool. Azula learns to lightningbend because she's just so mad about Ozai's contempt for her and favoritism for Zuko, which isn't how you lightningbend.

But promises of future content fall flat when the content that exists is so underwhelming. This season made its feelings on these characters pretty evident, and it's unwise to expect better material from creators who've disappointed you with the material they already made.

The women of Netflix Avatar simply do not get to shine, outside of superficial moments like the "Women of Northern Water Tribe demand the right to fight and then fuck off and don't do anything for the entire rest of the episode" bit.

"In the midst of battle, we demand that you stop being sexist and give us permission to fight! This is a way better idea than convincing you to teach us to fight before the battle begins."

The characters of this show feel as if they've been reimagined to glorify the boys at the expense of the girls. The boys are treated with a great amount of care. They're dignified and made important movers of the plot, with their rough edges sanded off. While the girls are molded around them.

#avatar the last airbender #drake watches netflix last airbender #kyoshi #katara #azula #suki #yue #june

[evilminji]

Actually? You know what would be darkly hilarious?

If, when the GIW can't get ghosts declared both malicious AND non-sapient/sentient? They push for "dumb animals" instead.

Which is accepted. Ghosts are animals. Checks out, says scientists everywhere.

HOW "dumb"?

What? Says the GIW, mid-victory high fives. They did not expect a follow up question. They SHOULD have, as this is the SCIENTIFIC community and that is literally their job, but here we are.

How. "Dumb"? The scientists repeate slower. What methodology did you use? What is your sample size? Are their different sub-species? Is this dimension like ours? Is Ghost the equivalent to Mammal? It says here their are humanoid ones.

What IQ are we talking about here and HOW DID YOU TEST??

A goldfish, parrot, and dolphin are all animals. WILDLY different levels of intelligence. You can't treat them the same. Technically speaking, WE are animals.

The GIW does not like where this conversation is going. Tries to shut it down.

.......well NOW the scientists are both offended AND invested. How DARE you try to push faulty science and hide the Truth from them! They're gonna do their OWN studies! *picks up the phone and dials that one embarrassing spiritualist friend they had in college* Hey! You still think you can summon ghosts? I'll pay you to try it for Science!

And like? As a Ghost? It's degrading as hell. But ALSO these fuckos just Whoopsie'd you into having both protections under the law, since animal abuse IS illegal, AND just put the ENTIRE planets scientific community on their asses.... by accident.

So you take a deeeeeeep breath you don't even need. Remember you're doing this for the little ghost babies and fluffy ghost animals. And show up at a research facility like "yes, hello, I am Ghost. Here for you to poke and prod at. Please ask me to name the object on the flash card or whatever IQ tests do these days."

Should you HAVE to prove your own fucking sentience? No. But? You do it. You're even polite about it. Ask for a copy of the study they plan to publish so you can BEAT some mother fuckers with it. The scientists nod in understanding and use the BIG font for your copy so it'll hurt more.

They've been there.

And just? Shitty people getting what they wanted only to have it blow up in their faces?? I see all these angst "but what if they were declared ANIMALS" prompts and I just?? Are we talking PARROT or goldfish!? One has the average intelligence of about a human 4yr old and the other is a FISH! People get RIGHTFULLY furious when you treat INTELLIGENT animals badly.

And would, in fact, adapt pretty easy to discovering one of said animal has become HUMAN lvl intelligent. It's easy to grasp the idea of human intelligence lvl dolphin or monkeys. Maybe there was some mutated strain, maybe in uetro tampering. Who knows. But if I tried to sell you a human intelligent housefly? Gold fish? Lizard?

You wouldn't believe me. There is some kind of trick at play.

So if GHOSTS are seen as animals? Everyone nods and then later? Someone comes in TV and very excitedly informs you "we found INTELLIGENT LIFE amongst the ghosts!" You'd believe it. Probably be really excited by your conversation starter for the day. Get a taco and move on with your life.

But? Having to willing sit for a barrage of testing? Is going to suuuuuuck so bad. Poor Danny. SATs all over again. For HOURS. At multiple facilities, just to be CERTAIN it's not a one off. All because he not certain he can insure good behavior from other ghosts and This Is IMPORTANT. He ALSO can't be certain it's even SAFE.

Might be a trap.

But if he has to do it again and again and again? Mexico to Bavaria to China to the Maldives? If this is what it takes for the scientific community to bitchslap the GIW into ORBIT before the UN? Hand him that pencil.

He has no where more important to be.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation @ailithnight @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #you wanna call me an animal? #well check mate! #SO ARE YOU #now they're asking what KIND of animal i am! #and THIS ghost is sayin SAPIEN! #i am in your scientific community #disproving your theories! #your studies were bad and you should feel bad! #danny phantom

[ladadiida]

𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth. or, you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i swear i cannot escape a brainrot whenever i watch a new show. this automatically wrote itself, i don't even remember how i came up with this idea. anyway, i'm surprised there aren't many sanji fics that involves the unrequited love trope, seeing that it suits him. or maybe that's just me. this is only a SNEAK PEEK though.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 full version now published here!

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite dessert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

again, this is only a sneak peek of the actual fic, i'm currently halfway in completing it. please let me know if you want to read it, because i might publish it next week. if not, i'll just drown in sorrow and self-pity.

#opla #opla x reader #opla x y/n #one piece #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji live action #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #opla sanji x reader #angst #one piece sanji x reader #ਏਓ ladadiida

[ew-selfish-art]

DCxDP AU: Danny and Damian are actually twins but were never raised together- Talia would divide her time between bases, spending time with them separately (but spending more time with Damian). Jason technically only met Danny in his time with the LoA.

It still a very tenuous truce that Jason has with his family when he finally joins them for breakfast after a late night of busting a drug ring. And sue him, he's never cared to look at the little one that closely when he's not pointing a knife in his direction. But then the little Bat Brat turned his face towards the ray of light streaming into the family room of the Manor and Jason caught a closer look to the… green color. Huh.

“Hey demon, when you died did you come back with those green eyes?” Jason calls out, and perhaps it’s a little antagonistic but something deeply unsettles the crime lord about this.

“Tt. I’ve always had green eyes Todd. Your observation skills remain dulled-“ Damian begins to berate him but Jason’s scowl deepens and he interrupts.

“No, they were definitely Bruce’s color blue when I met you with Talia- I punched your lights out because of it remember?” Jason supplies, looking perturbed and having a small child look equally perturbed back at him.

“You never met me in Nanda Parbat. And mother would have never allowed you to attack above your station and live.”

“Kid I literally have the scars from my punishment. My memory from that time after the pit might not be great or even good but I know, I know I punched your lights out.”

“No doubt you have been fooled by a clone then-“ Damian says but he looks upset.

“Talia called you Dami then, you’ve never let us call you that.” Jason supplies further, he was certain that Talia had introduced him as her son.

“I was never called such an informal name.” But Damian looks disturbed more than he looks like he wants to fight.

Eventually, after combing through their collective memory of Talia's where abouts and Damian's lack of interaction with Todd, it’s decided that they have to talk to Drake who was there the most recently. Neither wants to add the fact that he's also the most knowledgeable family member when it comes to the LoA now.

“Huh? Yeah, it looks like Talia kept ledgers dividing her time between two places- the journal reads like there is Dami as Damian but… maybe it’s Dami AND Damian…” Tim reviews the books he robbed them of with a fine tooth comb and suddenly this pattern of using the “nickname” and the “full name” start to show a “first child” and a “second child”.

Damian was clearly the favorite. The ‘Dami’ kid was sent away on a suicide mission pretty early in their lives, he would have left right after Todd did at the age of 8-ish. They all groaned at the cold trail following this assignment he failed to return from- it meant that they had to involve Bruce with a DNA search of the local areas the kid had been sent to across the globe. One of which, weirdly enough, was in Illinois.

…

“My name isn’t Daniel” Danny sighs at yet another event the Mansons brought him to with Vlad looking over his shoulder every five minutes.

Then the weird skinny kid who’s the big talk of the town approaches him with some guy built like a tank and says: “It’s Damian, isn’t it?”

Danny literally sinks through the floors, but in his attempts to run out the back door he’s stopped- By a guy that has Danny's own face and a very sharp looking knife pressed to Danny's throat.

In short- Danny introduced himself to the Fentons as “Dami” but they misheard him and called him Danny and fuck it, it’s close enough.

Now it turns out that their mother only planned on one surviving the artificial womb and gave them very different amounts of her time- so she just gave them the same name and reported it like she only had one child.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #damian wayne #demon twin au #danny and damian are twins

[monzabee]

partition - lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lewis are stuck in traffic in Paris, and decide to make the most of the situation.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader 

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: smut!! sex in a car, unprotected sex (because when have i written something with condoms lol), pwp, cringey ass nickname (blame beyoncé), manhandling, took me a long time to write it so it doesn’t make sense most part, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! this was a passion project for me and you have no idea how happy i am with the way it turned out. There’s only one slight issue and it is that i wanted lewis to call the reader something other than peaches, but it is in the song, therefore please if you don’t like it blame the mother, aka beyoncé. Also, i was very unsure of whether i wanted to drag it out, or leave it as it is, so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It took you forty five minutes to get ready – Lewis knows this because he’s been keeping time on his phone since the moment you’ve went into the bedroom side of your hotel room to get ready for the party he’s taking you to. You’ve always like to joke that he takes longer getting ready whenever the two of you have to go somewhere, but now that he is staring the timer on his phone, maybe he should use it as an evidence that you’re, in fact, wrong the next time you tease him about it. Not that he actually would do that, he is a gentleman, after all.

He’s just about to call out to you to hurry up when you beat him to it, “Baby, I need help, please!”

The nickname manages to bring the smallest of smiles to his face as he, without shouting anything back in response, gets up from his place on the couch and makes his way towards the bedroom. And that’s when his eyes land on you, in front of the full-sized mirror struggling  to zip up your dress. In just a few more steps he’s right behind you, his fingers itching to dance against the smooth skin of your back. “I thought you were going to wear the suit you brought, Peaches,” his voice comes off muffled as he presses a few kisses to the expose skin on your shoulder.

“I forgot to bring the shirt that goes with it,” your voice comes off shaky as you feel his lips drag on your skin, and you can hear his soft chuckle. Craning your neck to give him a small smile, you join in his laughter, “Zip me?” With a yielding kiss, Lewis wordlessly grabs the small zipper between his fingers, and when the moves the zipper, it makes you shriek out another laugh, “Up, Lewis, zip me up please!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, pulling the zipper upward with a swift motion. The dress seamlessly hugs your figure, and he makes a show of checking you out from the mirror in front of you before meeting your eyes. “There you go, all zipped up,” Lewis announces triumphantly, ignoring your disapproving headshake, giving you a gentle pat on the back. You turn around, facing him with a grateful smile, and he can't resist leaning in for a sweet kiss. The connection between your lips is brief but warm.

“You like my dress?” You ask him and his enthusiastic nod makes your smile widen in satisfaction, “You don’t think it’s too short?”

Instead of answering your question with words, instead Lewis tsks, letting his dissatisfaction with your question known. He gently takes one of your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours and prompts you to spin around to give him a better look of your dress. He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand still firmly intertwined with yours, and presses a kiss on your shoulder right where the strap of your dress meets your skin. “Wear any dress you want, Peaches, Miles and I can handle anyone who gives you trouble for it.”

Chucking at his protective, yet playful, response, you pat his arm around your middle with your free hand, “Speaking of the devil, we should probably get going if we don’t want him to kill us both for being late.” Lewis makes a sound of contest, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer to himself. “Lu,” you let out a faux-exasperated sigh, “there is being late, and fashionably late, and I’m afraid we are way past the latter.

