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fangweaver2099 · 3 months

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A Minor Slip-Up - Chapter 1

Miguel O'Hara X Reader 18+

You've been working for Dr. Miguel O'Hara in Alchemax' R&D department for 2 years. For those two years, your crush on the gigantic, handsome man that just happens to be your superior has only gotten worse with time.

When you notice him alone at Alchemax' Christmas Gala, you take your chance. A one night stand.

You two agree it was just once, but it seems life has other plans.

This fic takes place in an alternate canon of the Spiderman 2099 comics. While the entire plot uses the lore of the 2099 comics, the aesthetic of Nueva York is based on Across the Spiderverse.

Miguel is based also on his ATSV character in personality and appearance & his tech. He's a bit more of an asshole and less traumatized tho.

He has not discovered portal technology and is technically not the ATSV Miguel we see in the movie – but a variant. While I use his backstory up to before Dana and him go to Valhalla is pretty similar - instead of being constant crazy stuff it cuts off there. The comic backstory ends and diverges with a much slower plot where Miguel has to grapple with being Spiderman and occasionally handling crazy stuff and trying to stop Alchemax. Also, he has ATSV Lyla bc she’s objectively the funnier version.

It was totally normal to have a crush as a grown woman, right ?

That’s what you had tried to convince yourself of anyway. Dr. Miguel O’Hara was technically your boss. You were a senior in your position, but he was the lead scientist – you submitted reports and updates to him and followed his instruction and advice. Any project had his name first, regardless of how much work he actually did.

Dr. O’Hara was attractive. There was no way the towering, chiseled man built like a Greek god didn’t know he was drop dead gorgeous . Tall, smart – handsome. The only downside was his personality had gone from a slightly egotistical lead who treated everyone like they were stupid, to barely talking to anyone, and brooding in his office. He seemed almost… depressed .

You had chalked it up to the explosion that happened in Miguel’s personal lab almost 5 months ago. Apparently, a late-night experiment had gone wrong. The accident had killed Mr. Delgato and Miguel was apparently there when he died. You couldn’t imagine how traumatic it was. So, you were quick to give your boss some serious slack.

You didn’t know Miguel that well anyway; he was your boss – personal life was not exactly something folks discussed over petri dishes. It’s not like he spent any time in the break room on the main R&D floor. He usually didn’t spend time in any break room, really.

Right now, the massive Miguel O’Hara was at the head of the table his team usually had lunch at. He looked like he was nursing a hangover and holding a coffee cup that was too little for his gigantic, tanned hands. His shirt was too tight, and it put emphasis on his massive shoulders and broad chest.

You were doing everything you could not to stare.

You knew the dress code well, no wearing your hair down in the lab, so your neck was still chilly and ears pink. You felt like you were freezing even in your thick turtleneck sweater, dark slacks and company-issued lab coat. The massive glass windows of the break room did little to stave off the December cold in Nueva York. The entire room was bustling with a few dozen scientists and other employees, but your team always hung out together. It was nice that you all actually liked one another.

You made your coffee sweet, more cream than coffee, eyes on the approaching Dr. Amara Monroe. The bubbly blonde with bright green eyes had to crane her head back to look at you – but it didn’t stop the both of you from becoming good friends over the past two years.

Dr. Monroe had her hands on a plastic box – likely some sort of food container that had long been cleaned. She sat it down before her seat, one hand on the rim.

“Okay. Write your name on the slip, and then put it in the jar.” Dr. Monroe’s other hand motioned to the scattering of cut-up printer paper on the table.

Apparently, it was an old tradition from the early 2000’s – Secret Santa. Dr. Monroe explained it as a bonding experiment, her family had been doing it as long as she remembered. It seemed that the woman was intent on continuing it in her workplace. You couldn’t help but grin, the idea exciting you, reaching over to grab a piece of paper. It meant you didn’t buy gifts for everyone, and even with your excessive budget, it was a relief on your wallet.

“So, what if you get someone you don’t know?” Dr. Kline asked, one red brow raising. The ginger woman took a piece of paper anyway as Dr. Monroe passed her a pencil.

“That’s the fun part, you get to bother them and figure out what they like – but you can’t reveal you’re the one buying them their gift. Ask around! Plus, we’re all like…” She moved her hand in a waving motion. “Nerds.”

At that, a few of their coworkers snickered. You noticed even Miguel smiled a touch, rare. You forced yourself to peel your eyes away with a long sip of your coffee and reached over, picking up a piece of paper.

“It sounds fun, any other rules?” you asked as Dr. Kline passed the pencil over to Dr. Schneider. The tall blonde male scribbled his name in his nigh unreadable writing. You plucked the pen from his hand and wrote your own name down in the neatest handwriting you could muster, folding it with a flourish and using your finger to press down the seal.

“Hmmm… No gag gifts. My family usually does a price limit too - how does 30 sound?,” Dr. Monroe mused, tapping a finger to her freckled face.

You could hear a murmur in agreement from everyone as you returned to sipping on your coffee, letting the blonde scientist pick up your paper and toss it in the jug.

Miguel didn’t make a move, sitting back and watching, like he usually did during the company mandated lunch break, as everyone wrote their names. You quickly concluded that Miguel had no plans on participating, there was a little piece of you that was disappointed. He deserved to feel included, big grouch he may be.

It seemed Dr. Monroe noticed, her green eyes narrowed as she motioned the jug over the table, sticking it in Miguel’s face. He leaned back, looking at the small woman over his dark sunglasses.

“I’m not interested.” His smooth voice replied, raising one hand, telling her to back off.

“You’re our boss, you gotta.” Dr. Monroe retorted, too sweet for her own good. The woman was no pushover. A few voices spoke up in agreement. Miguel visibly simmered, slouching more in his chair as his massive hand pushed the box away. Amara frowned but Miguel placed down his own coffee, picking up the pen and writing his name, the script hurried and scribbled.

“Thank yooou-“ She took the paper from Dr. O’Hara before he could stop her, tossing it into the box. She plugged the hole with one of her hands before shaking it vigorously. Watching the tiny blonde woman bouncing the box around like it owed her money made you break out into a smile, hiding your snicker behind the mug you clutched in your cold hands.

Despite the seriousness of your job and Alchemax as a whole (along with your scrooge of a boss), you adored your direct team, they were all nice and reasonably friendly. Your team was one of the more accomplished teams in R&D – at least, as far as the reports your boss provided showed.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. You took your job rather seriously – your last review had you noted as ‘careful and meticulous’.

You could hear a small, casual discussion going on as the team began discussing interests. Apparently, Dr. Yoshida loved something called Warhammer – Dr. Kline was a chronic chocolate addict and Dr. Monroe collected vintage stuffed animals from the 2030’s. It was a good bonding exercise, but you couldn’t exactly reflect on what you wanted.

You were not about to explain your weird love of horror, or your pile of shitty romance books downloaded on your holopad, a dirty secret you would take to the grave if it were up to you. You preferred being the awkward workaholic type anyways, instead of the dreamy weirdo you were in college.

Your eyes drifted to Miguel.

Maybe you’d get lucky and get him – figure out something he’d like and put a smile on his stupid handsome face. You didn’t notice Miguel’s head turn to you quick enough, your gazes meeting, the hints of his hooded eyes under his sunglasses had you move to down your coffee like nothing had happened.

Miguel’s brow raised, but he said nothing as you turned to Dr. Yoshida.

“So – what about you? Worst gift you’ve ever gotten,” Dr. Yoshida asked, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned to face you.

“Uhhh…” You had to think about it.

“Do my student loans count?,” you attempted to quip, forcing a smile. Dr. Yoshida laughed.

Dr. Monroe paused her container’s torture as she placed it on the middle of the table.

“Okay. Pick one. You get yourself – toss it back and take another. Got it?,” she said, moving to pluck one of the strips and unfolding it. Amara grinned deviously before shoving it into the pocket of her lab coat.

You waited until about halfway through, forced to lean across the table. You weren’t often thankful for your height – nearing six feet was often a pain - but now it had its advantage. You plucked a slip from the bowl without ease, and then sat back down with a small ‘oof’.

Your fingers made quick work of unfolding the paper.

‘Hiro’ was written in clear handwriting – Dr. Yoshida. Okay, that made it easy. You’d search up what the hell Warhammer was later, maybe a new tie or something. You glanced over at Dr. Yoshida; he always wore a dark blue tie with some sort of geometric pattern on it. Didn’t matter the color of his shirt. Sometimes it was fine, but he was wearing a deep mossy green recently. It looked awful.

You noticed Miguel’s hand dip into the jug, before flipping open the paper without…any reaction. He didn’t sit back down.

“I’m heading back.” He said without hesitation, mug still in hand as he strode away, leaving his team alone. You wondered who Miguel got – did he get you ? Your cheeks burned as you realized how pathetic you were being, and you had to resist the urge to slap your cheeks to wake yourself up.

The rest of lunch went just fine – small discussion as you and Dr. Monroe discussed your current round of tests. You always got assigned the boring work – and now it was antibiotic creation for a new disease affecting what was left of the cattle population across the US. Printer meat was already commonplace for most of the population, but it didn’t stop those wealthy enough to want something real. So, you got to figure out how to keep the animals alive.

When you had just graduated college, bright eyed and stupid, you had thought you’d be doing important things like curing cancer. Alchemax had other plans.

Lab work after lunch was the same as ever- boring and filled mostly with reviewing code and notes. The amount of calibrating that every machine needed was practically mind numbing. Still, you were thankful for the busy work.

You headed back to your own office at the end of the day. The room was clean and organized as your lab bench. A few personal touches just like your apartment – a rose gold pen caddy that had your pens organized by color, a gray cushion on your chair to make it more comfortable. Nothing too casual, nothing too personal, all workplace appropriate.

You shrugged your lab coat off and packed your bag with your laptop. You gave into the chill and even let your hair out of its messy bun. Your fingers raked through your locks and fluffed it free. You tossed on your gray jacket and put your bag across your shoulders.

You tossed on your pink scarf and seemed prepared enough to brace the open-air parking garage. You tapped the frosted glass of your private office door as it slid open and closed behind you, lights shutting off with no one within. Your expensive non-slip shoes were silent as you made your way to the open hall of your floor.

And there, looming before the elevator, was that massive figure. Miguel.

He wasn’t in his usual white lab coat, replaced with a dark, long overcoat. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be leaning over slightly, putting emphasis on his broad shoulders and small waist. Awfully, you were reminded of one of the junior scientists calling him a Dorito. You tried not to crack a smile at the memory, walking forward as you attempted to calm your own expression.

You tried to keep your distance, moving to check if the button was pressed as the counters pinged down. Miguel seemed to notice your presence, glancing down at you from behind his sunglasses. You met his gaze for a moment from the corner of your eye and swore his eyes looked… red? It was probably just the light.

You glanced away and shifted in place, suddenly all too cognizant of the silence.

You could keep quiet and say nothing, but you should make small talk, right? Be normal .You’d been in this type of situation before, this wasn’t alien. You could feel the warmth on your cheeks. As you opened your mouth to speak, the elevator dinged and saved you from further embarrassment.

You both entered together, taking your places on opposite sides of the small elevator. You were both tall and now you could see why Miguel leaned just a bit – if he was standing straight, he might have hit his head on the elevator door.

He was standing straight now, having almost a foot over your own height.

You were not used to people being larger than you, especially most men. At the most they were eye level. Before you’d met Miguel, you couldn’t understand why some of your college friends found men intimidating.

But Miguel was intimidating.

For the first time, you felt small . His hands were massive. He was massive . He made you feel all too cognizant of what it meant to feel like prey. Like he was strong enough to snap your neck if he was angry enough – not that you’d ever thought he would. He could probably pick you up – the primal desire to be manhandled had you shift in place, trying to ignore your own thoughts. He was your boss for God’s sake.

Miguel beat you to pressing the same button – floor ten’s light flicked on as the door closed. You did your best to take a step back and look anywhere but Miguel.

You were sure that Miguel was cognizant of the effect he had on women. You’d heard people jokingly call him ‘tall, dark and handsome’ more than once, though he always seemed too caught up in his work to notice the looks he got.

It was a harmless crush, Miguel had never as much as reciprocated anything. He was so serious , especially in the last few months. You would have thought that after working under Dr. O’Hara for nearly two years, that you’d get over it, but it got worse whenever the two of you were forced into proximity.

You had nearly 40 floors before the parking garage. You cleared your throat – anything was better than pings as you descended.

“Have you ever done a secret Santa?,” you asked Miguel, head tilting to look up at the massive geneticist.

“No,” he replied, tone blank, not sparing you even a glance. You leaned against the wall of the elevator, biting your cheek.

“Me neither. I think it’s fun. I already know what I’m going to get mine.” You’d tried to sound relaxed, but the inclination of your voice came out nervous.

Miguel raised a brow at you.

“I’m not telling,” you replied, guessing at the wordless question. Miguel crossed his arms; head still pointed in your direction.

“I-It would spoil the surprise. I- wait. I didn’t get – I didn’t get you! I-” Your hands pulled from your pockets and motioned in the air.

“I figured,” Miguel interrupted with the ghost of a grin. You went quiet before letting out a long sigh.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” Your voice was back to calm. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, you could feel the warmth on your cheeks as you scolded yourself, stop being pathetic – you’re a grown woman. You’re a fucking doctor . You’re-

“Mhm.” Miguel mumbled as the elevator finally stopped and clicked open. You didn’t wait as you were greeted by cold winter air.

You practically ran out of the elevator.

Desperate to get away, you didn’t notice when your foot met ice – melted snow had turned to ice in the garage. You let out a surprised shriek as the concrete ceiling came into view.

Rather than cracking your head open on the concrete like an idiot , you felt hands grab at your armpit and waist, and the back of your head hit something warm and hard as you scrambled for purchase.

“You need to be more careful, chica.” Miguel’s deep voice broke your stuttering train of thought as you relaxed into his grip. Your knees pulled in as you finally stopped stumbling, head lifted back as you saw Miguel staring down at you – smirking .

“ Uh-huh ,” you replied dumbly, eyes wide and a single curl falling across your gentle features. He hoisted you back onto your feet proper and let go. Awkwardly, you swayed and patted your coat.

“T-thanks. I thought I was going to crack my head open.” you remarked with a nervous grin.

“I’d hate that. You’re a good member of the team, doctor. I don’t think I’m too good at making that clear,” Miguel remarked with a sincerity in his voice that had your eyes widening in confusion.

“…Thanks. You’re a good lead. Better than my previous boss. He didn’t like me very much. First job and all that.” You reached out and awkwardly patted Miguel’s arm. Miguel glanced down and raised a brow.

You pulled back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t forget about the compiled review you and Dr. Monroe are supposed to finish tomorrow.” He kept the conversation casual and work focused.

You were thankful for that.

“Will do, boss.” You grinned, hands crossing over yourself as you ignored the heat on your cheeks. It was cold enough that you both could see your breath. You hoped Miguel didn’t notice the way your face burned.

After a moment Miguel waved and went on his way with large strides. For a moment, you stood there, staring at the back of his head as he walked to his own car like a love struck puppy.

Your hands reached up, pinching your red cheeks as you groaned in embarrassment, knowing you were going to spend the next two years laying awake at night screaming at yourself for this. Eventually you made your way to the metro - deciding that you’d get Dr. Yoshida’s gift tonight. Might as well get something productive today.

#A Minor Slip-Up FIC #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spider man: across the spider verse

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milawritesstuff · 1 year

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Does He Know: Part 11 (Gavi/Pedri Love Triangle)

A/N: Here’s a little surprise… sorry I didn’t update in a few days but hope you guys like this chapter. :)

You can read part 10 here: Part 10

•••

Sara’s POV

A few days had passed since I had seen anyone other than my family. Without uni I had nothing else to do. Gavi hadn't answered any of my messages until this morning. A simple hey is what he responded to my countless of messages asking for him to forgive me. Eventually agreeing to meet with me.

We had agreed to meet in the afternoon at a cafe near my house which was usually less crowded than the city center and where we had less chances of someone spotting us. Or of someone spotting him since he was the famous one. I got up, took a shower, and put on jeans and a shirt before heading out. I arrived to the cafe at about 5 minutes to 3, sat down and ordered a drink.

A few minutes later Gavi showed up and sat in front of me. I smiled at the boy in front of me, wearing white cargo pants and an orange sweater.

-Thank you for coming.- I said offering him a smile.

He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and a slight frown on his face.

He didn't wait for me to say anything else and began to speak as his eyes locked with mine. He always spoke with the heart and I felt like shit knowing I had taken that for granted. His eyes always said what his heart felt and it made me sad that I couldn't do the same for him.

-I didn't want to be upset at you. After seeing how much he meant to you I knew there was no point in fighting for you. You were never truly mine.- He said. -But hearing him say you two had kissed messed with me. I don't want to hate my best friend.-

We sat there as silence overtook the small table we were sitting at. His eyes now fixated on his hands which were interlocked in front of him.

-I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything. Please don't be upset at him.- I finally managed to say to disrupt the awkward silence.

-I'm not. I'm upset at you.- The brown haired boy said point blank. His words took me by surprise and I felt a pit open in my stomach. I had let Gavi down and it wasn't even about what I had done but what I hadn't.

-Despite what he did, he accepted it. You didn't, Sara. How difficult would it have been to just let me hear it from your mouth instead of his?-

I looked down at the floor, he was right. After all, I was his girlfriend. I had a responsibility to him which I threw out the window the moment Pedri was in front of me. I didn't care about anyone else but the beautiful dark haired man when we were inches apart from each other.

-I'm sorry.- I mumbled.

He looked at me and smirked. That smirk that many times had meant something different, that he wanted me, that he needed to feel my lips against his. Now that smirk meant something else, it meant that an "I'm sorry" wasn't enough.

-I'll forgive you, Sara. Maybe not today, but I will, eventually.- He finally said.

-Pablo, I truly care for you.- I managed to say as I felt a knot form in my throat. It was strange. All of this time I took him for granted. His kisses, his touches. And now here I was on the verge of crying because I could see the hurt in his eyes.

-But you don't love me, not the way you love him.- He spat back. -You never said te quiero back. You wouldn't have cried the way you did if I had been the one in that hospital bed.-

-Don't say that. I care for you Pablo. Maybe not in the same way, but I do.-

We stayed there in silence, which was eventually interrupted by a waiter who came by to see if Gavi wanted to order something. He asked for a glass of water, which gave me hope that he wasn't going to storm out of the cafe in a few seconds. I felt the need to close this chapter in the proper way. Even if I had done everything wrong leading to this moment.

He took a sip of his water. -Well, have you talked to him?- He asked.

I shook my head in silence.

-You're telling me I got my heart broken so that you don't even end up together?- He said in a slightly playful way which caused me to smile at him.

-I was rude to him, I yelled at him while he was in a hospital bed. And he has Alice.-

Gavi scoffed. -Alice is nothing for him. I know him, he's in love with you and I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. I'm sure he wants nothing more than to see you.-

-Have you seen him?- I asked knowing Pedri had been ordered to stay away from practice for a few days. Gavi nodded. -I went to see him yesterday. He's better. We didn't talk about you.-

Despite Gavi speaking with me about Pedri, I knew deep down he was still hurt and rightfully so. I knew it would take a lot of work and patience for us to be friends, something we never truly were since we began to date so soon after meeting each other. But I was willing to work on it.

His words kept on replaying in head as I was heading home. I'm sure he wants nothing more than to see you. With a quick rush of courage I began to drive towards Pedri's house instead of my own. I knew where he lived thanks to Val but had never been there. I parked in front of the building and brought my mirror down to fix my makeup. Thankfully I hadn't spent the last few days crying so my eyes weren’t puffy. It was more like I was numb. I couldn't cry, but I also couldn't laugh. Nothing made sense.

I grabbed my purse and began to walk up to his door. I knocked, once, twice and heard footsteps approaching. My heart began to race, I could feel my heartbeat in the palm of my hands which were beginning to sweat at the sheer anticipation of seeing Pedri. In the few seconds that it took for the door to open in front of me a million scenarios played through my mind. What if it was his brother who opened, what if he had people over, what if Alice opened?

The door opened and I was met with brown eyes that showed a hint of light and surprise when they saw me standing there in front of him.

-Sara.- He said.

I felt my eyes begin to get teary eyed and I could hardly say anything. -Pedri, I...-

But before I could continue he took a few steps forward and I felt as his lips crashed against mine. His lips took mine in and he left a feverish kiss against me. We both opened our eyes and looked at each other's seconds before he went in again. He pushed me against the wall that faced his front door and I felt his warm body hit mine. His body so close that I could feel his accelerated heartbeat against my chest. My hands went to the back of his head as his hands rested on my waist. His lips on mine, his kisses felt like home. It was where I belonged, there in his mouth. Every movement his lips made against mine made me realize I was starving, his kisses burned me alive. Maybe I didn't know before but I knew now, Pedri was the person I had been waiting for forever. He kissed me in the same desperate way that I did. He slightly parted his lips and caught my lower lips in between. His lips were soft and fit mine perfectly, as if they had been made for each other. Our tongues seemed to dance a beautiful love song. After all of these days of not seeing him or talking to him it was surreal that now I had him in front of me and we were kissing. Our kisses went from desperate to slow, both still with fear but in the most beautiful way possible. His kisses ate the moan I couldn't control when he pressed his body even more against mine, now my body in between him and the cold wall. I kissed him like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. He kissed me like it was the first time, and the last, every time.

It was then that I heard a woman's voice from inside Pedri's house.

-Pedri, who is it?-

The voice took Pedri out of his trance, he stopped his attack on my lips and before I knew it he pulled away from me. He walked backwards leaving me out in the hallway.

-Pedri?- The voice said again, I could hear it was getting closer. Pedri stood there, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breathe. His lips swollen from my kisses. He took his right hand and with his thumb cleaned off around his lips.

-Its nobody.- He said as he stood there, our eyes locked with each other, and with his left hand managed to slam the door in between us.