“Oh, darling,” you hear his breathy voice whisper against your skin as he places a couple of open mouthed kisses onto your exposed skin, “maybe we should stay back, hm? I can show you just how much I like your dress.” With one of his hands splayed on your stomach and his lips greeting your skin ever so often, you gasp when his lips find that one sweet spot he knows that makes your knees week. “Imagine how much fun we can have on our own, here, in our room.”

Throwing your head back to rest on his chest, a breathy chuckle falls from your lips, but you give him a stern look. “As much as I would love to stay back with you, we promised all of our friends we’ll be there.” As you rise up to your toes to give him a soft peck on the lips, you manage to break free from his arms, leaving him with a perpetual pout on his face. “When we get back, Mister Hamilton, you can do whatever you want to me.”

With your offer, the look on his face changes from a pout to a smirk. “Is that a promise, Peaches?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, darling,” you emphasise the word with an exaggerated version of his accent. “It’s a fact,” you return his look with a small smirk on your own as you add, “sir.”

Needless to say, the walk down to the lobby to get into your car is full of tension between the two of you. It’s not like Lewis can’t hold himself back, because he can. He has proven under many circumstances that he can withhold sex from you if he decides to do that. The most recent incident was when he caught you lurking around the Red Bull garage during the last race you’ve attended, which ended with you quite literally having to beg him to fuck you after a week of Lewis not even touching you. The walk down to the lobby is filled with stolen touches and knowing glances, with him trying to get you to kiss him every minute, not caring whether the people around you can hear him or not.

You give him a sideway look when the receptionist tells you that your limo for the night is waiting for you. “A limo?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at him for response.

He simply shrugs a shoulder, leaning down to mumble his response into your ear, “Miles was in charge of the car,” with his fingers giving your waist a firm squeeze, he manages to earn a silent shriek from you, “I’m sure we could do with the extra space, darling.”

“Behave, Lu.” You chastise him, but the corner of your mouth upturns nonetheless and you let Lewis guide you towards the car waiting for you.

Because he is the perfect gentleman he opens your door and helps you into the limo, pressing a lingering kiss on your hand before joining you. The inside of the limo is darker than you expected, but the city lights of Paris do a good enough job of illuminating the car. The condensation on the limo’s windows has your attention and Lewis watches and you trailing your finger along the glass, tracing the line a raindrop left behind. He contemplates, for a second, whether being jealous over a raindrop for commanding your attention could be considered weird or not, but he decides that he doesn’t really care.

He places a hand on your thigh, his touch is both reassuring and possessive, but when you turn your head towards him to look at him, the way he smiles at you and his thumb caresses your knee is incredibly sweet. He is a duality in himself, Lewis is. And you enjoy the way city lights illuminate his face, his smile soft as he leans over the middle of the seat to give you a sweet peck on your lips.

“What was that for?” you ask him, giggling as you place your hand over his on your thigh. He doesn’t answer, only shrugs his shoulders and grins as he pulls away from you, instantly making you seek him out again. You’re about to comment on his suddenly playful mood, when you realise the car is slowly coming to a stop, and you let out a breath of frustration when the driver informs you that you’ve hit traffic. And traffic in Paris on a Friday night? It’s safe to say that both of you know that you are not going anywhere fast.

The overall wait is not that bad, you think. Even though the traffic is crawling at a snail’s pace, you’re more than happy to be in the car where you can be with Lewis without the overwhelming sound of EDM music and sweaty bodies pushing you around in a crowded club. The same, however, cannot be said about your boyfriend.

As time passes and you’re, still, stuck in traffic, you can see Lewis getting more and more frustrated with the situation. You try not to comment on how annoyed he looks and let him have his silent moment of irritation. You gently squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile. “It's alright, Lewis. We'll get there eventually.”

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. It's just... I hate being late.” He lets out another frustrated sigh as he gently pats the empty seat between the two of you. “Can you just come closer, please?”

“Why?” you ask, eyes narrowed down in suspicion as he somehow manages to pull you closer to himself, not that you would try to get out of the situation otherwise – with the amount of times you’ve found yourself suddenly sitting in Lewis’ lap, it’s almost as if you can’t get away from him when he’s next to you. “We can’t do anything,” you whisper in warning when you catch him giving you literal bedroom eyes.

Smirking at the anxious tone of your voice, he lets his hand wander down to your hip as he quickly manoeuvres you into his lap, despite all your warnings, and calls out to the driver loud enough for him to hear his voice, “Hey mate, can you pull up the partition, please?” You hear the sound of the partition going up as Lewis fiddles with the couple of the buttons on the door handle, and soon after you hear the faint sound of music playing in the car. He meets your eyes when you give him a funny look, silently asking him what he’s up to, but he responds with a faint smile as he rests his hand on your lower back.

Rolling your eyes at the antics of the driver sitting, literally, under you, you turn your attention back to the scenery outside the window. Going back to tracing the raindrops falling onto the glass window, you choose to focus on the outside view as best as you can, given the current position you’re in. Although you’ve warned him against it, Lewis’ hand on the lower of your back drawing circles into your skin gives you other ideas you would otherwise choose to ignore in a public setting.

“What are you up to, Lewis?” you ask, lips twitching in a need to smile as you do your best to supress it.  

He grins, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark as he gives you an innocent shrug of his shoulder. “Just making the most of the situation, darling.”

Letting out a resigning sigh, you try to focus back on the rain outside, but with Lewis’ hand getting bolder on your lower back and the fact that you find yourself shuffling in your seat with every subtle movement of the car makes it almost impossible to focus on anything but him. Deciding to find out just how much you can get away with, you  tilt your head back slightly, your lips hovering near his ear. “Are you trying to start a scandal, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckles, the vibrations from his laughter sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “I told you we'd make the most of it, didn't I?” Hid hand continues its teasing dance, eventually dipping lower and even under your dress, and you have to fight the urge to let out a moan at the feeling of his skin on yours. “We can make it into a challenge,” he offers, his voice low as he suggestively whispers on your skin, “see just how scandalous we can be in the back of a limo.”

“What if someone sees?” You mumble, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

His lips graze the curve of your neck, sending another shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked being watched, Peaches.” You can feel his lips curling into a smirk and a gasp leaves your lips as his hand grabs your thigh, making you shuffle closer to him as a result. “Is that a yes?” Your eyes glance over at the closed up partition, but you nod your head nevertheless, though that doesn’t necessarily satisfy the man beside you. “Words, darling.”

“Yes, please.” The words escape your mouth and your hands slide down his body to work on the zipper of his dress pants. He gives you an amused look as you pull his zipper down, and kneel on the floor between his legs as elegantly as you can given the current situation you’re in. You hear him say your name in warning, giving you a way out, even though he was teasing you about your voyeuristic tendencies – and you might’ve considered taking it, if it weren’t for the fact that having him in your mouth is the only thing you can focus on at the moment. So, instead of pulling yourself up on Lewis’ lap and let him have his way with you, you carefully take his cock out, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on his during the whole process.

Giving him a few gentle strokes, you lean forward to lick the first few drops of precum that drips out of the head of his cock. The hiss he lets out when you take the head of his cock between your lips and suck on it gently makes you smirk, and so you swirl your tongue around the tip to get another reaction out of him. With the way his left hand grabs the door, you know Lewis is trying so hard not to just grab you by your hair and guide you the way he wants to. Humming at the taste of him, you widen your lips to fit more of him in your mouth and wrap both hands around his cock to pump the rest of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth. As you slowly start bobbing your head up and down on his cock, the sounds leaving his mouth make you want to quicken up your pace, though you refrain from doing so. Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling so turned on by a mere sound of your boyfriend’s pleasure, but you can’t help yourself as you inadvertently rub your thigs together.

You continue the movements of your mouth, taking more of him every time you bob your head down, and Lewis gives in at some point, threading his hands through your hair and guiding you down until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, Peaches,” his low groan sends tingles down your spine, “just like that.” He looks so beautiful, you think, with his head thrown back and eyes closed.

Your hands work together with your mouth, picking up speed when you realise you have him at your mercy like this – it even makes you wetter, and you feel the wetness between your legs. Your eyes water as a sudden move from Lewis thrusting his hips causes your gag reflex to remind you both that it is there, causing you to pull back with a huff and send a glare his way. But he apologises by caressing the apple of your cheek and easing you back onto his cock.

Your power move, however, doesn’t last long, as Lewis lets out a groan, pulling your head off of him and leaning forward to lift you onto his lap. It’s not necessarily intentional when you grind yourself against his cock, causing both of you to moan simultaneously. Your head is thrown back when you feel his lips gliding on your feverish skin, and you even let out a breathy laugh when your head lulls to the side and you see the handprints he’s left in the mirror. “Lewis,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low, suddenly very aware of the driver sitting in the front of the car, “if you don’t fuck me now, I think I might explode.”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, his hands on your hips lifting you up to position you over his cock. But you have other plans in mind. He lets out a breathy chuckle as you drag your lips over the skin of his neck, tracing his tattoos as you leave feverish kisses along the way. “What are you doing?” He asks, hands busying themselves to get you out of your underwear.

Nipping at his skin, which earns you Lewis squeezing your hip in warning in return, but you give him a pout as you pull back. “You didn’t let me finish you off, you impatient brute.”

“Brute?” He echoes, not able to stop himself from laughing at your choice of words, “Are you going to be a brat, hm?” He is more than happy to play along when you get into these moods, though he also knows how you can get when you don’t get something you want. So when you fix him with a glare of your own, he lets out a deep sigh as he wraps your hair around one of his hands and pull your head back to bare your neck to him. “And to think I thought you were going to be a good girl, I guess that’s my fault.”

The whine that leaves you would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that he has you in the in the palm of his hand. “It’s not fair,” another whine leaves you, and you attempt rolling your hips against his erection resting against you in between your legs, but before you can find a rhythm, he halts your movements by tugging on your hair again. Curling your fingers around his shirt, you huff a breath of annoyance, whining out his name. “I’ll be good,” you promise, and let out a relieved sigh when he lets go of your hair to give you more freedom to move; you thank him with a few kisses.

“I know you will.” Lewis mumbles, hands finding your underwear again, but he quickly becomes frustrated when he realises the position you’re in will make it hard for him to get you out of them. So, taking an executive decision, he decides to rip them off your body. He gives you a look when you whine at the loss of your favourite pair, and he tries to salve the situation with a promise of buying you another pair. When you feel him between your legs, without any barriers this time, he is not surprised to see your immediate reaction. Though Lewis enjoys when you take control, he is impatient as he raises your hips, despite all your protest, and positions you over his cock.

You only have a few moments to adjust when he eventually lowers you onto his cock, and the initial stretch has you gasping out his name. He gives you a few minutes to adjust before slowly starting to move your hips, each move making you take him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. One of your hands is pressed to the window for support out of reflex, trying to keep still as he uses the grip he has on your hips to move you in the rhythm he wants. It matches the mood pretty well, you think, everything is rushed and the sounds of the traffic and the music playing surrounding you becomes muffled as the pleasure takes over your body. You have to physically stop yourself from screaming every time he slams you down on his cock, faster and harder each time, relentless as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

Trying your best to match his thrusts, you grind your clit on every down stroke, making him somehow go even deeper, and making you moan even louder. There is an arrogant smirk on his face that you would love to wipe off, but with the way he’s making you feel, you decide to get him away with it. Dragging your hands down his shirt, you suddenly feel offended by the fact that he is covering his chest, and decide to get him out of it. This plan would’ve worked better if it weren’t for the fact that you end up ripping the buttons rather than being gentler with it. Not that Lewis complains about it, since this is most definitely not the first time something like this has happened. Your hands work on their own as you glide them through the smooth skin, slightly damp due to the warm temperature of the car, but every contact with his skin seems to make you roll your hips faster and harder.

He has to close one of his hands over your mouth since the moans that leave you get considerably higher in volume with every waking second. His lips curl up in a smile as you silently beg him with your eyes, your movements becoming sloppier with every down stroke. “I’m going to remove my hand and help you come, but you’re going to be a good girl and keep quiet, okay?” His voice carries a warning tone, and you frantically nod, assuring him that you’ll follow his instructions.

Keeping true to his word Lewis takes away his hand, making you take a deep breath as he grabs your hips. His hold on your hips is bruising, and you’re certain you’ll have marks to remember tonight for a while – especially with the way he uses his hold to move you on his cock in a rhythm he wants to. It doesn’t take you a long time to feel the overwhelming pleasure starting to build up in your lower stomach. “Please,” you whine, nails biting into his skin as your other hand is splayed over the window for support, “I’m so close.”

“Come on,” Lewis encourages you, hands working you over his cock even faster to get you where you need to be, “give it to me, I got you.” And with him looking at you like that, using your body however he wants to? It doesn’t take long for you to feel yourself coming around him, head thrown back and lips parted in a silent scream. With a last thrust, you feel him also spill himself into you, the act being greatly intimate despite the current predicament you’re both in at that moment.

A sound of surprise leaves the back of your throat when he begins to move under you, positioning you to stand on all fours as he positions himself behind you. “Wha– What are you doing?” You ask, craning your neck to look at him with hazy eyes.

“Oh, Peaches,” he coos, one of his hands caressing your skin down your thighs and up towards your hip again, “did you think we were done? We still have a long way back to the hotel.”

“But, the club?” You find yourself asking, cheeks burning when he uses his finger to push the wetness dripping out of you back in.

“We were never going to make it to that club anyway,” Lewis drags his lips up your spine until he reaches your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck before whispering, “what do you think? Should we make the most out of the way back?”

Your eyes slide towards the handprints left on the window, the Paris lights shining through the streaks both of your handprints have left behind. Maybe under different circumstances you would’ve insisted you go to the club to meet with your friends. But at that moment? You instinctively push your hips back onto his, and feel his smile on your skin as he runs his hands through your body, ready for another round simply because you two can’t keep away from each other.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fluff

[joshlmbrt]

Spencer needs someone that listens to him yap about his silly little facts! Someone that looks at him in adoration while he explains the most complex shit no one understands. He is so not used to having someone actually listen to him and not just tell him to shut it or brush him off.

oh, anon, this is so true !!! ‘stop being yourself for just a second’ is my roman empire because how can you tell ANYONE that ? but thank you for this request!!! i hope you enjoy this love! <3 also this is season five spencer OGGA-BOOGA w; none !! just fluff !!

“did you know that a woodpeckers tongue actually wraps around its brain?” spencer asks so casually. he’s reading a book while you watch a show. you turn your head towards him, smiling when your eyes land on his face.

the glasses he wears in the comfort of home only now slips down the curve of his nose, his fingers pressing them back up.

“really?” you tilt your head.

“mhm. it’s so it can protect it’s brain while it hammers its beak into a tree.”

“that’s cool. do you have any more interesting things to tell me?” spencer thinks your being mean, but you’re turning off the television and scooting closer, slotting your fingers through his long hair, working through the knots.

his heart tends to beat a bit faster when he can smell your perfume because he knows your close, now it’s lodged in his throat because of how much invades his nose and he loves it.

“this okay?” your fingers stop quickly - you sometimes forget that he doesn’t like being touched. you never want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“more than okay,” he nods. “and… you really want to hear more facts?” he looks towards you. you nod quickly, your free hand pushing his metal frames up.

you need to tighten those up for him in your free time.

“yeah. i love hearing you talk about anything. it could… it could be something so gross and i’d listen because it’s you talking.”

he flushes and a small smile pulls at his lips as he looks away quickly. you giggle softly.

“why, dr. reid, are you blushing?”

“no.” he lies.

“i might not be a profiler… but i believe i have you all flushed, handsome.” your nose trails along his cheek, smiling as you press your lips against the warm skin.

“i… yes,” he mumbles.

“i know.” you giggle in his ear. he smiles at the sound and turns towards you.

“it’s just… i feel like i talk too much. i get too excited and start to ramble about something stupid. people tend to tell me that.”

“what ever comes out of your mouth isn’t stupid, spence. you have a brain of knowledge and that’s a beautiful thing to have - you should be proud of it.”

he looks up at you and smiles. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“letting me be me.”

#cherry writes ✿ #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff

[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ nanami kento wants another bundle of joy.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, female anatomy described, reader is black coded (with descriptors), established relationship (married), oral (f.receiving), pet names (baby), cute couple banter, profanity, missionary position, breeding kink, reader and kento have a daughter named yu (yes she's named after yu haibara), this was a one shot for nanami bday btw, wc: 2.6k, mdni

a repost from my old account, that sadly was a victim of tumblr's label crusade. also can be read on ao3.

You should have known the talk about another kid was coming. The way he would talk about Yu’s old baby stuff and the importance of hand-me-downs just in case you two would have another bundle of joy. Or the fact that he and your five-year-old daughter Yu would get lost in the department store, just for you to find them in the baby section. Nanami also was becoming very handsy towards you. Outside looking in, anyone would assume that it just was a loving husband showing his wife love. But Nanami was like a hormonal teenager that had just hit puberty. His kisses were deeper, which leads to a makeout session (cue your daughter clearing her throat when she enters the room). Gosh, you couldn’t forget the twinkle in Nanami’s eye as he and you attended a friend’s baby shower as you two watched them open gifts for their child.

Here you were, stumbling and sharing an intense kiss as you entered the home you shared. Hands grasping for each other as you shared kisses that caused your lips to be swollen and for the once lip gloss you were wearing to now be smudged across your lips. You pulled away, breathless and shocked. “Another kid?” You questioned. You just wanted assurance that this is what the blonde-haired man wanted.

“Another kid.” He repeated to you as one of his hands cupped your face while the other was placed on your belly as if it already was a child growing inside of you.

Even if you two weren’t trying for a kid at the moment, you still knew that the pink sundress you wore to the baby shower—hugged your body perfectly was something to always gain your husband’s attention. During the time at the baby shower, Nanami always made it his goal to touch you. From his hand taking comfort on your thighs as you were sitting and socializing to grabbing your hand as you move around your friend’s backyard where the baby shower was set up at. You adored that Nanami couldn’t get enough of your body. He cherished every part of you from the imperfections that you felt insecure about to the striking beauty that had him staring at you with a goofy grin when you weren’t looking. 

You stared up at him searching for any problems in his eyes. Searching for anything that would cause you yourself to back out, but you didn’t find anything. He truly wanted another kid. He wanted your daughter to have a sibling.

His lips begin to kiss your jawline, the kisses went from soft to excited. “Please let me fuck a baby in you [Y/N],” Nanami mumbled against your golden skin. 

“Okay.” was the only thing that escaped your mouth before Nanami threw you over his shoulder to take you to your bedroom. A giggle bounced from the back of your throat at each step he took. You never saw the man so serious about something other than work, but here he was on the mission to make sure he get you pregnant.

When your back felt the fluffiness of your shared bed, it was a wonderful sight to see your husband standing above you. His fingers combed through his hair as he tugged off the pastel pink polo shirt he was wearing. Fingertips tracing down his toned chest as you watched intensely. His chest was toned as could be as if he was sculpted by a Greek god himself. His hands finally traveled down to the waistband of the pants he wore before he’s unbuttoning them. You could see the band to his grey Calvin Klein briefs and the tent in his crotch area. Your skin felt hot feeling Nanami grab a hold of your ankle to drag you closer to the edge of the bed. He brought your ankle up to his mouth, peppering the inside of it with soft kisses. The scent of you lingered up his nostrils and he could only bask in the familiar scent he has smelt for years now. 

“You said you were going to fuck a baby in me, what are you waiting for? You asked with innocence dripping off your tongue. You glanced up at your lust-filled husband through your eyelash while letting your pearly whites graze at your plump lower lip. 

Nanami only let a hum pass by his lips before he’s stepping closer in between your legs after dropping the one he once was kissing upon. His hands danced up the sundress you wore. The heat of the moment only turned you on more causing dampness in the panties you were wearing. The silence from Nanami scared you. Not in a fearful type of way, but you knew that when he didn’t say many words during intercourse, he would be focused on one thing. That thing is to make sure you feel good from head to toe. 

His fingers grasped at the thin fabric of your panties before he’s slowly taking them down your thighs. He soon discarded you of the sundress you were wearing. The crisp air and Nanami’s touch caused goosebumps to adorn your skin quickly. The look he gave you caused your heart to quicken. When he saw your bare body, he always looked at you as if he was falling in love all over again. The gaze was a complete panty soaker for you, it caused you to want him, even more, when you guys made love. 

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” You said as your hand reached out to grab a hold of your husband. You lightly brushed against his abs just so you could get a feel of him similar to what he was doing. But he soon pushes your hand away before kneeling in between your thighs. 

His firm grasp upon your thighs before tugging you closer to his face caused a soft gasp to come out of you. He tugged your dress up so that it was around your waist. Your lower half was completely exposed as your heart was thumping against your chest waiting for the next move Nanami was going to make. The growing anticipation caused you to shiver under Nanam’s touch before feeling his soft kitten licks upon your folds. 

You relaxed under his touch with each soaked lick upon your puffy lips. Your head fell back into the fluffiness of your bed as Nanami was in between your thighs. The pornographic sound of him in between your plush thighs. Each delicate suck on your clit and any rough moan Nanami let out while eating you out pushed you further on the edge. Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip holding back a moan before you once felt Nanami tug you closer to his handsome face. Your thighs vibrated when you felt the flat of his tongue traced along the entrance of your pussy. “Gosh, Nanami.” You sighed happily at the way he was in between your thighs. 

As if you cooing his name was the green light, you let out a sudden gasp when you felt his fingers push themselves inside you. The wet squelching noise of him gliding his fingers inward and outward at a beautiful pace instantly caused you to moan. Your back arched off the bed before you felt Nanami’s free hand push back down before he dove right back in between your thighs. As his slim digits curled inside you, his tongue brushes against your clit in a teasing manner. His brown eyes glanced at your fucked out expression while your fingers grasped at the sheets below your naked body. His nose rubs at your soft skin with each flick of his tongue. Your orgasm was nearing and the way his tongue was moving was only pushing you further from being a cumming mess.

With Nanami’s slender fingers inside you, while his tongue flickered at your tongue, you could feel the wetness below you that stained your sheets. Your orgasm was screaming to come out as you attempted to run away from Nanami’s explicit touch. He only pulled you back and pinned you down to continue what he was doing (uninterrupted this time).Your slick coating his middle and index finger with each curl inside of you. As soon as you met his brown eyes, the fierce feeling in the pit of your stomach burst. Your head fell back in complete bliss as you sob for Nanami. 

You were seeing stars with each delicate whimper that you let out. Your fingers intertwined in Nanami’s blonde hair while your hips bucked through the passionate orgasm you were experiencing. Nanami’s mouth still lapped up every droplet of your wetness as if he was a starving man. The pad of his thumb rubbed comforting circles on your thighs—it was a kind gesture to help soothe the electrifying feeling of your orgasm being pushed upon you so soon. He removed his mouth from your pussy with a pop. The addicting taste of you on his tongue while his lips dragged hunger-filled kisses on the inside your thighs before he’s standing up fully. 

If you looked closely you could point out that his bulge indicating how hard he was grew. You quickly gained your composure as you backed yourself further on the bed, your legs quivering with each movement. But you still ached for more. You could hear Nanami tugging off the remaining clothes that were blocking you from seeing his naked body that you’ve seen so many times. 

When the time came for you and Nanami to finally intertwine with each other, you felt so many emotions hit you at once. The feeling of love with the way he caressed your thighs with soothing circles as he lined himself up to your entrance. You felt hopeful that after this you would have the satisfaction to carry yet another bundle of joy that you were so proud of to be raised with such a wonderful man. Your nails dug into his forearm as your lips gasped apart with each shove of Nanam’s hips. The intense feeling of his cock stretching you out bit by bit only caused you to choke up a whimper. 