My heart dropped and I felt tears fall down my face as the door shut in front of me. I knew I deserved it, but it didn't make it any less painful.

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scuttling · 3 years

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I said I love you, that's forever

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,619 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Reader gets drunk, Brief mention of canon-typical violence Summary: This one is sexy, sweet, and fluffy and features Aaron getting used to his new, healthier body. Inspired by @sleepyreaderreads and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 1 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! Being home when Aaron gets home is the best part of having a flexible work arrangement, you have to admit. You’ve been together for five years, but only living together for four months—for one reason or another, mainly his job, it took you a while to reach the cohabitation phase, but neither of you had minded much. You were always spending time together when he was free, and you enjoyed having your own space, so the arrangement worked out for the both of you.

Now, though, as he walks into your home office looking so handsome in a white shirt, black slacks, and burgundy tie, a soft smile on his face, you know without a doubt that you made the right choice by moving in with him. You wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Hi. How was your day?” he asks, leaning over you for a kiss. He intends to make it quick, but you put your hands on his body, lengthen the kiss, hum against his lips.

“Hmm. It was good. Better now, though.” You hit the keys necessary to lock your desktop and stand, stretch to wrap your arms around his neck. “How was yours?”

“Not bad.” He says it casually, but you can see the stress in the lines around his eyes, his mouth, and you raise a brow in question. “The unit’s being audited. A percentage of our consultations need to be reviewed, updated psychological evaluations completed—on top of everything else, it’s a lot,” he admits with a sigh, and you nod your understanding, brush your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll call Elena and cancel dinner.” You’d planned weeks ago to go out with one of your friends for Indian food, to meet her new boyfriend, but Aaron is clearly having a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. A quiet night in may be just what he needs. “We’ll stay home, I’ll order takeout. We can relax.”

“No, no. I know you’ve been looking forward to this; it’s really alright.” You tilt your head, something of a frown, and he takes your face in his hands, kisses you twice on the mouth. “It’s alright. I want to go out. I want to take you out,” he says, voice low, pulling you in for a slower kiss, and you melt against him, slide your arms around his back instead, pull him closer.

“I want to keep you in,” you murmur when the kiss breaks, and he raises the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile, presses his lips to your nose.

“And miss meeting the one?” You both laugh lightly, because Elena finds the one every couple of months, but she’s a hopeless romantic, always means it at first. It’s endearing, especially when you and Aaron feel a little like an old married couple. “Let’s go out, have a good time. If we stay home, I’ll be tempted to work.” He takes a step back, lets you head out the door and down the hall to your bedroom, so you can get changed; he follows behind, sits down on the bed while you go through your closet.

“I’m sure I could find ways to tempt you not to work,” you say, pushing dresses down the rack until you find one you like: it’s an emerald green mid-length dress, with cap sleeves and a slit up the front, not too formal and not too sexy, perfect for the restaurant where you will be eating.

You pull your t-shirt over your head, bend to slide your leggings off, and Aaron makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Consider me tempted.” You turn around, roll your eyes playfully, and put on the dress, sit down next to him to slip your feet into a pair of nude sandals; you lean in for a kiss, palm pressed to his chest, and it quickly becomes something deep, passionate. Aaron brings a hand to rest against your throat, and you have half a mind to take the dress back off and cancel those plans after all, but you know he wouldn’t let you do that anyway.

You pull back, bite your lip, and give him a very pointed once-over, then stand to finish getting ready. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time. “I’m just saying, he should be on the side of a tub of protein powder or something,” Aaron says later as he unlocks the front door, letting you step in before him. “His arms are bigger than his head.”

“He’s a personal trainer, baby. It’s his job to work out and look buff—he’s like a walking billboard for his business.” You slip your shoes off, hook the straps around your finger, and stroll toward the bedroom. “Elena really seemed to like him.”

“I give them three months.” He’s just a few feet behind you when you turn to shoot him a slightly admonishing look, even if he is probably right. “She seemed more focused on his twelve pack than anything else.”

You toss your phone onto the bed, remove your dress with a soft laugh. “Their relationship is still new; it’s all about the physical. You remember when we were like that, don’t you?” You aren’t exactly surprised when he comes up behind you and glides his hand across your bare stomach, when he brushes your hair away from your neck and kisses you there.

“We were never like that. It was never just physical for me,” he breathes into your ear, and you close your eyes, sink back against him, tilt your neck for more kisses. “I loved you before I loved you. I always just knew.”

“Fuck, Aaron,” you sigh, and you lay your arm along the one on your stomach, reach back with the other to press him closer to you. You lick your lips, turn your head so your face is near his, and he leans in to kiss you and slides his hand into your panties, rubs his fingers over your pussy.

You’re already a little wet from his hands on you, his mouth, but as always, he turns you on effortlessly; your face heats, your heart races, your breath quickens. Your pussy becomes almost unbearably slick, your moans against his lips gentle and pleading, and he removes his hand and slides your underwear down, guides you onto the bed.

You watch, panting, as he removes his tie, then takes off his belt, his pants; you can’t go without touching him for long, and you move to sit up so you can reach for him, pull him closer. You work at the buttons of his shirt from the bottom while he starts at the top, and you take it off together, then slip your hands into his boxers and push them down.

You immediately want to take him into your mouth, thick and hard as he is, and you slide your hands up his stomach, beneath his undershirt, in anticipation of that; you don’t get very far before he lays you back on the bed again, on your side this time. His forcefulness makes you ache to have him inside you, and he crowds in behind you, slides an arm beneath you and wraps his hand around you, over your breast, holding you tightly. You tip your head back, whimper, because he’s going to be so good to you as always and the waiting is almost too much to bear.

“You know I’ve got you,” he whispers, squeezing you, and you nod in response; he lifts your leg and hooks it back over his thigh, then pushes inside you, sinks fully into your wet heat. You exhale, a sigh of pleasure, and he mouths at your jaw, nibbles at your ear while he thrusts slowly but completely. “Hmm. This may not be new, but you’re always perfect for me. Doesn’t that feel so good?”

“So good, so good.” It’s difficult for you to really move in this position, though you rock your hips almost involuntarily into his thrusts, but he takes care of you, nips at the back of your neck, pounds inside you, brings you so close so quickly you almost forget to breathe. Your hands are on him anywhere you can reach, desperate for contact. “Aaron, mmm, god.”

“I know, baby.”

He puts his free hand behind your knee, bends your leg, folds it up by your chest so he can pump his cock faster, harder, and you feel surrounded by him—his hands on your body, his hot grunts of effort in your ear, the faint smell of cologne that lingers after a long day familiar to your nose. You're a little overwhelmed by it all, but pleasantly so, and when he comes you come, clenching tightly around him as he spills deep.

“Perfect,” he whispers tensely, nuzzling against your throat, and he slides out, brings your leg down, runs his hands tenderly over your body like you’re something delicate. “I love you.” You turn your head toward him, say it back, and he presses his palm to your cheek, treats you to a deep, wet kiss, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Every time I kiss you, it feels like the first time.”

“For me too,” you say with a tired smile, running your fingers through his hair, and he kisses you again before patting your hip and telling you to go get cleaned up, that he’ll take care of the bedding. When you come back, he’s in his boxers and t-shirt, legs tucked under a fresh comforter, and you slide in next to him and curl up beneath his arm. It’s a couple weeks later when you decide to bring Aaron lunch at the office; things seem much calmer lately, but the team’s cases have been back to back, and he’s been out of town a lot. You have to take the opportunity when you can, and that means showing up with a bag of Mexican food and a smile and hoping he’s not too busy to eat with you.

You get checked into the building and head for the BAU bullpen, stopping to chat with the team for a few minutes. You loosely plan for dinner or drinks in the future, make a promise to pop in and see Penelope before you leave, and then head up to Aaron’s office, knock lightly on the doorframe.

“Hungry, handsome?” Aaron looks up from his stack of paperwork with a smile, then slowly runs his eyes over you—you’re wearing a sweater, jeans, boots, nothing revealing in the slightest, but he makes you feel very warm and very naked nonetheless.

“Yes. For lunch, too,” he says, and you roll your eyes, a little bashful, and enter his office, setting down the bag of food you brought after he clears space on the desk. He stands, pulls you close for a hug and kiss, and then you unpack lunch, spread containers out over the desk. “Burritos? Are you trying to beef me up?” he asks, and you look up at him, lift your brow.

“Were you expecting salads? I’m feeding a super special FBI agent here, you need your strength.”

“We’ve only been living together for five months and it’s already getting hard to button my pants,” he grumbles, but he peels back the foil on the one labeled pollo asado without further complaint, takes the hot sauce when you hand it to him.

“So we’ll go up a size. It’s a good thing you’re not living off of coffee and vending machine protein bars anymore. You’ve been needing someone to feed you up for a while—and besides, I don’t mind if your pants are unbuttoned,” you say, licking sauce off of your thumb. “Nothing hotter than a well-fed Fed.” He rolls his eyes, and you sit down to eat.

When the hour is up, you pack up the leftovers, give him a longer, slower kiss goodbye, and pat his stomach, which makes him groan. “Any harder and the button might pop,” he jokes, and you laugh, shake your head.

“Don’t be dramatic. I love this tummy. Might even grab onto it later, you know?” You slowly wet your lips, then smile, and take a step back, take the paper bag and head out the door. “See you tonight, love you.”

“Devil woman,” he calls after you, and you grin the whole way to Penelope’s office.

“Light in the darkness,” she says when she opens the door to find you on the other side. “How did god know I needed to see an angel today?”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that, but I have some extra chips and guac from lunch if you need a pick me up.” She eagerly accepts your offering, and you take a seat next to her, dip a couple of chips half-heartedly, still full from your burrito. “So how have you been? Busy supporting the cutest group of crime fighters since Scooby Doo?” She laughs, nods her head.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it. When it rains creepy crimes, it pours, apparently. I think we’re all in desperate need of a vacation at this point—and a puppy.” She hits a few keys, pulls up a screensaver that is just a compilation of fluffy puppy photos, and you both sigh.

“Aw, a puppy would be nice. I don’t even dream about vacations anymore; I’ve come to terms with the fact that Aaron will never be the vacationing type.”

“Not even the honeymoon type?” she asks, looking at you over her glasses, and you crunch on a chip, shake your head.

“I doubt it, and we’re not there yet, anyway. I’d consider myself lucky if he took more than two days off in a row.”

“He’s always been like that—working himself too hard,” she says sadly, as if to let you know it has nothing to do with you. You know that, but can’t deny it would be nice to have more than the weekend with him. “As long as I’ve known him, at least.”

“And I get it: what you guys do is important, and I wouldn’t want him to change himself for me. I guess we all just have our things.” You smile, and she does too, reaches out to pat you on the arm.

“Could be worse, honey. Could always be worse.” She hits a few keys on the keyboard again, and up pops a man’s mugshot. “This guy’s girlfriend had to find out he’s been killing women and chopping them up in an industrial food processor.”

You’re glad you already had lunch, because the imagery is enough to make you lose your appetite for several hours.