Nanami stared down at you with worry in his eyes. His brown-colored eyes look into yours before he’s crashing his lips upon your gasping ones, “I got you, baby, just relax.” He mumbles against your lips. “I always got you.” 

His easeful tone and even more comforting words caused your body to relax. Soon your body relaxed and felt like you were on cloud night. The astonishing feeling of Nanami’s hips bucking forward caused your eyes to lolly in the back of your head. Breaking apart from the kiss to moan out his name like a sweet tune playing on a Sunday morning. Once Nanami heard his name fall off your tongue, it was as if a light switch was turned on. His hips pushed forward quicker. His hands quickly spread your thighs apart even further just so the tip of his cock could hit that spot that caused your pedicured toes to curl. 

“Fuck—you feel so good,” Nanami uttered through breathy groans. Slow and sensual strokes were always the start of Nanami making you feel good before he turned into a madman that drove you insane. 

He took the enjoyment of having you whine out for more like a desperate cat in heat and soon giving you just that until you’re begging for him to let you cum under his strong body.  His lips dragged kisses upon your neck as you felt his thrusts become quicker. The sound of the bed's wooden headboard was attempting to overpower the pornographic sound of skin slapping against each other. Your eyes fluttered open to glance up to see Nanami hovering over you. The beautiful sight of seeing the way his teeth chafed upon his lower lip holding back a moan and his cheeks stained red due to the pleasurable sensation of the way your cunt wrapped around him. He was so handsome in a state like this. 

Nanami’s hand reached above to grasp at the headboard, not particularly stopping it from knocking against the wall—but to help himself move at a rhythmic pace. He felt your legs snake around his waist completely trapping in the trace of being balls deep inside of you. It was as if you sense that he was about to cum. His body felt hot instantly as beads of sweat decorated his forehead. The salty droplets caused some of his blond hair to stamp upon his forehead. His hand grasped the headboard as he only stuttered out sweet nothings and praise about you. 

Something along the lines of, you look so beautiful y/n or you’ll look so gorgeous pregnant with his child. You couldn’t tell due to your constant moaning. The sensational feeling of your orgasm slowly tugging you further and further towards the light. Your legs locked around Nanami’s waist so tightly that you were sure he could feel the heel of your foot tap at his bottom with each thrust. As your orgasm came upon you, the one hand that was holding upon the headboard intertwined with yours completely entrapping you upon his thrusts through your orgasm. 

“Kento!” You snarled out his name. Fingernails digging into his skin wanting to feel his body some more even though you two were around practically insufferable with each other.

“Shit—I’m so close sweetheart. Just hold on a lil longer.” Nanami breathed out as he was nearly going insane with the way your pussy quivered around him. 

It didn’t long before Nanami was releasing himself with a quickness. Whiny moans and stuttered words were the only things you could hear from your husband. Your fingers intertwined with each other’s as you could feel Nanami’s cum inside you, a feeling you’ve felt many times before even when you weren’t trying for a baby. Your mouth gaped open before Nanami enclosed the breathy moans that you let out with a passionate kiss. The taste of him imprinted your tongue as you brought him closer basking in the moment of feeling him inside of you. The warm feeling of his cum being inside you caused you to moan in the kiss as you felt yourself flutter around his cock. Both of you cumming at the same time, making it a perfect opportunity to relish the perfect moment you two shared. 

When the both of you were tugging out the temporary feeling of your sweet ecstasy, Nanami plopped down next to you. Your legs felt numb, you felt stuffed and you could feel the love bites Nanami placed upon your shoulder. Your eyes barely were open as you lay on your back. Completely dazed and possibly still dickmatized from the feeling of Nanami being inside of you. Nanami’s cum inside of you as you hoped you two did got the job done to give Yu another sibling. You could feel Nanami's head in the crook of your neck, his lips kissing at the small trail of bite marks he left on your body which caused you to close your eyes in complete bliss.

“Hopefully, the first time was it.” You would mumble and could hear Nanami chuckle. 

���If you remember, with Yu it took the fourth time and it was at my job Christmas party,” Nanami answered, gaining a groan from you.

“Seriously?” You questioned. 

“Seriously. I remember because I had to cover your mouth with my hand to muffle your moans.” Nanami pointed out as his fingers were tracing little shapes on your naked skin. 

You didn’t recall Nanami fucking you four times to conceive Yu. Perhaps it was due to him fucking you senseless a few minutes ago that caused your brain to go fuzzy.

“Three more times to go,” Nanami smirked as he once again kissed your skin.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #anime smut #anime x reader #jjk x black reader #black reader #female reader #anime x black reader #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rumoured Nights | S.R

This was written for the lovely and wonderful @foxy-eva milestone celebration. Congratulations love! 💕 I used the prompt - “someone has to unexpectedly share hotel room with their favourite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle.”

Set during 5.21 Exit Wounds - this ep just lends itself perfectly for a one bed fic.

Summary - a case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Category - smut NSFW Minors DNI

Warnings - one bed trope, friends to lovers, sex dream, cuddly Spencer, swearing, making out, Spencer is touch starved, canon compliant death, meddling BAU team, interruptions, fingering, handjobs, penetrative, protected sex.

WC - 7.5k (don’t ask me how, she’s wordy)

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.” 

The comment was probably meant inoffensively, an off the cuff remark to make his coworkers laugh but instead only caused the youngest member of the team to blush furiously. 

Spencer Reid shrunk down in the armchair, attempting to hide his embarrassment from the eyes of his fellow team members who now all looked upon him. 

As far as he was aware, Morgan had never told the team what happened the one and only time they’d shared a room during a case. The confused looks being sent his way went to further that, thank god. 

It happened a few years back when they’d been on a case in a town equally as small as Franklin, Alaska where they found themselves now. Like tonight, the BNB was small and they’d had to double up. 

And Morgan had woken in the morning to find Spencer’s arms wrapped around him like he was the genius’s oversized teddy bear, and one of Spencer’s legs draped across him. 

Morgan had pushed the younger man off of him and apparently Spencer hadn’t even so much as stirred. It wasn’t even until a while later Morgan had filled him in on what he’d subconsciously done in his sleep. 

It was perfectly innocent. There was no more to it other than the fact that Spencer was painfully touch starved. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how long exactly it had been since he’d had another warm body to share his bed with, but if he did he would be able to recite how long it had been down to the minute. 

It was an involuntary reaction. His subconscious must have gravitated him towards the body in his bed and held them without thought to who it was. In his unconscious mind, it didn’t matter who it was, just that he needed the comfort of holding somebody. 

He was glad Morgan hadn’t woken him because he would have been a hundred times more embarrassed if he had to remember his inappropriate middle of the night cuddle. 

While he relented to his own mortification, the rest of the team silently paired off. Garcia was quick to place her hand on Morgan’s arm, nabbing him as her roomie before anyone else had the chance.

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look of understanding and JJ smiled at Emily, the brunette nodding back at the blonde in response. 

Spencer felt his stomach coiling into thick knots as he let his eyes glance across the room and land on you who had also noticed the non-verbal agreements taking place. You met his gaze and offered him a meek half-smile.

“Guess you’re with me, Doc.” You got to your feet, grabbing your bag off the floor. 

You tried to hide the look of sheer delight from your eyes, tried to pretend that this wasn’t the best outcome to you. There had always been something about Spencer that you found magnetic, his brain intrigued you and he wasn’t at all hard on the eyes. 

Through five years of working together you had kept your little crush underwraps, your poker face was second to none. 

So you had to play it cool. You couldn’t show how utterly thrilled you were that the chips had fallen in your favour. 

One by one the rest of the team stood with their bags and collected their room keys from the kindly innkeeper and headed towards the staircase. 

You hung back for Spencer while he procured the key and with an awkward smile he followed you to the stairs.

“Good luck, mama.” Morgan smirked at you, clapping a hand down on your shoulder as you went to pass him by. “Pretty boy here is a secret cuddler.” 

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice pitched, around five octaves higher than his usual cadence. 

“She’s gonna find out sooner or later, kid.” Morgan winked at the younger man, causing Spencer to turn beet red again. 

You shook your head with a soft laugh, averting your eyes away from Derek and towards the bottom step.

“Uh, thanks for the heads up. Goodnight.” You started up the stairs, hearing Spencer following behind you. 

You met him at the door to your room and stood aside so he could unlock it. Like the gentleman he was, he held it open for you to enter first. 

It was you who first noticed the initial problem. When Spencer sidled up next to you a moment later he saw it too. 

One bed. There was only one freaking bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He was quick to speak, dumping his go-bag on the dresser. 

“You’ll put your back out.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not Rossi.” He scoffed, indignantly. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Spencer, your knee still hasn’t properly healed. I cannot in good conscience let you sleep on the floor.” 

“I’m fine,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been walking without my cane for months.” 

“With a limp.” You clucked. “If it makes you uncomfortable to share a bed, let me sleep on the floor, please?” 

“It is statistically improbable that I will let you sleep on the floor, Y/N.” He folded his arms across his chest in defiance. 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “It’s one night, Spence. We can share a bed can’t we?” 

For the third time in ten minutes, Spencer’s cheeks burned bright red with his embarrassment. 

“I, uh, you see…” he swallowed. “Morgan wasn’t lying about the cuddling thing. We had to share a bed once on a case and apparently I cuddled up to him in my sleep.” 

A smile tugged at your lips and you felt a little guilty given how mortified he looked. But honestly you thought it was incredibly adorable and plenty endearing.

Spencer was known for having an aversion to touch, always citing how many germs could be passed in a single handshake and how it was actually safer to kiss. So the thought of him hugging anyone made you smile, even if it was when he was asleep. 

“I just so happen to not totally hate that idea.” You tried to encourage him, not wanting him to be embarrassed. 

“Y-you don’t?” He stuttered with a frown. 

“It’s cute.” You smiled.

“I think the word you’re looking for is pathetic.” He sighed. “Who knows it might have just been a one off anyway. If you’re lucky, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Lucky? Some luck that would be. 

You hid your expression from him, the one that desperately loved the idea of him snuggling up to you in his sleep. You pushed it down, simply offering him a nod. 

You just might be disappointed if he didn’t cuddle you.

***

The two of you took turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and changing into your respective pyjamas. Usually you slept nude, or at the very least just in your panties, but thankfully you kept a pair of shorts and a tank top in your go-bag in case you ever found yourself in this position.

You were already in bed scrolling on your phone when Spencer stepped out of the bathroom. He wore a set of dark green flannel pyjama pants and a matching long sleeved top, buttoned right up to his neck. You smiled in amusement at him as he padded across the room.

“Why does it not surprise me one little bit that Doctor Spencer Reid even sleeps in a button down?” You giggled a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I get cold easily.” He shrugged, his back now to you. “And we are in Alaska.” 

You didn’t reply, simply watched him as he slid his legs under the sheets, his mismatched socks still adorned on his feet, and laid his long, messy hair on the pillow. He kept his back to you and he reached out and switched off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered, tucking one hand beneath his pillow. 

“Goodnight, Spence.” You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes.

***

It was still dark out when you stirred in your sleep, eyes fluttering slightly as you pulled the duvet further up to your chin. You would have fallen straight back to sleep if it hadn’t been for the sensation of something heavily draped over your ribcage. 

You were on your back, the ceiling staring back at you when you opened your eyes. It was then you realised there was something hard between your head and the pillow. 

You looked to your side and blinked against the darkness, trying to adjust your vision. A messy head of hair was next to you on your pillow, so close you could feel the soft breath coming from parted lips tickling your face.

It was then you pieced together that the thing that was under your head and across your torso were one in the same: Spencer’s arms. One was tucked beneath you, holding you close to him while the other cautiously rested over you, just below your breasts. 

His right leg was bent at the knee, slung over your bare thighs. His whole body was pressed up against your side and it was then you registered that something hard was digging into your left hip…

Oh, your eyes widened. Oh. 

You looked back at the ceiling, body going rigid in Spencer’s arms. It certainly did not take someone with a genius level IQ to figure out what it was. 

You tried to ignore it, willed yourself to go back to sleep and put it behind you. Maybe you were still asleep, perhaps this was just a really vivid dream. In the morning you would pretend it never happened, not wanting to embarrass the poor man. 

But then the situation somehow grew even more awkward, if that were possible. Spencer nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, his face buried against your neck. His breathing started to grow frantic and his hold on you tightened. 

And then he moaned. 

Your stomach tightened at the delicious sound, equally trying to commit it to memory and forget it at the same time. But then it happened again, the sound deeper this time. There was no denying it was a moan of pleasure. 

The third time he made the sound it was followed by the whimpered utterance of the word fuck. 

And when his hips started to gesticulate, grinding his hardness against your hip, you had to do something. 

“Spence?” You hissed, wriggling in his arms. “Spencer, wake up!” 

His eyes shot open suddenly and he huffed out a breath. His eyes were hooded with his sleep, his plump lips parted in confusion. 

For a few moments he just laid there, not registering his position or the bulge in his pyjama pants. He simply stared blankly at you. 

“What happened?” He groaned sleepily. “Another body?” 

“No….no. Not work.” You swallowed. “I uh, I don’t really know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it…I think you were having a sex dream.” 

His eyes got really wide, really fast. As your words registered with him he also realised he was holding you, snuggled tightly against you. And at the same moment he also realised the part of his anatomy that had woken up long before his brain had. 

And it was pressing right against your side. 

He scrambled away from you suddenly, drawing all of his limbs close to his torso and burying his face into the pillow. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the cushion. “Fuck, I am so unbelievably sorry. I’m going to…” 

He trailed off and quickly rolled to the edge of the bed but you were faster and you managed to grab his arm before he made it out. 

“Spence, it’s fine. These things happen. Let’s just go back to sleep and forget it ever happened.” You gently guided him back to the mattress and he flopped onto his back. 

“This is somehow more humiliating than when I cuddled Morgan. At least then I didn’t have a, uh…yeah.” He shook his head, not willing to finish that sentence. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Spencer. You were dreaming, and apparently it was a very good dream.” You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to cast light on the situation and make him feel less uncomfortable.

It had the opposite effect.

“I really don’t see how this is funny. I’m lonely ok? I’m so painfully lonely that the only kind of physical contact I can get with a woman is in my sleep.” He blurted out, his brain not quite awake enough to stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

The room fell silent. Spencer stared at the ceiling, you stared at the side of Spencer’s face. 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to hear. Spencer never talked about dating or anything of the sort and although Morgan had speculated he just kept his exploits quiet, you were never so sure. 

Spencer was awkward and shy and had a hard time talking to anyone he didn’t know unless it was in statistics and facts. 

So it didn’t surprise you to find this out, but it did surprise you that Spencer was offering that information out to you. 

“I, uh…” you croaked. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I had a sex dream about you but in my defence I can’t control my-”

“Hold up,” you cut him off, leaning up on your elbow so you could look at him properly. “Did you say you were dreaming about me?” 

His cheeks turned impossibly redder and he buried his face further into the pillow. 

“I assumed you knew that part. I thought you said…'' he wracked his brain.

No, you didn’t tell him he’d said your name. He’d added that part, assumed that you knew who he’d been dreaming about. Fuck. 

“You were dreaming about me.” You croaked, staring at what little of his face wasn’t covered by the pillow. 

“Y-yes.” He whispered. “As if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough. I can just go and sleep in the bathtub or something. The lobby even.” 

“Spence,” you gave his hair a gentle tug, trying to get him to look at you. 

Reluctantly he lifted his head and his eyes were wide and guilt ridden, his bottom lip cushioned between his teeth. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you…have you…” you couldn’t seem to finish that trail of thought. 

“Yes.” He clearly knew what you were trying to say. “It has happened before. More times than I care to admit right at this present moment.” 

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly. 

“So bathtub or lobby? How bad is this situation exactly? Does the bathroom put enough space between us or do I seriously need to leave the room entirely?” 

“My preference would be that you don’t go anywhere.” You confessed, causing Spencer to frown. “I mean, unless it’s closer to me.” 

“I…I’m not sure I understand.” 

“Sure you do.” You smiled, shuffling closer to him when he wouldn’t move. “The real thing will be so much better than even your wildest dreams, Spence.” 

An air of confidence washing over you, you finally got the chance to do something you’d been imagining for years and pressed your lips against his. 

He whimpered at the contact, momentarily dumbfounded by what was happening. But he soon managed to snap himself out of it and quickly took hold of your face and parted your lips with his tongue. 

As he deepened the kiss he rolled himself on top of you, already straining at the front of his flannel pants again. This time he was happy to roll his hips against you, really allowing you to feel him. 

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound down into his lungs. He held your face with care but the kiss was all frantic tongues and the clashing of teeth. 

It was years worth of pent up sexual tension for which neither of you had ever realised the other felt too, all spilling forth against the others lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of his pyjama shirt, he moaned into the kiss when your hands glided over his back, across his shoulder blades and back down his spine. 

His own hands wandered at the same time his tongue hungrily explored every crevice of your mouth. His touch was featherlight down your biceps and forearms before falling towards your torso and following your lead, under the hem of your shirt. 

His finger brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, up and down and up and down the skin, his fingertips making a mental note of how every dip and curve felt beneath them. 

His teeth grazed against your bottom lip before nibbling on it lightly and then pulling away. He sat back and looked down at you, your hands dislodging from under his shirt.

His pupils were blown out wide and his lips were puffy and red. His chest heaved his haggard breaths while he fought for air. 

You smiled up at him, reaching for the top button of his pyjama shirt. He let your deft fingers do their work, popping each button in turn and moving lower and lower down his abdomen. 

When the final button was undone he shucked the material off his shoulders and tossed it aside. His long curls hung around his face, framing him perfectly and you didn’t think anyone had ever looked as delicious as he did right now. 

His own hands brushed under your tank top again, palm flush against your stomach for a moment or two before he hooked his fingers in the fabric and started drawing it upwards. 

He let out a feral moan as he peeled the top away to reveal your bare breasts beneath. You helped him get it over your head and it soon joined Spencer’s shirt on the floor. 

He was open mouth staring at you, not even trying to hide it. You rolled your eyes with a soft chuckle, reaching for him and pulling him close.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” You spoke as you kissed him again. “Never seen a pair of tits before?” 

“None that magnificent, that's for certain.” He mumbled in reply. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere Doctor Reid.” Your hands moved to cup his clothed ass. 

“Fuck,” he hummed, rolling his hips against you. “Keep calling me Doctor Reid and it’ll be over before it begins.”

You laughed at the insinuation, wrapping your arms around him and expertly managing to flip you both over so his back was to the mattress and you were straddling his hips. 

His hair splayed out against the pillow and from this angle you were able to get a good look at what the good doctor was hiding in his pants. 

You involuntarily hissed at the sight and his eyes never left your chest. His hands were pawing at your hips, cloying at the fabric of your shorts. 

You raised your eyes to his face and waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did you made a show of grinding down against his lap, his mouth falling open as a moan erupted from his lungs. 

The friction caused by his pants rubbing against him was nice in a way but he would much rather a different kind of friction. 

He reached for your neck, pulling you closer so your bare chests crashed together and he kissed you deeply. 

You continued to grind against him, feeling his hard member between your legs and wishing for fewer clothes to be in the way. 

But before you could think about helping him undress further, Spencer’s hungry fingers were trailing up your thigh and grazing beneath the leg of your shorts. 

His hand wove higher, he could feel the heat emanating from your core. His fingertips lightly brushed against your pubic bone and you whined into his mouth. 

“Is that what you want?” He spoke against your lips, his other hand gripping the back of your neck tightly. 

“P-please…” you whimpered, nibbling on his lip and trying to move yourself closer to his waiting fingers.

Spencer chuckled almost darkly, brushing his fingers over the same spot. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispered as your lips latched against his neck, sucking deep marks in his flesh. 

“About as long as I have. Please Spencer, please for the love of god!” 

The way you moaned so desperately for him made his head spin, no one had ever reacted like this for him. 

He inched his fingers nearer to where you wanted them, but as he was about to give you everything you’d been waiting for, an ear piercing scream reverberated in the room. 

You fell back as Spencer sat up, ears pricked and waiting in silence that now shrouded the room. Seconds passed that felt like hours until you both heard it again. 

“Help! Somebody please help!” 

“Is that…?” Spencer’s chest heaved in panic. 

“Penelope!” 

The two of you were suddenly out of bed and on your feet, scampering around to dress as quickly as possible. You threw a pair of jeans over your shorts, foregoing your tank top and tossing on a sweater instead before your coat. 

Spencer grabbed his pyjama shirt and fought with the buttons whilst stuffing his feet inside his converse. He grabbed his jacket and scarf on his way to the door, before quickly doubling back and picking up his revolver. 

You got your firearm as well, toeing on your boots as they two of you quickly dashed from the room. In the corridor you saw Morgan ahead of you, running towards the stairs. 

“You heard it too?” You asked as you ran to catch him. 

“You bet your ass I did.” Morgan hurried down the stairs with you in hot pursuit. “Pretty boy, wake the others. Y/N and I will check it out.” 

Spencer nodded though no one was looking at him. He fell back, his hand holding the gun dropping to his side as he made his way back to the other rooms.

His head was still spinning, dizzy with the lust from previous moments ago. Maybe this was a sign to him not to cross that line with his friend. The line was blurred, sure, but not yet so much as it couldn’t be rectified. 

All he could hope was that he hadn’t destroyed your friendship to the point of no return. 

You followed Morgan hurriedly towards the front door of the inn, guns pointed in front of you. You could still feel an electric current pulsing through your veins from Spencer’s touch, your lips still tingled from his kiss. 

You pushed it aside as a blast of frigid air hit you when Morgan opened the door and the two of you descended the front steps. 

“Help! Someone help!” Cried Penelope off in the distance. 

Morgan’s head whipped around almost three hundred and sixty degrees, eyes taking in the dark landscape to find what he was looking for. 

“Over there!” He barked, nodding his head towards two silhouettes in the trees. 

He quickened his pace, so did you. 

You found Garcia on her knees on the ground over the dead body of a man. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth hung open.

“I…and he…and then…”

“It’s ok baby girl,” Morgan crouched down next to her, stuffing his gun in the back of his jeans and helping her to her feet. 

You tucked your own gun away, leaning over the body and placing your index and middle finger to the side of his neck. 

No pulse. You didn’t think it needed to be spoken out loud. 

Garcia was sobbing, head buried against Morgan’s strong chest while he held her. The sound of crunching leaves alerted you to your company and you spun around to see the rest of the team running your way. 

Hotch and Rossi still wore their usual daytime attire but JJ and Emily wore sweats under large coats. Spencer looked an absolute picture in his pyjamas, coat and scarf hanging limply from his neck. 

He briefly made eye contact with you, but you broke it swiftly, glancing over at your boss who looked even more annoyed than usual. 

“Get her inside.” Hotch spoke to Morgan. “Someone call the sheriff.” 

Emily pulled her cell phone out and stepped away to make the call. 

“He knew we were staying here. This was a big risk.” Rossi huffed, glancing at the faces around him and lingering a little longer on Spencer. “Kid, why do you look so flustered?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and you saw him swallow thickly. You looked away, focused on the body on the floor. 

“I…” he squeaked, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I’m fine.” 

And if anyone noticed his voice was several octaves higher than usual, they kindly didn’t say anything. 

***

Over an hour later you all trudged back inside from the cold. The coroner had taken the body away and you would continue your investigation in the morning. 

Penelope was fraught, never having seen a dead body in real life let alone having to witness someone die. Morgan tried to keep her calm but even he couldn’t bring her back from this spiral.