Your stomach eventually comes around, and you and Aaron have a quiet dinner—chicken, potatoes, and “a salad, since you’re watching your figure now” you tease—and then you ask if he’d be okay with calling it a night a little early. He agrees, and you take him to bed and undress, then slowly pull off all his clothes, running your hands over his body as you go.

“So big and strong,” you murmur as you brush your palms over his shoulders, press your lips to his bare chest. “Unbearably sexy.”

“Used to be stronger,” he sighs as you trail your mouth lower, sink to your knees, smooth your hands down his thighs.

“I used to be perkier; still want me, don’t you?” You look up at him, wink, and he reaches down to cup your cheek with a big hand; you nuzzle into it, happy, content, just like always.

“I’ll always want you.”

“Good. And I’ll always want you.” Just in case the words aren’t enough, you bring your hands to his stomach, massage it a little, run your tongue slowly over the length of his cock. “Mmm. Lay down for me?”

He does, and you climb on top of him, lean in to kiss him slowly, deeply, skimming neatly trimmed nails over his chest. You kiss along his throat, down to his stomach, and then wrap a hand around the base of his dick and put your mouth on him, the other hand pressed lightly against his stomach while you suck him off.

Your pace is easy, your hand moving in time with your tight lips and hollow cheeks, and you squeeze his tummy, moan your pleasure, and flick your eyes up to his face. His lips are soft around a sigh, but his brows are tensely knit, and he brings a hand to your chin, caresses you lightly when he floods your mouth, when you swallow for him and lick him clean.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, and you crawl up his body, kiss his cheeks and his lips and then whimper when he presses your back against the bed.

His fingers find you soft and wet and open, and he pushes two of them inside, leans over you to mouth wetly at your throat, your breasts. You weave your fingers into his hair, grip his shoulder, moan his name, and he makes you come quickly, expertly, in that practice makes perfect kind of way. He kisses your lips as you sigh, sink against the bed, then rubs his hand over your chest and hums.

“Perky,” he says in your ear, and then you both laugh, and you pull him down on top of you for a quick cuddle before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A couple of Fridays later, it’s your turn to host girls night, so you’re in the kitchen putting together a charcuterie board and mixing up cocktails when Aaron walks in, looking casual and cuddly in jeans and a quarter-zip fleece sweatshirt. You know he plans to set up camp in his office, but you kind of wish he wouldn’t just so you’d get to look at him some more.

“Gorgeous man,” you say, peering up at him as you wrap your arm around his waist. “Can I interest you in a paloma?” You lift up a pink cocktail and he laughs lightly, guides your hand back toward the counter.

“You can’t, but I will take a beer for the road.” You shrug your shoulders, let him go so he can walk over to the fridge; you take a sip of the drink you offered him, wince a little—it’s a bit strong for a girls night in, but it won’t kill anyone—and Aaron caches the expression, holds back a smile. “Are you going to end up drunk tonight? Should I prepare for the worst?”

“Ha ha. I don’t plan on it, but if I do, just throw me over your shoulder and put me to bed.”

“It’s cute that you think that works,” he says, bending to kiss you on the cheek, and then the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it, baby. Keep… rearranging your cheese.” He smiles, you smile back, a little exasperated, and he goes to answer the door.

A short time later, you and your friends are gathered in the living room, sprawled across the sectional sofa with drinks and snacks. You’re maybe a little tipsy, and when the topic turns to Elena’s now ex-boyfriend, the personal trainer, you’re just uninhibited enough to weigh in.

“I don’t know what you saw in him anyway. He spent so much time in front of the mirror, I would have been insecure that he was going to leave me for himself.” Your friend Jada laughs, and you preen, take another sip of your drink.

“She just misses his dick; the new guy isn’t working with much. What’s his name? Chester? Charlie?”

“Clifford,” Elena says, pulling out her phone, “and no, he’s not working with much, but he’s really cute. Look at him.” She shows you a photo from her camera roll, and Clifford looks just like the personal trainer, but with brown hair instead of blond.

“Not my type,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, “but clearly he’s yours, so congrats, really. You can work around the small dick thing.”

“What is your type?” your other friend Michelle asks. “I’ve never been able to pin it down.” You open your mouth to answer but frown after a moment.

“I’ve never really had one, I guess. I know what I don’t find attractive, but what I do find attractive?” You think on it for a minute, and all you can imagine is what you already have. You can’t help smiling wide. “I mean, if I had to say, I guess just Aaron.” Your friends chime in with a chorus of aww, and you shush them. “I just think he’s perfect, you know? He’s smart and sweet and secretly funny; tall, and strong, but not in a ‘spends all day at the gym’ way—no offense. He’s a little softer, I can wrap myself up in his arms. It’s nice.”

“I’m with you,” Jada says. “A hard body might be nice to look at, but I need something to grab onto in the middle of the night.”

“Yes! Something to grab onto, and Aaron is perfect for that. He’s such a good cuddler, and he’s heavy, in a sexy way, like when he’s on top of me.” Okay, so you’re definitely a little drunk, never this loose-lipped about your sex life, but it’s all true regardless. “And he’s nice to look at—so nice to look at. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

You could go on talking about Aaron for the rest of the night, but topics change and you have enough sense not to ramble any further; you don’t have the sense to stop drinking, though, so by the time your friends leave, you’re puttering around trying to clean up the kitchen, and not doing a very good job of it. Aaron finds you, makes a soft sound and puts his arms around you from behind, effectively stilling your motions.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, and you sink back against his body, sigh happily.

“I want to go to bed—I want to go to bed with you. I always want to go to bed with you, because I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I love you, and we’re going to go to bed right now. We can clean up tomorrow.” You let him lead you down the hall, but you only make it halfway to the bedroom before you turn around in his arms, try to pull him down to your level. He’s so tall it can sometimes be annoying.

“I love you. I want you, always. You’re my type.” He laughs, bends to kiss you softly and tries to walk you backward toward the bedroom.

“Thank you. You’re my type, too, and I want you always.” You nod, because that’s good. You should be his type, since he loves you. That just makes sense.

“I want a puppy—a fluffy baby puppy with you. I’ll be the puppy mom and you’ll be the puppy dad.”

“A puppy,” he repeats, and you make it to the bedroom: you can tell because he sits you gently on the bed, helps get you out of your jeans. “We could get a puppy, if that’s something you want. I can walk it in the mornings before work, you can walk it on your lunch.”

You make a happy sound, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. You figure asking for one more thing can’t hurt, while you’re on a roll.

“I want a vacation, too, please. A beach vacation—I want to see you in swim trunks, your hair all wet, and I want to feel your skin warm from the sun.” He pulls your top over your head and walks away from you; when you make a sound of protest, he assures you he’ll be right back, and he returns with one of his t-shirts, helps you put it on.

“You want a beach vacation?” He turns down the bed, maneuvers you under the covers, then starts undressing himself. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. Just want to go away with you,” you say, and you can feel yourself drifting now that you’re cozy in bed, wearing Aaron’s clothes, soft pillows all around you. “A vacation, or a—a honeymoon.”

Aaron says something in response to that, but you can’t make it out, too busy falling asleep and imagining the scent of sunscreen and the feel of thick fingers rubbing it into your shoulders. You wake with a bit of a headache, and a dry mouth, and a warm body at your back, an arm loosely slung around your waist. You groan and press back against Aaron, and he leans forward to brush his lips over your ear and chuckle lightly against it.

“I think you went a little overboard,” he says, and he smooths your unruly bedhead back away from your face. “There’s water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. If you’re feeling up to it, I think a shower would do you some good. I’ll make breakfast.” He presses several soft kisses to your cheek and chin, and you close your eyes, hum your contentment.

“I love you, do you know that?”

“I do know that,” he breathes, and he runs his hand over your hip in a way that makes you wish you had more energy and less aching in your temples. “You said it a lot last night—I also couldn’t help overhearing you say I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”

“Well that’s true. Incredibly handsome,” you agree tiredly, and he presses his lips to your neck in the form of soft, smacking kisses.

“You also said you wanted a honeymoon,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes comically wide, slide up to a seat, look down at his face to try to read his expression.

“I did?” He nods, clearly trying not to smile at your surprise.

“Yes, you did. I’m not clear on the details, though—would that include a wedding, or were you planning on skipping over that part?” You lean over him, hide your face against his shoulder, and he laughs softly, rubs his hand up and down your back. “We’ve never talked about it, but it seems that’s something I should have at least brought up. We just took our time moving in together, and I didn’t want to rush that if you weren’t ready. Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and you pull back to look at him—his open expression, soft features, curious eyes.

“In theory, or in practice?” You have to ask, because this is Aaron, and he’s amazing, but he’s not a grand gestures type of man—if he’s asking you to marry him, you want to be very clearly on the same page to avoid miscommunication. He smiles, runs his hand down your arm.

“In theory.” You think of what it would mean, how it would feel, being married to the best man you’ve ever met, the kindest, most open-hearted (if occasionally grumpy) person, and the answer comes easily.

“Yes, I’m ready in theory.” His smile grows, and you match it, leaning down for a kiss. Then, he moves out from under you, reaches behind himself, into his nightstand, and rummages around for a moment before returning with a blue velvet box that he just holds, so casually, in his hand.

“How about in practice?” Your heart sinks to your stomach in the best way, and you can’t find the words even though you know exactly what you want to say. You bite your lip, and your eyes water a little; Aaron presses his palm to your cheek, and you meet in the middle for a slow, sweet kiss, exhaling softly when you pull apart.

You nod your head.

“Yes, I’m ready in practice.” You kiss again, a bit less sweet, weaving your fingers into his hair, and he pulls you down, makes you laugh, covers you with his body and kisses your face until you’re both out of breath.

“That’s good, because I want to make an honest woman out of you if we’re going to have a baby.” You freeze beneath him—did you talk about children last night, too, in your drunken haze?—and he chuckles, leans back so you can better see his face. “A fluffy baby puppy, remember? I’ll be the puppy dad and you’ll be the puppy mom.” You smack his chest, which he finds hilarious, and then you put your hands on his arms and sigh.

“Let me see that ring, please.” He props himself up on his elbows, opens the box for you: it’s sparkling, beautiful, exactly what you would have chosen for yourself, and you pluck it out, hold it up, and then hand it back so he can slide it onto your finger. “How long has this been in that drawer?”

“Since you moved in,” he says, and he takes your hand, kisses it, and admires your new accessory. “It was in my sock drawer before that, and I’m honestly not sure how long it was there. Two years, at least.” You frown just so you won’t cry, and he leans in to press his lips to the downturned curve of yours. “I told you, I always just knew.”

You deepen the kiss, run your hands over his sides beneath the soft t-shirt he slept in; his fingers move to the hem of the t-shirt you slept in as if to remove it, and you pause, pull back.

“No, wait, I’m gross. How are you even kissing me right now?” Aaron rolls his eyes, presses his mouth to yours repeatedly despite your half-hearted protests.

“Because I don’t care about morning breath, I’m marrying you.” He puts his hands in your hair, continues kissing, and you know resistance is futile; he wants you regardless, just as you are, and you would feel the same if roles were reversed—you do, every day.