When she stormed upstairs you all watched her go. Morgan looked over at you, his eyes asking you questions before his words did. 

“Can you…?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

You moved past the others towards the stairs, you hadn’t so much as looked at Spencer in the last hour. He tried to make eye contact with you as you walked by but you kept your gaze forward.

Once you were up the stairs, Morgan sidled up to Spencer who was still watching you walk away. 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been looking like a lost puppy for the last hour?” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. 

“What? I’m not! I’m…tired. I was sleeping when I heard Garcia.” Spencer averted his gaze.

“I hope that isn’t true.” Morgan scoffed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer frowned looking back at him. 

“It means,” JJ stepped forward, an amused smile on her lips. “We’ve all spent the last five years trying to get you and Y/N to see what the rest of us can see.”

“And what’s that?” He turned to JJ. 

“Oh please.” Emily chuckled. “You think we don’t notice the tension between the two of you? Morgan’s been single handedly trying to get the two of you to bone for years.” 

Spencer’s cheeks instantly turned red and he felt his chest tighten with his embarrassment. 

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on them and headed for the stairs.

“Go get her lover boy.” Morgan called after him and they all fell about laughing while Spencer shrunk away. 

He was at least glad you hadn’t been privy to that. But he didn’t relish the idea of seeing you right now, that would surely be one awkward encounter. 

***

You found Penelope pacing the length of her and Derek’s room, muttering under her breath frantically. 

You cautiously entered, not wanting to startle her. 

“I watched him die.” She spoke when she saw you. “I watched him take his last breath, Y/N.” 

“I know.” You nodded slowly, coming close to your friend and placing your hands on her shoulders. “I can’t imagine how scary that was for you.” 

“I just…” she whined a little. “When I was shot, all I could think was that if I die the last face I’m ever going to see is the man who killed me. I didn’t want that for him.” 

“You’re too good for this world, Penny.” You squeezed her shoulders. 

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to sleep again.” She pulled free of your hold and started pacing again. “Tell me something, anything. Something to distract me.” 

“Uh…” you scratched the back of your head. “You did everything you could to help him?” 

“No, not that. Not about this.” She quickened her pace, arms flailing about as she walked. 

“Uh…I’m pretty sure after tonight you can get Morgan to spoon you. All you need to do is tell him how scared you were.” You tried again. 

“As delicious as that sounds, I don’t think Kevin would be too pleased about that.” She was a blur of colour, like a rainbow flying through the sky. “Please Y/N, I need to think of something other than this horrible night.”

Goddamnit. 

You had the exact thing she was looking for, the perfect piece of information to take her mind off of this. 

Goddamnit, here goes nothing. 

“I almost slept with Spencer tonight.” You blurted out before you could change your mind. 

As expected she immediately stopped pacing, halting in her tracks and glaring wide eyed at you. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, awkwardly waiting for her to say something. Slowly she stepped closer to you, eyebrows raising towards her hairline. 

“You…and boy wonder?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s about time!” She slapped your bicep and you growled at the impact. “Wait…did you say almost?” 

“Yeah, we didn’t quite get that far.” You rubbed your arm from her assault.

“Why not?” She sounded incredulous. 

“Because…the screaming? The cries for help?” You huffed. 

“I…I ruined your first time with Reid?” She gasped. “No, no that won’t do. You are going to march back to your room and resume all previous activities. Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You shook your head. 

“Why?”

“It was a dumb idea, Pen. We’re friends, we work together.” You sighed deeply.

“Friends who are utterly infatuated with one another and have been for the past five years.” She clucked. 

“Guess my poker face isn’t as good as I thought it was.” 

“It is not. You make heart eyes at him every time he walks into a room. And he’s just as bad!” Garcia sounded exasperated. “Go to him. Finish what you started. For the love of all things pink and sparkly.” 

“Penny, I love you but it’s not gonna happen.” You shrugged. “I’m not ruining one of my closest friendships for one night of passion.” 

“Ok…I do not like thinking of boy genius and the word passion in the same sentence.” She pulled a face. “That’s like thinking of my brother…gross.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way her body shuddered at the thought. You were pleased at least you had managed to get her to calm down. 

“You gonna be ok if I go?” You smiled at her. 

“Morgan will probably be up soon, I’m sure he can protect me.” She smiled back. “Just let him down gently ok? Reid is fragile.” 

You rolled your eyes, backing away to the door. 

“Goodnight, Penelope.” You blew her a kiss as you opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. 

Across the hall your own door loomed. Your chest tightened as you pushed forward, hoping Spencer may already be asleep so as to avoid an awkward conversation. 

But you knew he wouldn’t be and that was confirmed when you entered your room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed as if waiting for you. 

He looked up from where he’d been staring at his lap when he heard the door close. He pushed himself to his feet, his jaw set tightly. 

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” He blurted out suddenly. 

“Me either.” You agreed, stepping closer to him as you got out of your jacket. 

You unsheathed your firearm and laid it on the dresser next to Spencer’s. 

“But uh…” he frowned, fighting an internal battle with his own thoughts. “Friendships are overrated right? I have plenty of friends…”

“Way too many friends.” You smiled and nodded as he reached for you, large hands cupping your face. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He whispered and then proceeded to crash your lips together. 

You immediately parted your lips and his tongue slid inside of your mouth while he pulled you back to the bed. You both fell to the mattress, you on top of him while never breaking the kiss. 

He didn’t want to waste a second, didn’t want to risk being pulled away from you again and so his hands quickly found the hem of your sweater and helped you out of it. 

You got his buttons undone and he guided you with a hand on your back, down to the mattress. He slipped the garment off of his shoulders and rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again. 

His hands wandered down your torso to the button of your jeans. His lips trailed to your neck and brushed along your collarbones. 

They moved lower, down to your right breast where he placed kisses on the swell of it before moving on and taking your hard nipple in his mouth. 

You moaned and bucked your hips to meet his erection in his pyjama pants. He popped the button on your jeans and you helped him shimmy them down your legs. 

When his lips moved to your neglected breast, you reached out and blindly groped him through his pants. He grinded against your hand, moaning around your nipple. 

His large hand glided back across the plains of your stomach before inching lower. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of your panties before disappearing beneath the fabric. 

His index finger located your clit and pressed firmly against it, another moan erupting from your chest. He pulled back from your nipple and looked down at you with a sinful smirk. 

He started rubbing deft circles between your legs, his nimble finger a thing of magic. Wanting to return the favour, your own hand slipped inside of his pants and you grasped the base of his cock in your hand. 

He moaned deeply, his finger working more frantically as you started to stroke him. He met your gaze, his lips parted and soft moans escaping between them. 

“F-fuck.” He stuttered, moving his finger from your clit and running it through your folds, collecting your arousal on his digit. 

His middle finger joined his index and pressed against your entrance. You increased your movement on his shaft as he pushed them slowly inside of you. 

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered as you clenched around him. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Why the fuck have we never done this before?” He whined, pushing his fingers as deeply inside of you as he possibly could.

You whimpered, bucking your hips against him as he moved in and out of you hurriedly and your strokes of his member were becoming frantic. 

His head was already leaking with pre-cum and you swiped your thumb through it causing an animalistic growl to leave Spencer’s mouth. 

It was too much and not enough all at once. You needed more, you needed everything. 

His fingers slammed into you roughly, the sounds of your slickness filling the room. You twisted your fist as it moved up and down his cock and he was snapping his hips back and forth, practically fucking your hand. 

“Fuck…I don’t suppose you have a condom?” You panted, desperate to feel more of him. 

“Uh, embarrassingly yes I do.” He nodded, his cheeks flushing a little. 

“Why is that embarrassing?” You slowed your pace and Spencer slowly removed his fingers from inside of you. 

“It seems…presumptuous? It wasn’t like…I didn’t think…it’s not like that I swear. It’s, uh, a long story.” He stood up, locating his wallet on the dresser and unsheathing the small golden foil packet from inside. 

“I believe you, Doc.” You smiled at him as you shimmed out of your panties. 

Spencer’s mouth fell open at the sight of you laid bare for him. His hands started to tremble as he moved them to the waistband of his flannel pants. 

He wouldn’t look at you as he pulled them over his hips, down his legs and kicked them off of his feet. 

When he did look back at you, you were staring right at his crotch. 

Your chest heaved with frantic breaths and you were rolling your lip between your teeth. 

“Good god, Reid.” You smirked. “I need you like yesterday.” 

He shuddered at the desperation in your voice and shakily ripped the condom wrapper over. He moved closer to the bed again, holding the base of his shaft in one hand and rolling the rubber over his tip with the other. 

You spread your legs for him, welcoming him between them and wrapping them around his waist. He leant on his hands either side of your head, the veins in his arms pulsing as he held his weight above you. 

He eyed your face, an almost delicate smile on his lips and you weren’t sure what it meant. 

“What is it?” You asked him, reaching up to tuck his long hair behind his ears. 

“You’re sure about this?” He asked softly. 

“Very. Aren’t you?” 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He breathed. “But I really don’t want things to change between us.”

“Spence,” you brushed your knuckles across his cheek. “Things have already changed between us. But not in a bad way.” 

Linking your hands at the base of his neck you drew him close for a kiss. He moaned into your lips and you felt him finally pressing between your legs. 

He held his shaft again and guided him where he needed to be, his blunt head penetrating you, stretching you to accommodate him. 

He slowly sank into you, a long and shaky breath leaving his lungs. Inch by inch he ebbed deeper, your walls fluttering against him as your body made room for him. 

When he bottomed out he stilled, glancing between your bodies at where he was now sheathed inside of you. The look on his face was pure bliss, as though nothing in the world had ever felt this good to him. 

He lowered himself onto his forearms as he drew his hips backwards painfully slowly. But then he surprised you by roughly thrusting back into you. 

After that there was no holding him back, like a man possessed he started fucking you hard and fast into the mattress. 

He pounded against your cervix with each thrust, kissing you with a newfound ferocity. The room was encompassed by the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans which were being swallowed by the other's mouth. 

He already knew he wouldn’t last long, but that was ok. He didn’t plan on this being the only time he fucked you tonight. 

It was completely unexpected, out of the blue for the mild mannered doctor to be such a stallion. But it was electrifying, dizzying, the way in which he pounded into you like his life depended on it yet kissed with such gentle passion.

Resting all of his weight on one arm, his other hand manoeuvred between your sweat slicked bodies and his finger pressed deftly against your clit again. 

He started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, hips still snapping back and forth, stretching your walls around his length. 

He had a few beads of sweat trickling down his forehead which was scrunched up much like his nose was. 

His chest was flushed beet red and his left arm which was holding him up shook with the exertion. 

Your legs tightened around his waist, walls clenching around his cock. A combination of his rough thrusts and ministrations on your clit we’re bringing you rapidly spiralling towards your orgasm. 

You assumed by the look in his face that he was close too and by the way in which he started to lose his rhythm a little, his thrusts becoming a little frantic. 

You drew him in for another kiss. It was slightly messy, teeth clashing together and tongues fighting their way into the other's mouth. 

He moaned deeply against your lips, his finger now rubbing against you rampantly.

“I’m s-so close.” He mumbled. “Can’t…don’t think I can…”

“Me too.” You agreed as you felt the tightening in the pit of your stomach. “Don’t stop. So close, don’t stop!” 

And he didn’t. 

The pressure was building and between his cock burying deep inside of you and his finger never letting up on your clit, you teetered on the brink. 

And then as if a volcano erupted, you reached your peak, moaning into Spencer’s mouth as your body convulsed beneath him. 

He felt you clenching around him as you came, causing a pressure to shoot through his member. He thrust deep one last time and whimpered as he felt the come shooting from his head in ropes, filling the condom. 

His hips continued to buck lazily as if he simply couldn’t get enough of this feeling. His hand fell from its spot between your legs and he collapsed on top of you, panting and sweat slicked. 