“Mmh, okay but. At least let me. Shower first,” you mumble against his lips, and he rolls his eyes, leans back so he’s on his knees hovering over you, hands on his thighs.

“Would that make you feel better?” You nod happily, and he climbs off the bed, pulls you to your feet. “In that case, you go shower, and I’ll make breakfast as planned. And then, if your conditions are met, princess,” you wrinkle your nose, and then you both laugh, “I think I would like to make love to my fiancée, if that’s something that would interest you.”

“I’m very interested in that,” you agree, winding your arms around his neck, and you allow him one more kiss before you shuffle toward the shower, standing under the spray long enough to feel fully human again.

You drink the water, take the ibuprofen, and throw on his quarter-zip sweatshirt from the night before, and then meet him for eggs, toast, fruit, and kisses. He’s cleaned up the mess from last night, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and you fall a little bit in love all over again.

After breakfast, you make it as far as the couch, flat on your back with the sweatshirt hiked up around your stomach and Aaron’s head between your thighs; you moan, tug on his hair as he drags his tongue repeatedly through the wetness that clings to your pussy, and when he makes you come you close your legs around his shoulders, squeezing tightly, back arching off of the couch.

“Mmm. Should have locked you down a lot sooner,” you pant, encouraging him to climb on top of you. He licks his lips and leans in for a warm, soft kiss.

“I’ve been locked down since our first date. You wore a blue dress and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You pull his shirt over his head, and he pushes his boxers off, guides his cock inside you and plants his hands, noses along your cheek. “And now you’re mine.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex in broad daylight—or the living room, for that matter—so each roll of his body, heavy and smooth against yours, is that much hotter as the sun shines in through the window, as birds chirp from the tree just outside. Your moans feel louder, more indecent, and you hold onto his ass, run a hand up his back, while he groans in your ear, whispers things like fuck and baby and mine.

“Aaron, please,” you sigh, digging your fingertips into his hips, and he kisses you, thrusts harder, knows what you need without having to hear it. He’s getting close too, huffs hot breath against your cheek, and you squeeze him tighter, press up against him. “Yes, hmm. I’ve got you, baby.” You move a hand to his hair, carding fingers through it, and he rests one gently over your throat, kisses you deep and wet, passionate, pounds against you until he comes.

He slides his hand down your body, rubs his fingertips over your clit, and this time your orgasm is softer, and you bite at his shoulder just to feel more connected, even though he is still inside you, heavy above you. You cling to him, catch your breath, and then you kiss a little before hurrying to get cleaned up and hoping you don’t make a mess of the couch.

When you reconvene in the living room, windows open, curtains blowing softly in the breeze, Aaron is on the couch with his laptop on his thighs. You plop down next to him, peer over his shoulder, and he raises his eyebrow and smiles.

“What do you think of Golden Retrievers?” You rest your head against him, look at the screen full of fuzzy yellow puppies, and sigh, content.

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dragynkeep · 3 years

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Since you are critiquing RWBY designs, let’s give some love(or hate) to the b team, JNR + Oscar and their Atlas designs (genuinely think they got the better end of the stick in terms of designs, at least compared to RWBY)

Hell yeah, let's go besties.

Now, I don't think ORNJ's designs are as bad as RWBY's but they honestly aren't that great either. JNR peaked in Mistral and Oscar's always had mediocre designs with his original and updated ones.

Now, obviously I'm gonna start off with the thing that we all started to make fun of as soon as we saw Jaune's new outfit. The hair.

Really, I think it's a similar issue to Blake. The modelling really wasn't done well and made it look more like bananas, but when you look more at the back, it's really not that bad of a haircut. Obviously, Ein Lee draws the hair cuter than what it looks in the show.

Is it a big jump from Jaune's original hairstyle? Yeah, but I think that big contrast could do well in showing him finally getting over his insecurities and embracing his Huntsman lifestyle fully. If they stopped making jokes about how Jaune still screws up.

Really, this isn't that bad of an outfit. Jaune always has the best outfit progressions of the group and it's because he really doesn't deviate away from his core style. His black jumper with the white and gold armour remains, along with the red sash and jeans. It's all the same, but updated both for the environment and for Jaune's character.

He's got more protective boots for the snow, along with protective leather that looks secured to his lower legs, protecting places where his armour doesn't. The sash has gotten smaller, likely to show that while he misses Pyrrha, he's starting to finally move on from her, and the jumper looks updated and more mature compared to his Pumpkin Pete one from before.

The colours are all the same. I do think he's wearing just a few too many colours and could really benefit from his palette slimming down a bit. He's got yellow, orange, red, brown, blue, black and white on him. Really, a character should have no more than four colours on their design, especially since most of the group follows that.

Overall, I like it. The only things I'm not a fan of is the style of the jumper. I don't like the collar being held closed by a belt and the lopsided look of it. Jaune already has a bit of asymmetry with his sash, having the jumper do it too in the same place is a bit redundant.

How can a character downgrade so hard?

This is a legitimate question. Nora’s Mistral outfit was her best outfit, both design and colourwise, but this outfit just goes so far from that look while jumping right into a weird fashion for Nora.

She looks like she came straight out of Kingdom Hearts. Nora has a heart theme to her design, she has the heart shaped boob window on her shirts and her emblem, but the hearts on her dress are just so distracting and look tacky. The design is overcluttered with random lines and belts holding segments together, and that dress looks even worse for Atlas than her last one.

Legit, her Mistral outfit looked better for Atlas than this. Why are her thighs showing, why are her shoulders showing? Nora was wearing a sleeved jacket when she came to Atlas, why did she randomly decide to get rid of it and just have ugly long white gloves instead? Both Jaune and Ren are wearing more suitable outfits, but why is Nora not allowed to cover up in the cold?

The boots aren’t anything like her laced up boots from both Beacon and Atlas, and they’ve designed like every pair of boots are in this arc? They look so ugly, and this is also because the metal isn’t shaded like metal and just look grey.

The colours are all haphazard now. The dark navy she used previously has no been replaced with a bright cyan, and now we lost that contrast and most of the blue. The dark blue jacket made the red collar pop and the white sweater underneath stand out. It was right in the middle of her body so everything near it stood out in comparison.

But now it’s all light colours with some blacks thrown in. Where’s the red that was meant to connect her to Pyrrha? Has she just gotten over it and threw red out, I liked that lil’ accent colour on her outfit.

Now, as a positive, I do actually like the metal cuffs on her arms. They’re cute and not only look like Pyrrha’s, but have the wings to call back to Nora’s allusion. I’d remove the ones on her legs, but the arms ones are a nice touch.

Overall, just scrap this outfit. Start again, there’s nothing worth keeping that can’t be done better.

Yeah, that’s a no from me, dawg.

It’s by means as bad as Nora’s, but Ren’s outfit here really does just regress from what he got in Mistal. Not only did they make the model slimmer with a rounder face, but they put his hair back in the ponytail rather than keeping it out like it was in Mistral. It just sells a more youthful appearance and calls back to when Ren was still in school, when really this is when you want him to look his most mature as a licensed Huntsman.

Really, his top part looks so cluttered. You have far more lines and details on his shirt now, and the giant arm guard on his right arm with the neon pink armpit that just looks bad. Its way too much concentrated on his top half, and without the coat tails on his shirt like in his other outfits, his plain white pants and boots look boring in comparison.

It also just looks like it wouldn’t do it’s job properly. Sure, Ren’s right arm is more protected, but the knife is in a position where it looks like he can’t even pull it out properly. You could put that guard down on his leg for a better position, and add some interest down there.

Same as Nora, where’s most of his red gone? Where’s the circlets around his arms that were for Pyrrha? If Jaune can still keep his sash, why can’t Nora and Ren keep the parts of their designs meant to symbolise their fallen friend. He still has those red robes on his shirt like before, and I like the bells on them now, but it’s very minimal compared to what he used to have.

At least it’s more than Nora.

The boots are fine. Pretty plain, but cover his feet for warmth and protection, and I like the metal decals that stayed from his Mistral outfit. They’re nice and I like when Ren has more flower motifs on his design.

Really, this whole outfit makes him looks so thin. Ren’s previous outfit was quite streamlined, but he had the coat tails and baggier pants to give him some padding. Not to mention his actual model had his bulk out a bit more compared to Beacon. My boy’s shrunk again.

Why does Oscar not have any promotional poses like the rest of the group? I know CRWBY forgot about him but damn.

I’m sorry, Oscar, I know you’d been waiting for a new outfit eversince Jaune threw you into the wall, but this has got to be such a downgrade from the original outfit, which wasn’t even anything super special to begin with.

Cool, he’s wearing green like Ozpin, but combined with the red it’s just so bad to look at. Green and red are contrasting colours, like blue/orange or purple/yellow, but you shouldn’t be using contrasting colours this much. Use the green for the jacket with different shades to help add a bit of details, but keep the red as many an accessory on his sash to separate the white shirt and black pants, rather than keeping the orange.

Because this now makes a really ugly colour palette. You have the black and white for neutral shades, but then there orange, red, green, silver and copper, with his gloves being a brighter orange than his sash and buttons. It’s way too many colours that contrast each other, you should really stick with a palette that compliments each other and one contrast for an accent.

Think Weiss and Blake. Weiss uses white, blue, black for minor details, and her collar was a bright red. Not only was it a contrasting colour, but it was concentrated in one place for emphasis to that area, it being Weiss’ face. Blake uses black and white, with purple and yellow for accents.

The purple was tinting her tights to add a bit of colour, keep her boots from blending into her tights, and to allude to the Belladonna flower that she’s named after. The yellow is in her eyes, and later on in the minimal metal on her body. A nice contrast to the purple, but used sparingly as to not overpower Blake’s palette.

But here, Oscar’s wearing a long green coat with big splotches of red everywhere. It’s on his shoulders, his arms, his belt, and his boots are mostly red. The neutral black and white are on the lowest parts of his body under the layers, and are just being overpowered by these two strong colours. Nevermind the random use of orange really doesn’t help.

Tone it back. Get rid of the orange if you want to use red, and keep the green, black and white his main colours similar to Ren.

Now the actual outfit design is meh. The biggest downfall is just the jacket. I don’t like how it’s styled, and the gaps between his sleeves and his gloves look so dumb. Also, again, why is he wearing so many belts? The belts on his arms are distracting and disrupt the flow of his jacket, the one across his stomach just above the sash does nothing and further covers up the white shirt, and the fact that they’re red just adds to the problem.

The main belt being red could work if the rest of his colour palette was more controlled, but it’s not so these just look ugly.

Overall, it’s mainly the colour that’s bringing him down and the jacket. Change a few things about it, get rid of the many belts, and just calm down with the green and red colours on him.

#rwby #outfit critiques #rwde #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #oscar pine #answered #luke.txt

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smutandfluffohmy · 4 years

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Restricted Section

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin! Reader X Fred Weasley Warnings: Smut!, (French special), there’s some spanking in there, NO twincest! they share you but don’t touch each other in that way A/N: Sorry for missing last weeks ‘His Sweater’ update, I’ve been really tired lately. Maybe it’s too much coffee or too little? Also I have midterms this week nobody tell my professors this is what I’m doing. A/N 2: They’re very different when they do the old devils tango but that’s just what I thought fit their personalities don't come for me Request: Hi! I love your writing and wanted to request a Fred x reader x George (preferably smut if you’re comfortable writing it) and if you don’t want to write the reader with both of the twins you can pick. There’s just not enough Weasley twin love on tumblr. Also can the reader be Slytherin or at least house neutral? Thank you ❤️❤️

Class ended early, you and your friend Flora walked with a very gloomy Draco Malfoy that likes to annoy older students to seem more interesting than he actually is. Your other friend,Blake, was making their way very annoyed and very much covered in some sort of colorful powder. “Whoa what happened to you?” You asked looking them up and down.

Blake shook their robes as powder of all different colors fell of their robes “Got caught in one of Weasleys pranks.” they said, hitting at the Slytherin tie that will never be solely green and silver again.

“Fred and George?” Flora asked wiping some of the powder that got on her own robes.

“Yea.” Blake said absentmindedly, before looking up at your face before scoffing. “Stop drooling!” Blake said clapping their powdered covered hands at you making the front of your sweater covered with bits of blue and yellow.

“Oh what I wouldn’t do to be between them.” You laughed.

Blake laughed and shoved you a bit “You’re disgusting.”

“To keep warm!” You laughed and attempted to defend yourself, your friends were more than aware on your crush on certain Weasleys but Draco Malfoy wasn't your friend.

Draco scoffed walking in front of the three of you “Blake’s right you’re disgusting to be talking like that especially about a Weasley.”

You laughed again but this time at Draco and his air of importance “I think they’re fit. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t eat them up if you got the chance.”

Flora laughed pretending to be disgusted “Lalala can’t hear you.”

“You’re a disgrace to Slytherin.” Draco said wagging a disapproving finger at you.

“Shouldn't you be off snogging Parkinson?” the three of you laughed shoving past him, leaving him to stay stunned in the middle of the hallway.

Being a prefect was great, rewarding, yada yada yada all that people thought being a prefect was, was in fact tru. It was also a great pain in the ass, especially on the days when you got to patrol around the school looking for any wondering housemates before any of the other prefects could.

The library was your last stop before you called it a night and went off to bed. Two tall figures came out of the dark, the only source of light was your wand.

“Merlin! what are you two doing here?”You said after you composed yourself after getting scared half to death. “This could easily be 50 points from Gryffindor so I suggest you tell me why you two are in the library in the dead of night.” You said scolding George and Fred who were in front of you leaning against book cases with their ever present smiles on their faces.

“We need your help with something” Fred said hooking his finger on the top of your tie, tugging it loose. Your face was burning and the words you wanted to say weren’t reaching your mouth. Instead you swatted his hand away trying your best to keep your wits.

“We’d really owe you one.” George said taking a step towards you.

Straightening yourself up you looked up at the two of them, having not a bloody clue what they were going on about “I have half a mind to tell Flich.”

“I don’t think you’d want Flich to join us for what we had in mind.” George said picking off something from the front of your robes.

You swallowed, rolling your shoulders back at a failed attempted to be seen as taller, a tad bit more intimidating “And what exactly did you have in mind?” You asked.

Fred smiled leaning down to tug at your tie once more “You tell us we over heard you.” he said.

Grabbing your tie away from him your face grew red, knowing exactly what he was referring to “I don’t kn-” you lied

“In the halls.” Fred said squinting his eyes at you trying to see when it will all click for you.

“You should really talk about things like that somewhere private.” George said trailing his hand down your arm.

“I-I’m sorry.” You said. and it was all you could say, there was obviously no point in denying it now.

“So are you interested?” Fred said. It took a moment to register exactly what he was saying but by the hook on your robes and Georges hand hovering over your arm. You reckoned that it would at least be a good time, you nodded in agreement “Use your words love.”

“Yes. Yes I want to do it.” You nodded. But what were you agreeing to? A messy snog behind the Herbology books? or something more?

Fred laughed cupping your face to look up at him “Shivering? Naughty.” which made you shiver under his touch even more.

George leaned in for a kiss, that you returned. His lips against yours, slowly biting at your bottom lip a bit. “That’s ten points from Slytherin.” He said.

Fred played with the loops of your pants waiting for a sign that you wanted to keep going. Un-buttoning your pants he took it as a sign to keep going, as he pulled down your pants “Another ten here.” he said, the cold air hitting your now bare thighs.

George played with the waistband of your underwear, as he ran his finger across the fabric. “Another fifteen there” he said smiling into the kiss

“What if someone walks in.” You said. Looking up at them despite always being aware of how tall the twins are you never had them tower over you this closely.

“The more the merrier.” Fred laughed before you slapped him on the arm. “Ouch” He said still grinning as he pretended to rub at his arm.

“Don’t worry we’ll take care of it.” George said waving away all of your concerns.

Your hands were shaking placing them on Georges chest leaning in for a kiss, he placed his hands on the sides of your face. Stroking your face gently with his thumb, Fred reached over unbuttoning your shirt. His hands were cold, his fingers traced your chest pushing your shirt to the side he bit the soft skin of the nape of your neck.

George stopped and used his index finger to make you look up at him“Are you okay?” He said looking into your eyes for any hint of unease “We can stop whenever you want to.”

Shaking your head you answered him “No. Please don't stop.” you said placing your hand over his.

“See they’re a good little prefect.” Fred said his hard dick pressed against your thigh, making you melt into him further.

Shaky hands you reached behind you, your hand slithering down Fred’s shaft. “Cat got your tongue Fred?” You said smiling smug at how the tables changed.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George.”

Everything moved too quickly and before you knew it you were on your hands and knees on the cold wooden floor.Fred got behind you nudging your knees apart. Fred positioned himself behind you, your heart thumped against your chest.

You fingers flexed, a shudder going through your body as Freds tip teased you. In frustration you leaned backwards making Fred suck in air and a string of curses, wincing you sunk deeper. He placed his hands on your back trying to keep you in place .

George was hesitant to go through with it. “George please.” You muttered out, your voice low and filled with lust. You asking was all that took for George to shuffle forward. His dick missing your mouth and the tip and shaft slapping you on the face.

George tried once more and this time he enters it slowly in your mouth. You slobbered on George’s dick, being trusted further by Fred making your eyes sting with tears. George cupped your cheek with his hand, wiping away a tear that was rolling down your cheek.

You wanted to know what George tasted like but all you could taste was his shaft that was pressed against your tongue.Your drool was dripping down your chin and hitting the floor.

Fred pushes himself in further, you could feel every inch of of him inside of you.Moans and pleas got stuck in your throat, the vibrations making George shudder.

You pressed your hands and knees against the hard floor trying your best to keep steady. To stay upright. Worried that your shaky hands and legs will give out from under you.

Fred pushed himself out, his hands gripped your hips tightly before pushing himself back in. Your eyes rolled back wanting to touch them but instead you were left with them touching you and being unable to do the same.

The libraries overwhelming smell of old books was something you never got used to even after all the years you spent at Hogwarts. But now all you could smell was George and Fred.

George's hands were placed on your head holding your hair back. Maybe it was out of the kindness of his heart or maybe he was just trying to keep himself steady.Fred’s palms rested on your sides, his fingers digging into your hips.

Moving your head up and down softly sucking on his dick but not giving him enough to get off, his fingers gripping handfuls of your hair. Your moans and whimpers got stuck in your throat, Fred’s hand slapping your ass then grabbing handfuls of it. Leaving a pulsating sensation that would disappear in seconds.

“Shit.” Was all Fred said before he cummed inside of you, sighing and collapsing against a book case in a mess of sweat and pants. His ginger hair pressed against his forehead, his body coated in a glistening layer of sweat.

You tugged your legs under you, feeling the cum travel down your leg.You grabbed George’s shaft pumping up and down, George let out a moan throwing his head back. A string of incoherent curses left his mouth, tugging at your hair in between fistfuls.Your hand moved up and down, your thumb swiping across the head before taking him in your mouth again.

Your legs were going numb underneath you, and your eyes stung as tears rolled down your face.George shuddered around your touch letting out a deep throaty moan, cumming inside your mouth. Strings of cum ran down your chin before swallowing, finally able to sit between the twins you were trying to steady their breathing.

“You okay?” George asks holding you up right before you could collapse in front of them.

Fred laughed “Don’t go dying on us.” he said pinching your cheek lovingly.

Getting to bed was a haze. You started to think that last night was all a pleasant dream but the marks and soreness begged to differ.

You didn’t want to get out of bed, you didn’t want to wake up and you definitely didn’t want to have to walk around a ridiculously large school when you walked weird just getting out of bed.

Your friends that were already sitting at the Slytherin table waved you over “Come sit! I heard from Lavender Brown that a 5th year Ravenclaw told her that Melvin Catterrick said he thinks he overheard Draco has a crush on someone. You’ll never bloody guess who! ” Flora said excitedly and hurriedly beckoning you to sit down.

“Can you just tell me standing here?” You asked tugging at the hem of your sweater making sure to keep your hickeys hidden.

Dalton said shaking their head “No common we’re all going to guess!”

“I can't.”

“Why not?” Your friend asked as the rest of them looked up confused at you.

“I-I have a headache. Feels like my heads splitting right down the middle.” You said in fake pain grabbing your head.

“and a sore ass, red handprints on my ass, a sore throat and hickeys that will have me wearing scarves for a while.” You thought to yourself, trying your best to ignore Fred and George.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #Fred Weasley x reader #Fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley smut #George Weasley smut

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chaoticpuff17 · 3 years

Text

Suga, We’re Going Down

part 13

masterlist

hello, my darlings! I have another update for ya’ll! the moment you have all been waiting for! *laughs evilly and slinks back into my cave*--- chaotic puff

Eun Jae was either more upset by the incident than she had realized, or more likely, he had picked up on how shaken she was. The little boy had been glued to her side since she’d gotten off the phone with Yoongi. All he wanted was cuddles, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was for his sake or hers.

They’d both turned in for an early evening, after an afternoon of Pororo, coloring, cuddles, and bath time for the toddler.

The next day found the pair in much the same position. Y/N hadn’t even bothered getting them out of comfy clothes. What was the point when it was just going to be a lazy day with her favorite little guy? It was a normal day for them for the most part, until there was a knock on the door.

A quick glance told her that Eun Jae was thoroughly invested in the opening of Finding Nemo with his favorite stuffed dinosaur firmly clutched in his little arms, and she went to the door, expecting to find Nina on the other side.

She opened the door, shocked to see Yoongi standing on the other side. Hadn’t they agreed that her home was a private space? What was he doing here? Why hadn’t he called first?

“Yoongi?”

“Y/N.” he greeted, eyes darting over her figure. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine.” she stuttered eyes wide with shock.

He sighed in relief, a slight smile spreading across his features only to fall away as a little figure poked its head out from behind her legs. She hadn’t even noticed Eun Jae following after her?