You could feel his heavy breaths as his chest moved against yours, could feel his heart erratically beating at his rib cage. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath fanning across your skin. His hips were still rolling, grinding against you not ready to stop despite how worn out he was. 

You stroked his cheek and moved your head so you could kiss him sleepily. He mumbled something incoherent against your lips. 

Eventually his movements stilled briefly before he cautiously pulled out of you. He rolled onto his back and peeled the condom from his softening member, tying a knot in the end and tossing it lazily in the general direction of the trash can. 

He shuffled a little, his arm finding his way beneath your head how you’d found it when you woke up in the night. 

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the still slightly erratic beating of his heart. 

“I never like being friends anyway.” He mumbled, making you giggle. 

“Me either.” You slung your arm around his waist. “Whatever this is, it’s so much better.” 

He placed a kiss of agreement in your hair and snuggled closer to you as his eyes fluttered closed. 

He decided, as he drifted off to sleep, being a secret sleep cuddler maybe wasn’t so bad after all. 

***

Down the hall, Morgan flopped on the armchair in his and Penelope’s room, eyeing the blonde as she stared at her laptop screen. 

“What a night huh?” He ran his hand over his head. 

“Yah huh.” She nodded, bouncing a little in the bed as she did so. 

“You seem oddly chipper. Y/N manage to take your mind off of things?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“Something like that.” A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth.

Derek sat up straight, scrutinising her curiously. 

“Spill.”

“What?” Her eyes snapped away from the screen and over at Morgan. The guilt was written all over her face. 

“You think I don’t know when you’re hiding something, baby girl? Spill.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs. 

Penelope huffed out a breath, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.” He frowned. 

“I think…I think Y/N  and Spencer might be…you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Morgan’s eyes widened as he stared at her. 

“No way.”

“Yes way. Apparently they almost and then, you know, everything happened. But I’m hoping that they picked up where they left off.” She was grinning from ear to ear and it must have been contagious because a smile broke out on Morgan’s face too. 

“My man.” He smiled brightly, a glint of something in his eyes. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I too know when you’re hiding something Derek. Now you spill.” Garcia eyed him up, Morgan’s smile only grew. 

“I’m just happy is all,” he beamed in amusement. “And I’m really glad I made up that story about him cuddling up to me in his sleep now.” 

“You did what?” Garcia gasped, wide eyed. 

“It started as a prank, just to wind him up a bit, embarrass him. And I thought if I brought it up tonight it would put ideas in his subconscious. Guess it worked.” Derek looked exceedingly pleased with himself. 

“Derek Morgan, you are evil! Pure evil.” Penelope cackled, shaking her head at her chocolate thunder and his mischievous ways. 

“I was just giving him a nudge in the right direction, he needs all the help he can get.” He grinned happily, pushing himself up and sighing wistfully. 

“True, I love Reid and Y/N but they are so oblivious sometimes.” Garcia shut her laptop screen and laid back against the pillows. 

Her eyes closed and as such she didn’t see the playful look spread to his eyes as his smile somehow grew, encompassing his entire face. 

“And with any luck,” Morgan shuffled to the bed made up on the floor. “Pretty boy still had that condom I gave him.” 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Shut up for me, love, |

Toji Fushiguro x Wife!Reader

Toji finds out you're pregnant! (with Megumi)

Word Count: 1.5k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, pregnancy, Toji has a job, slightly suggestive dialogue

A/n: I have an idea for a Part 2 (this was so fun)... also opening to take requests if you have any.

It was like floating on cloud nine, where everything was beautiful and happy. You couldn’t help but curl up into a ball on your bed, digging your fists into the covers while clutching the test. Why? Because it came up with two lines. 

You had always wanted kids, that was something your husband, Toji, knew very well. However, there was still something daunting, that translated into a sinking feeling in your gut. Something that you had wanted for so long, something bigger than yourself, was going to happen, and the two of you would face it together. 

There were so many things to look forward to while pregnant. Wearing cute dresses that emphasized your bump just right, a sign to yourself and the world of your lovely marriage and relationship with your husband. Family photos, pregnancy milestones, and finally, the birth that would happen in a bit under nine months. You were so happy to start your family with Toji, and the little bundle of joy that was growing inside of you.

That feeling of euphoria didn’t leave after laying there for five minutes. In fact, it probably never would. It was another version of the feeling you got when you first met Toji, and the one from when you married him, and you still couldn’t believe that it had happened. But, Toji would be home soon. 

Knowing your husband, still as frustrated with your finances as ever, the one thing you could decide was that balloons and cake would not be appreciated on this occasion. Though he knew of your desires, he never explicitly said he wanted a baby either. That was what scared you the most. 

Toji always humered you, when you visited little clothing boutiques and stores, and something in the maternity section caught your eye. Or, when you couldn’t help but offer to take care of your friend’s baby whenever you got the chance, and had the biggest smile he had ever seen on your face, when you held her. 

What you didn’t see, however, was that while you perused the racks of baby clothing, his eyes drifted over to the green dinosaur onesie, with dark green spikes covering the head and going over the back and the tail. He chuckled under his breath, starting to get ideas himself seeing how invested you were. 

When you mentioned getting pregnant, Toji said he wasn’t opposed, though the look on his face showed more that he was uninterested. While you trusted your husband, he was wonderful to you, that sinking feeling didn’t go away either. Part of the reason you were so enthusiastic, after all, was because you’d be raising your child with Toji, and that idea was the embodiment of perfection in your mind. Without him in all the way, would it really be the same?

Toji wasn’t a big fan of fuss anyway, his proposal and your wedding had been small and pretty simple, and you were fine with that. In all honesty it was nice, to not have to worry about every little thing being perfect anyway. For news like this, thinking about decorations would only be a distraction from figuring out what to say. 

“Toji, honey, I’m pregnant,” you repeated to yourself in the mirror, holding the test to give it to him, trying to present it like a gift of some sort. “I have some news for you, Toji,” another option, “It’s great news, I���m really excited,” you tried to make the perfect smile, to show him just how happy you were. But you just threw yourself back on the bed, covering the flush on your cheeks with your hand. 

Everything sounded fake when you tried it. Knowing Toji, if you said any of those things, he might think there was something wrong instead of the truth. And of course, you couldn’t knock that stupid grin off your face for more than a few seconds, butterflies fluttering around your stomach so much that you had to ground yourself. 

Your face heated up at the mere thought of your husband walking through the door, though he would be tired and bothered as per usual. How would he react? Would he be as happy as you are, or… and the sinking feeling was growing again. You lifted your knees, planting your feet flat on the bed so the hem of your dress laid right above your ankles, as you sat in thought, preparing yourself for the inevitable. 

In a way you had given up, on facing Toji head on. Instead you decided to lie in wait, and figure something out on a whim if it didn’t come to you before he got home. You tucked the test under the blanket next to your legs, trying to relax as best as you could. 

The click of the front door was a familiar sound, something that usually excited you. However on this particular day, it was a little bit too exciting, so much so that you couldn’t urge yourself to get up and move your hands from their comfortable spot covering your face. 

Toji made his way through the kitchen and the living room, missing the usual sound of you, his wife, running around doing whatever it was that you were doing when he came home every day. The occasional joking “Honey, I’m home,” something he had grown to secretly enjoy, couldn’t be said despite his relatively good mood - for his ‘honey’ wasn’t there. 

Heading into your shared bedroom, where he typically pulled off his stuffy work clothes and changed into something more comfortable, was where he found you, curled up and about as out-of-it as ever. 

Toji laid down behind you on the bed, leaning over onto his side to see you. He pulled one of your hands off your face, smirking as you opened your eyes and met his gaze. “Hey, stupid,” he laughed as you pulled your hand back, smacking his away. “Why you coverin’ that pretty face, huh?” he asked, settling down with his hand resting under his neck. “What happened to ‘wife’, or something,” you tried to pout. “I called you pretty,” he reasoned, “and I can see that stupid smile on your face, somethin’ happen to ya?” 

Toji reached his hand over, with more force this time, pulling both your hands off your face. The flushed red of your cheeks and cute little protests made him smile. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so flustered, wife?” he kept your hands lightly pinned beneath his. “Couldn’t help yourself from thinkin’ about me while I was at work… really is stupid to be embarrassed,” you shook your head as best as you could. 

“Toji…” you murmured out, trying not to look him in the eyes. You pulled your right hand away from him, reaching into the covers to where you shoved the test. “I’m just… really happy, okay?” you choked out meekly, biting your lip you threw the test back at him. 

Catching it in his hands, he stared at the two lines. “You don’t say, huh?” he breathed heavily, as you eyed his expression with worry. “I just found out…” you blushed as he looked back at you, listening intently. “And… I know we didn’t talk that much about it,” you whispered, feeling his hand tighten it’s grip around yours. “But I really want to be a mother, Toji,” you sighed, still anticipating his reply. 

“Didn’t realize we weren’t on the same page about that,” he turned away, with a smile on his face. “I don’t want to make you unhappy -” he cut you off with a kiss, leaning down as your heart raced even faster. “How ‘bout you shut up for me, love,” your face contorted into a look of surprise. “Am I that bad of a husband? I thought you knew I was on board,” he chuckled. “But you said you didn’t really care,” you whined, as he moved his hand to hold yours more comfortably. “Yeah, that was my way of sayin’ it,” you rolled your eyes at him. “Besides, who do you think did this to ya, I’m not that much of an idiot,” he held up the test again, the surrealness of it all was sinking in.

“So, do you know the gender yet?” he asked, as you squinted. “Toji, I just found out a few minutes ago,” you replied. “Yeah, but I figured you had some kind of mother’s intuition on that stuff,” he yawned, the tiredness from work starting to hit him. “Well, what do you think?” 

“A girl,” he stated quickly, as you thought about it. “Your final guess?” you asked, to which he agreed. “Well knowing your losing streak, it must be a boy then,” you laughed as he frowned, “I should put that on paper… How’s that for mother’s intuition?” You looked back at Toji, who was fully laid down with his eyes closed. “Pregnant women should get a lot of sleep, I’m just setting an example,” he yawned again, pulling your waist to turn you next to him. You snuggled in closer, the sinking feeling was gone though the butterflies were only getting worse by the minute. “Fine, but only for a little while. I have to make dinner,” Toji hummed in response. “G’night, future mama.”

(Part 2)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x reader #toji zenin x reader #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader

[gentlyweeps-world]

The “It Girl”

summary: Being a rookie in the world of Formula One comes with challenges, added on with the fact you’re a girl, American and racing for Red Bull doesn’t help. While you do have your “guard dogs” and “it girl” tendencies, it doesn’t help that you’re also trying to figure out romance.

pairing: 2021 grid x fem! driver, romantic interest tbd

warnings: sexism, alcohol consumption, toxic environments, uncomfortable situations

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

Many had said the 2021 grid was the best, the most exciting grid yet. While that was true, it wasn’t fun as a rookie in Red Bull, better yet, a female rookie in Red Bull. But that wasn’t the end of it, an American female rookie racing for Red Bull.

Least to say PR had a field day when they announced you would be replacing Checo after his retirement in 2020.

At only 21 years old you were making history, and you were once again today. Finishing P1 on home soil at the circuit of Americas.

Now here you were, alongside Max Verstappen, your teammate, and Lewis Hamilton, the break in between the two Red Bulls.

“Y/n how do you look so good after a race?”

“Y/n what makeup do you use?”

Only ten minutes ago did the end of race press conference start, and only five minutes did the most sexist and offensive questions start. And only seconds ago is when you were put out of your daze from the most infuriating question you had received.

“Y/n? How do you race while menstruating?”

Suddenly knocked out of your daze, your face contorts into one of shock and annoyance from the question.

“E-excuse me?”, You ask out shocked, not sure if you had heard the question right. I mean after all this was a post race conference, and not one question was about racing.

You glance over to Lewis and Max, who both look equally upset and disgusted.