“Who’s that, Eomma?” the little voice called, staring up at Yoongi with wide dark eyes.

She pasted on a smile of her own, placing a hand on the little boy’s head reassuringly. “He’s a friend of Eomma’s.” he tugged on her leg, frowning in disbelief, and she responded immediately by lifting him up and resting him on her hip in a move that was so easy, so natural, that Yoongi knew she had to do it often.

“Like the weird man?” he asked, curling his fingers into the neckline of her shirt.

“Not quite, baby.”

“Bad man?” he asked, eyes wide and worried.

“No, baby. He’s not a bad man.” the last thing she needed was for Eun Jae to be more stressed after yesterday’s events.

A million thoughts were racing through Yoongi’s head.

An eomma? Why hadn’t any of his research shown this? She had a child. There he was staring back at him trying to figure him out just as much as he was, both of them confused by the current situation.

He had to admit that there was something of Y/N in the child’s face, but how could there be a child? She’d been a virgin up until fairly recently. There was no way that the child was hers. He couldn’t be, and yet he looked so much like her and someone else though Yoongi couldn’t quite put his finger on who it was yet.

There was a sister. Wasn’t there? And if he remembered correctly, there might have been a vague mention of a pregnancy, but he couldn't recall exactly what the circumstances were. He hadn't really been focused on the sister, especially since the woman didn’t seem to be in her life. But what was the child doing here? And why was he calling her eomma?

The child gave him one last distrustful look before burying his head in Y/N’s neck.

“What are you doing here?” she asked swaying gently on her feet, a calming motion for both her and the little one.

“I came to see if you were alright. You said you were sick.” he answered still a little stunned by the sight of the child.

“My home is off limits.” she reminded him, voice strained.

“I can see why.” he huffed, eyes still glued to the little boy.

She stiffened, her grip tightening around the child. “You should go.”

“Eomma!” the little one called out, still hiding his face in her neck. “Nemo?”

“Sure, baby.” she smiled, setting the kid down and moving further into the little apartment.

The child paused, staring up at Yoongi for a moment before he seemed to come to a conclusion.

He reached up a little hand and grabbed Yoongi’s tugging him into the apartment.

The apartment was small but cozy. It bore the evidence of both Y/N and the child’s residency. There were textbooks next to coloring pages on the table, and toys scattered across the floor, not to mention Finding Nemo playing on the TV. Y/N herself looked more comfortable, almost disheveled, more so than he had ever seen her before. She looked far more like a mom than the cellist he had first set eyes on.

Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was dressed in a baggy pink sweater and a pair of leggings. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting guests, but Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to care about that right now. There was a child.

The little boy plopped back down letting go of his hand and picking up a dinosaur plushie turning his attention back to the children’s movie. When he noticed that Yoongi hadn’t joined him on the floor, he looked up almost offended. There was a quick tug on his pant leg, and Yoongi sat down without a second thought.

Both boys noticed that Y/N wasn’t with them though. She was staring from a few feet away, stiff and frightened. Eun Jae wasn’t having that though.

“Eomma!” he called, reaching out to her with the hand that wasn’t clutching onto the dinosaur.

She responded immediately, coming to stand beside them. “Do you want to sit on the couch or is it floor time?” she asked, waiting for a response before she sat down.

“Floor.” the little boy chirped, sending his mother a wide, scrunchy grin that wrinkled his little nose.

“Okay, Jae Jae.” she smiled fondly, sitting down next to him on the side opposite Yoongi.

“Jae Jae?” he asked, still trying to figure things out.

“Eun Jae.” the little boy piped up. “This is Bambam.” he grinned holding out his dinosaur.

“I’m Yoongi.” he introduced himself awkwardly, not sure what to do with this revelation. He wasn’t used to children, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his angel to have one. “That’s a nice dinosaur.”

Eun Jae’s face scrunched up in thought again before he thrust the plushie into Yoongi’s hands. “You can cuddle Bambam. I’ll cuddle Eomma.” Without further ado, he flopped into his mother’s side, making himself comfortable there, and Y/N’s hand immediately went to his head, gently combing through his hair as they all settled in to watch Nemo and his classmates go off on their first day of school.

Neither adult said anything. Y/N wasn’t sure what to say, and Yoongi was still trying to make sense of it all. By the time that the fish had made it to the dentist’s office, Eun Jae had become restless, as toddler’s are prone to do, and moved over to the coffee table to start coloring again.

After a few minutes of that, Eun Jae looked back at Yoongi holding out a crayon to him in a silent invitation to color, one that Yoongi knew better than to refuse. If this was her kid, he needed to be on his good side. If the kid was willing to reach out, he was going to take full advantage of it.

“Can you draw a shark?” the little boy asked him, tilting his head to the side.

“I can try?” he offered reaching for a black crayon, only for the little boy to stop him with a frown.

“No! A purple shark.” he demanded.

Yoongi didn’t quite understand why the shark had to be purple, but he wasn’t going to argue with the kid about it.

After a while of silent coloring, he presented his finished purple shark to the kid. “That’s a bad shark.” the kid deadpanned, earning a laugh from his mother and a scandalized look from Yoongi. “It’s okay.” he patted Yoongi’s arm sympathetically. “Eomma can’t draw good. You’re better.”

“Hey!” Y/N called offended. “See if I ever draw a dinosaur for you again.”

“Can we have snacks?” he asked, looking at her innocently.

“You insult my drawing skill and now you want snacks?”

“Yes pwease!”

“What do you want to eat, buddy?” she asked, rolling her eyes at her son.

“Jajangmyeon!” he called.

“That’s not a snack buddy.”

“But, eomma!” he whined, lips trembling as he pleaded.

“How about we have it for dinner instead?” Yoongi suggested, shocking both himself and Y/N.

The little boy thought for a moment, brow scrunched up as he contemplated the offer. “Okay. Promise?” offering his pinky to the man.

“Promise.” Yoongi agreed, sealing the pinky promise.

“How about gamjajeon for a snack?” she asked, still a little startled by how well her toddler was getting along with a complete stranger. He didn’t usually like strangers. There was also the fact that Yoongi had basically invited himself for dinner as well, but that was a problem for a different moment.

“Okay, eomma!” he smiled. “Can Yoongi have gamjajeon too?”

“Sure, buddy. Yoongi can hav gamjajeon too.” she stood up, giving her son a kiss on the head before moving over to the kitchen to whip up the snack.

The little boy ignored her, having already gotten his request for a snack approved, turning his attention to Yoongi instead. “Can you draw a whale? Sharkie needs a friend.”

“Sure, kid.” he nodded. “Purple whale?” he asked, earning an enthusiastic nod and a scrunchy smile from the kid.

After a while, Y/N came back with two small plates of the fried potato pancakes setting them both down in front of the boys.

“Eomma, look!” Eun Jae held out the picture Yoongi had drawn for him. “Sharkie has a friend now!”

“Wow!” she cheered, her awe a little over exaggerated, but that’s what you did with kids. “That’s so good, buddy!”

“Yoongi drew them!”

“Did you tell Yoongi thank you?”

“Thank you, Yoongi!” he cheered diving into his arms to give him a big hug. As quickly as the hug came, it was gone, leaving Yoongi reeling. “Juice, eomma?”

She nodded, already headed back to the small kitchen. “Would you like anything to drink? We have tea, juice, water, banana milk. I think I still have some coffee left. It’s not as fancy as your coffee, but it’s coffee?”

“Tea would be great.”

She nodded, moving into the kitchen to prepare drinks for everyone while Eun Jae demanded that Yoongi draw jellyfish for him.

Snacks eaten and several more demands for various sea creature drawings later, Eun Jae began to nod off, unsurprising given that it was reaching that point in the afternoon. But if she mentioned naptime while Eun Jae had his new ‘friend’ there, she was bound to get a tantrum, and she didn’t really want to deal with that. So she settled herself on the sofa with a blanket, and Eun Jae made his way over to bury himself in her lap, draggin Yoongi over to the sofa as well. Soon enough, the toddler had drifted off to sleep, leaving the apartment silent except for the last dramatic moments of Finding Nemo.

She would have been a fool not to notice the tension in the air. Yoongi had been great with Eun Jae, taking it all in stride and not demanding answers in front of the child, but the child was asleep now, and there was nothing stopping him from demanding those answers anymore, but she could delay it for a few more minutes.

Making sure that Eun Jae was really out, she scooped up the little boy and moved him to the bed, tucking him in for his nap. The only problem was, now there was nothing left to do.

“I think we need to have a talk, angel.”

part 14

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yandere yoongi #rapper yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga we're going down #suga #yandere suga #suga x reader #agust d #dark romance #sugar daddy au #yandere #soft yandere

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 11 (NSFW)

Masterlist

IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR BESTIES! Thanks as always to @acollectionofficsandshit I think I broke her with this chapter! She also found the song for this chapter so special thanks for that as well ❤

Word Count: 7.6k

Recommended song: “The Man Who Can’t be Moved” by the Script

The steam of the shower cleanses your senses and washes away the sweat from your workout. Crisp September air rushes through the open window and raises goosebumps on your skin as you step out. You turn off the tap and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel in an attempt to ward off the chill. A glance at the clock tells you that you have a half hour to get ready before your date picks you up.

Peter was one of the few guys in your major that paid you any attention. Most of them tolerated you at best but it had never bothered you. You were independent enough that you could make it through class on your own and google what you didn’t understand afterward and learn it before the exam.

It had been fairly easy to fall in with Peter and a few others during the first few weeks of summer classes. What began with group study sessions and quickly developed into hanging out one on one with Peter on the weekends to go to coffee shops or play video games.

When Peter had asked you out two months ago, Pierre's voice nagged in the back of your head. He asked if you were ready to move on from him and if you could really forget him.

The simple answer was no, forgetting him was impossible. No matter how many years passed, he would always own a part of you.

Peter was sweet and he cared about you but you were quickly realizing the bond you shared with him didn't run as deep as it had with Pierre. He started as your friend and you really didn't feel right letting it develop past that. Although you had agreed to that date and plenty more in the time since, it still didn’t feel like a relationship. You had to stop yourself from imagining someone else's arm around you when you lounged on the sofa or someone else's lips kissing you goodnight.

You slip into a form fitting red cocktail dress and sweep your hair over a shoulder, banishing the memory. The person staring back at you in the mirror is a stranger, a ghost of who you once were. You pull your lips into a smile nowhere near as bright as it was months ago.

A knock on your apartment door startles you from your trance. Peter holds a bouquet of flowers, a broad grin on his face. He was handsome in a traditional sense, with a sharp jawline and playful forest green eyes that promised a good time. He was adventurous; a night in wasn’t in the cards. Everything was an event with him and you didn’t mind the distractions one bit.

"You look amazing as always," he says, stepping inside and kissing your cheek. You sniff the flowers lightly. Daisies were some of your least favorite flowers but the gesture was too sweet to point that out.

"So do you," you respond, gaze sweeping from his scuffed wingtip shoes to his crisp blue button down shirt. Ocean blue, washed out against Peter's pale skin, but would have looked perfect on Pierre's golden complexion.