The interviewer looks at you and smiles while he asks once more, “Can you tell us about how racing while having to deal with menstruation affects race strategy in your car?”

Max and Lewis still have a confused look, while Max looks at the interviewer like he will rip the guy’s head off.

The interviewer smiles and says, “Don’t be offended L/n, but girls and women on their period don’t think as fast or as clearly.” He then pauses for a moment to think about what he’s just said, and he adds, “Of course, it doesn’t matter anyway, women don’t belong in F1.”

You can feel your face contort to bewilderment, taking a moment to realize this interviewer was from DTS. Then you hear Max slap his hand on the table.

“She just got fucking P1 and you expect her to answer these ridiculous questions? Treat her with some respect, she’s done more than you have!”, Max says sternly, his eyes shooting daggers at the interviewer.

The interviewer grows visibly intimidated by Maxs reaction. He swallows twice and his tone visibly changes

“I-I’m sorry, I just had to ask.”

Lewis then speaks up and says to the interviewer, “I want you to listen to what you just said and think about what you just did. Women aren’t allowed to drive just because they are on their period, do you even hear yourself?” Lewis sounds genuinely sad.

Max remains silent, but his eyes are still angry. Instead of adding anything onto the conversation you just sit there, shock still on your face.

You let out an awkward cough, drinking some of you Red Bull, you clear your throat and look up towards the interviewers, annoyance clear in your eyes.

“Could we please move on now? Maybe ask a racing related question”, You say, showing no interest in being there.

For a few seconds, there is complete silence. Then a new interviewer finally manages to speak.

“Of course, a new question. So, Y/n, how do you feel about being the second woman to win a Grand Prix in Formula One?”

A faint smile appears on your face as you hear the question, “About time, a normal question”, You hear Max mumble out, a grin tugs at your lips, thankful Max has your back.

“It feels great, I’m super grateful for my team and engineers”, You say, “But very thankful to win, glad to have proved all of the doubters wrong”

Another reporter then pipes up and asks, “How did you feel about the backlash from a lot of people who didn’t want a woman in F1?”

You take a moment to think on how to respond, taking a moment to consider how much trouble you could get in if you answered honestly, but that was PR jobs right?

“Uh..well I think they’re fucking stupid, and they clearly don’t know who Desiré Wilson is”, You state, a small smirk on your face as you answer, knowing DTS will eat that up.

For a moment everyone is silent, until Lewis breaks out laughing, “I think this would be a great way to end this conference”, He says with a grin, getting up from his seat and moving out of the room. Max soon follows behind, and you’re quick to follow Max, not sure what to do afterwards.

As Max and you make your way back to the garage you hear chants and jeers thrown out, but it wasn’t enough to wipe off the smile on your face.

Finally reaching the Red Bull garage, Max and you get there and are immediately bombarded with cheers, laughter and applause from the Red Bull team.

After a good hour of celebrating with the team, you feel your phone vibrate in your hand, “Who is it?”, Max asks, curious to see who texted you.

Checking the notification it’s from an unknown number, asking if you wanted to go and celebrate with them, you look up at Max with confusion, but his face shows the opposite.

“Didn’t know he would be asking you so soon..”, Max says with a look of shock.

———————————————————————

radio: Hope this was a good one, im quite excited to work on this series!! I’m leaving it up to you guys to pick a love interest in the comments, keep in mind the grid is 2021 not 2023 💙💙 (send in any requests and leave any comments)

next part

#formula one #formula 1 #forumla 1 #williams f1 #williams racing #alex albon #lando norris #f1 x female reader #f1 wags #red bull f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #mercedes amg f1 #ferrari x reader #ferrari racing #red bull racing #red bull formula 1 #formula one x driver reader #x female reader #f1 2021 #lando norris x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #mclaren #alpha tauri #aston martin #fics

[curryshesus]

bts fics that give me life in a drought

(aka my favorite fics of all time) pt. 2

didn't expect to make a part 2 so soon but seeing how much recognition the first one got, here we are! some of these contain a hearty amount of angst, and oh they're just simply divine :( once again, please make sure to show your love and support to these lovely authors if you enjoyed any of these reads as much as i did!

➺ knife’s edge - by @readyplayerhobi

| jungkook x reader, jimin x reader | 141.8k

mafia au, fluff, angst, smut, violence, series

>> summary: "the jeon clan is family, built on blood and loyalty. it’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the clan, jeon jungkook. you would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?"

this fic absolutely BROKE ME. i was so conflicted all throughout and deadass went through all the 50 stages of grief. the angst was unparalleled. the fluff had me giggling like a madman cuz jk is an absolute sweetheart :( jimin is too :(( y/n is dumb and so is her situation :((( i cherish this fic sm

➺ novocaine - by @kinktae

| jimin x reader |

1990s au, exes au, angst, eventual smut, series

>> summary: "going home was hard – painful even. but falling back in love with jimin, the boy you left behind? downright gut-wrenching."

➺ ghostin him- by @adonis-koo

| namjoon x reader (taehyung x reader) | 26k

angst, angst, as well as angst. comfort too dw, one-shot

>> summary: "life is nothing more than dull colors for you, your world shattered and laying in the shards of what once was rather than focusing on what is. that is until you meet kim namjoon, who is immediately taken by you without realizing you’re a girl with a whole lot of baggage, through tears and many sleepless nights you’re faced with a choice of hanging on with bleeding hands, or accepting what is, and letting go."

ohmygod the writing hello? the amount of soul, depth, and sheer utter beauty in missy's words are beyond me. had me sobbing every other line and my heart aching all throughout and boy was it worth it.

➺ take five - by @jiminrings

| yoongi x reader | 10k

angst, fluff, unrequited love, pinning

summary: "dr. min yoongi's a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand - oh and also, he's divorced."

➺ page turner - by @gukslut

| taehyung x reader | 13.6k

teacher!tae/ librarian!reader, fluff, smut, minor angst

summary: "corny romance and a zillion cheesy Romeo and Juliet quotes and references."

my tainted hopeless romantic heart ugh. they're so cute.

➺ bloom- by @hobidreams

| namjoon x reader | 20.7k

assassin!reader x florist!namjoon, smut, angst, action, sprinkles of fluff

>> summary: "family is who you kill for. who you die for. in this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. but when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. that is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom."

➺ counterfeit culture - by @ggukcangetit

| seokjin x reader | 29k

modern day au loosely based on jane austen’s pride & prejudice, e2l, fluff, smut, comedy

>>summary: “for as long as you can remember, you’ve always known right from wrong, good from bad, and woke from entitled/ignorant. but when you continue to cross paths with Kim Seokjin - the apparent antithesis of everything you believe in - certain walls begin to crumble. and over time, you come to realise that the world isn’t black and white, first impressions can be misleading, and that you are just as guilty as each person you’ve judged so harshly. realisation brings acceptance, and maybe, just maybe, acceptance can bring something more.”

➺ if i told you - by @gukyi

| jungkook x reader | 22k

friends to lovers!au, college!au, fluff, comedy, angst

>> summary: "in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him."

➺ to hold a dragon's heart - by @softlyjiminie

| taehyung x reader | 19.1k

dragon prince!kim taehyung x warrior princess!reader, smut, angst, fluff, forbidden romance, dragon shifter!au, royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au

>> summary: "two kingdoms, two hearts and the world between them. your whole life has been a challenge, never an easy moment on your road to becoming queen but will one decision, one encounter with the man you were destined to hate, change the fate of your worlds, forever?"

#bts fic rec #fic recs #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x oc #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #jimin angst #jimin smut #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts fan fiction #fic rec list #namjoon angst #namjoon smut #hoseok angst #hoseok smut #seokjin angst #seokjin smut #bts masterlist #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader

[forlix]

𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?” 

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause. 

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path. 

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.” 

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there. 

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.” 

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour. 

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

 “Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?” 

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall. 

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze. 

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter. 

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds. 

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session. 

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete. 

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person. 

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe. 

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels. 

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you. 

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand. 

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system. 

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod. 

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?” 

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane. 

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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[davidtennantgenderenvy]

On David Tennant and Aging

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts in response to Tumblr users’ habit of affectionately calling their favorite middle aged dudes “old men”, David Tennant in particular, saying things like “clearly you’ve never met an actual old person”, “omg you talk about these guys like they’re 80”, “please be normal about people aging”, etc. And on one hand, all of these statements are objectively right and true! But as someone who’s always been really fascinated by and found a lot of beauty in getting older (which I’ve explored in some of my writing on A03 because nobody else is going to do it for me), I’d like to provide a bit more nuance on how I think this label applies to David in particular.

David, obviously, in literal terms, is not “old”, at least not to me- I don’t personally consider people old until they get past 60. 52 is middle aged, simple as that. And yet, when I see David stuck with the “old man” label, it still somehow feels weirdly right, for a number of reasons.

It annoys me so much when people say David “hasn’t aged a day since Doctor Who”, because, well…

He clearly has. A lot. He’s got forehead creases, deep crows’ feet and eyebags, and I think that post-Fourteen we’re gonna see him rocking the grey temples a LOT more. He also has the voice of an older man now, his upper range is still there but the default is much more deep and rich, with a gravelly, rumbling quality that just goes straight through you. I personally think Broadchurch was when David finally started to embrace looking his age- Alec Hardy just wouldn’t have been served by Ten’s fresh-faced boyishness.

Obviously, these are the kinds of changes you’d expect any 52-year-old man to have, but something about David just makes it all seem a bit more… intense? The expressiveness of his face combined with his almost gaunt frame makes his wrinkles very prominent, and when he works his voice to its emotional extremes, his lower register can sound positively ancient, to devastating effect.

David, I think, is someone with an old soul- I don’t think he could be as good as he is at playing ancient characters like Crowley and The Doctor if he weren’t. He has lived so many lives, given so much of himself to so many characters, often incredibly tragic ones, and I think it wears on him. David also has five kids. FIVE. Do you know how exhausting it is to be one of the hardest working actors alive and be a present, loving father to even ONE child? But David somehow does it anyway! Nowadays I see him and my heart breaks because he looks so tired, so weary and fragile. But he’s all the more beautiful for it to me because I know that that is because he is kind. He’s a deeply empathetic person who feels and lives to the absolute fullest, and that story is written so clearly on his face, along with every other story he has ever been a part of.

There’s other things about David that make the label endearingly fitting- his utter hopelessness when it comes to technology, for instance. And he’s just got that warm, wise, grandpa energy too sometimes- look at that above Fourteen picture and tell me I’m wrong!

I once showed my friend who’d only seen David in Doctor Who and Harry Potter a picture of David from Around The World in 80 Days. It was a particularly emotional scene, and his face had just the most beautiful expression of compassion and sadness, every wrinkle on full display. And she said, in a less than complimentary fashion, “he looks so old!” Which, of course, offended me quite a bit at first. But to me, referring to David as old almost feels like a badge of honor, something he’s earned by living fully and selflessly, working hard and being wise and compassionate beyond his years. I think David himself is secretly more than a little insecure about the fact that he’s getting older. There’s sadness behind every jovially self-depreciating remark he’s made about his age in the past year, particularly in comparing himself to Ncuti Gatwa. I know how much David struggles with his impostor syndrome and how people perceive him, and I can clearly see in his eyes the fear of being discarded, the anxiety he feels about if he’ll still be as loved as he was back in 2007 now that he’s closer in age to King Lear than he is to Romeo. So I hope David knows it’s a privilege to watch him grow older, to watch his soul and talents deepen with the crinkles around his eyes. If I, in my silly goofy tumblr girl-ness, call David Tennant an old man, it’s because it’s a label that suits him beautifully- even if it isn’t TECHNICALLY an accurate one yet.

#David tennant #doctor who #the tenth doctor #the fourteenth doctor #good omens #crowley #shakespeare #around the world in 80 days #phileas fogg #pro aging #growing old