You had to stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere. On more than one occasion, you dropped out of a conversation when you caught a glimpse of blond hair bobbing through a crowd or heard a laugh startlingly similar to his. You couldn’t escape the idea of him whether you liked it or not.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks, touching your elbow.

God, you were so far from okay. Your mind was a melted mess of memories of a blond Frenchman and all the broken promises between the pair of you. This was pointless. You were wasting your time with Peter. He was great and should have been everything you wanted but he just wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry," you start, handing back the flowers. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh thank god," he says, shoulders drooping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't want to be the one to say it." You both laugh, the tension ebbing from your frame.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, "You're amazing. There's just no…"

"Spark," you finish. "Yeah, I agree. Friends?"

You stick out your hand and he shakes it firmly. "Sounds like a plan. No hard feelings. See you in class on Monday?"

"I'll be there."

You slip out of your heels with a sigh, glad you don't have to endure that form of torture any longer. For the first time in months, you allow yourself to scroll through Pierre's Instagram.

Instead of being flooded with personal pictures it had become mostly posed shoots.it was the kind of thing that seemed staged, like he was only posted because his PR team deemed it necessary.

As time went on the content became more and more clinical. He was giving fans less of an insight into his personal life and focusing on racing content. You knew he had probably thrown everything he had into the season in an attempt to move on and you couldn't blame him.

If his Insta was to be believed, he had earned a handful of podiums in the four months since you had mostly lost interest in the sport. After Austin it had been nearly impossible to watch a full race and you had instead been getting your biased updates from Max, who conveniently left out all but the barest details of anyone’s race weekend but his own.

There was no point in trying to convince yourself you no longer felt anything for Pierre. Just scrolling through his page reignites the flame in your chest that had been burning far too dimly for far too long.

Heart pounding, you double tap a photoset of him modeling for Alpha Tauri, the lighting accenting his eyes. Their distinct, rich blue had always been your weakness.

Your fingers find their way to the charm at your throat. You hadn't taken it off once since the gala. It was pointless to deny the sway he still held over you all these months later. Maybe it was time you stopped pretending you were fine and finally give in to the pull.

The past few months have given you plenty of time to reflect. The media would hound you like dogs but at least while you were in London they would leave your family alone. And really, enduring their scrutiny was a small price to pay if it meant loving Pierre.

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, pulling up his contact in your phone. Breaking up with him had been the dumbest decision of your life. You’d watched him from afar as he traveled from grand prix to grand prix, touring cities and sleeping everywhere except where he belonged: curled up next to you in your tiny London flat, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you both fell asleep.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. Fuck what anyone would say. Nothing could be worse than knowing your soulmate was out there and you let him go.

Heart pounding, you type out a text. I miss you.

Shaking your head, you erase it. How are you? Seemed more appropriate.

"Here goes nothing," you murmur and hit send.

**********

It started off as any other free Sunday did: Charles and Charlotte arriving at his apartment carrying snacks and beer which neither of them would tell their trainers about tomorrow and plopping in front of the television to watch the PSG match.

The trio roared at the screen at poor calls and yelled when a goal was scored, all completely lost in the sport.

Pierre absently registers his phone buzzing during the last few minutes of the match but ignores it. PSG comes out on top and he finally checks it, nearly choking on the pretzels he was eating.

How are you?

Pierre has to read it thrice before he’s convinced it’s real.

"Holy fuck," he says softly, tipping the phone so Charles can see.

"Told you mate." He takes Charlotte's hand and stands. Football match completely forgotten, Pierre lifts a hand in a wave as the couple leaves. His eyes are fixed on the screen as he tries to comprehend the gravity your words carry.

After months of waiting in agony and wondering if you still cared, you’d texted him.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his feet on the floor. He was completely weightless, reading your message over and over again until it sinks in.

He takes the three simple words as permission to finally delve back into your life, immediately scrolling through your instagram to catch up. He double taps every post save for the ones with you and some tall, handsome guy. His stomach twists.

Fuck it. Even if you just wanted to catch up, he'd take it. If you told him you were with someone else and you were happy, he'd learn to live with it. He was starved of you and was prepared to beg for crumbs of your life.

I'm fine. You have time for a phone call?

It was a leap but he acknowledged and accepted the risks.

Yeah. That would be good.

You pick up on the second ring.

"Hey."

Pierre squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the lump in his throat. Years of memories rush over him in the space of a breath. The shock in your voice when you found out he was a driver for the first time. Your smile and breathless laugh when you met him in the garage in Brazil after his first podium in Formula 1. The tentative glances he had thrown your way for months after he finally accepted that he had begun to fall for you. The way your velvet lips felt when he made a gamble and kissed you for the first time. The drunken lilt of your voice when you told him you loved him that night in London.

Before he can stop it the bad comes rushing back too. The memory of the terror on your face when he let it slip that you were together sends a chill through him. If there was one moment he could change, it wouldn’t be the time he fucked up and lost his seat at Red Bull. It would be to keep his damned mouth shut at that karting track and preserve the bliss of that day and tuck it away in a bulletproof case that he could pull out and look at whenever he wanted.

"Hey you," he manages, silently thanking whoever is listening that he keeps the tremble out of his voice. "Been awhile."

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says quickly. "You never need to apologize to me."

You were the last one that needed to apologize for anything. He should be the one beginning for forgiveness. It was his fault you’d panicked. He should have fought harder for you, proved that he could make it work and save you both from months of heartache. But then again, maybe you had moved on. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for so long until you clear your throat. For the first time he can recall, the silence is thick and heavy with unspoken words. It had always been effortless, the stories and words flowing like a babbling brook between the two of you. Now the confessions on his tongue remain poised there, too terrified to give them the light of day.

"How's your season been?" He’s thankful you break the quiet first but the question makes his stomach sink.

"You haven't been watching?"

"Not really."

"Oh." It made sense that you would distance yourself from him and that was fine, but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. "It's been decent. Red Bull wants me to come to Milton for contract discussions this week, actually."

"You're moving back up?"

"Potentially." Horner had only called him earlier that week to discuss the potential of him returning to Red Bull next year. The informal agreement was that if he could make seventh in the championship in a midfield car, they would bump him back for the following season.

It wasn’t a concrete guarantee- that’s why Horner wanted to speak with him in person. He had a year left in his contract and being in a Red Bull meant he would be able to prove his worth to other teams and potentially secure a world championship worthy seat at a team that actually appreciated his talent.

He draws a breath before continuing, "I'll be in London on Monday. You know- if you wanna get together."

You stay silent for a touch too long and he panics. It was too soon. He should have kept his mouth shut because now he’d driven you away again. “Nevermind, forget I said anything-"

"No," you interrupt, "no, I'd love to see you and catch up. I don't have classes on Tuesdays. Have any free time then?"

His eyes slide shut and he exhales. The flack he would undoubtedly catch for shuffling around a few interviews would be worth it to see you. "Yeah. I can swing by your apartment around seven?"

"Okay," you say, a touch of excitement lacing your voice. "I'll make myself presentable."

"I-" he stops himself before the words can slip past his lips. "I'll see you then."

*********

Pierre blows out a breath and adjusts his backpack. He stands at the threshold of your building, keys in hand, unsure if he should let himself in. The dilemma had kept him rooted to the spot for nearly ten minutes now, weighing the pros and cons of his options.

“Hey you, blond fucker.” Pierre whips around and is met by Daniel’s girlfriend glaring up at him from the sidewalk. She tips her head to the side to study him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that had to cancel plans to be here tonight. “You gonna grow a pair and go up there or just keep staring at the door all day?”

“I’m going,” he grumbles, “are you?”

“Oh, I was going to but clearly whatever you have planned is more important.” Her grin splits her face ear to ear. “About damn time she got ahold of you. I was getting sick of listening to her gripe about you twenty four seven.”

“Didn’t she tell you I was coming by? If you guys have plans I can come back later.”

She waves a hand and dismisses the offer. “Absolutely not. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not-” The glare she cuts him snatches the words from his mouth. She makes a shooing motion before setting off down the sidewalk, munching on whatever snacks were in her shopping bag.

Pierre shakes out his hands and tries to gather the courage to use his key. The hopeless romantic argued that you would expect him to use it because you would know he still had it. The rational side of him butts in to point out that it might catch you off guard if he showed up without warning. He settles on buzzing your unit, your answer fuzzy from the distortion.

"Pierre?"

Even with the warbly static in your voice, his name on your lips is the salvation he’s been dreaming about for months. "Yeah it's me."

"Don't you have a key?"

"I wasn't sure if I should use it."

You don't answer, instead letting the buzz of the electronic lock do the talking. He takes the stairs three at a time, barely winded by the time he reaches the third floor. He doesn't even have to knock, your door swinging open as he steps up. The sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.

It didn't matter that you were in a simple hoodie and jeans, feet bare and hair swept back in a low bun. You are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and after months apart he nearly falls to his knees then and there to beg for your forgiveness, to get lost in you until two souls became one and he never had to live another second apart from you.

"Are you gonna stand there or do you wanna come in?"

God, he had missed your teasing jabs. His fingers ache for contact with your soft skin and he curls them into a fist to resist the urge. “Coming in,” he says softly, purposefully brushing your arm as he skirts past you. Every inch of him sings from the barely there touch, his soul aching for more.

Just stepping foot into your quaint flat has the weight he had been carrying on his chest for months beginning to ease up. Nothing beat the elation of being back where he belonged, not even spraying champagne from the top step on a podium.

Determined not to scare you off before he could have a proper conversation with you, Pierre opts for falling into the same humor you had used earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Is that takeout I smell?"

You nod, your cheeks turning a pale pink. “I got you two orders of beef lo mein. I figured you might be hungry.”

As if summoned, his stomach growls. “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since breakfast."

“Figures,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush carpet and pull a takeout box towards you. "I got it from that place across town, the one you liked best." Pierre perches on the edge of the sofa and snags the plastic tray with his name on it, eyes never leaving yours.

Now that you were mere feet from him he found it increasingly difficult to deny himself the relief of kissing you here and now. He wanted to trace his thumb over your lips before replacing it with his own, to slot his mouth over yours until time was nothing and he was no one other than yours.

You clear your throat and drop his gaze first, sending him crashing back to reality. “So, ninth huh? Glad to see you cracked the top ten.”

Pierre scrunches his nose and spears a piece of broccoli. He was shit with chopsticks but you always got a kick out of him fumbling with them. “Not where I’d like to be but I’ll take it. Horner took notice obviously, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I think an invitation to Milton Keynes is enough reason to hope," you say around a mouthful of sticky rice.

This interaction was reason to hope. The fact that you were once again on speaking terms, that things were finally returning to some semblance of normal, was enough for him to believe that one day everything would be back to how it was before. That maybe, just maybe, he could hold you in his arms again and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your heart beating in his ear.

Remembering the guy from your instagram, he scans the room for any sign of a male companion. Finding none, he asks, “How’s your boyfriend?”

It probably would have been a good idea to go about this particular line of questioning with a bit more tact. Inquiring so blatantly betrayed his inner thoughts, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't have it in him to care, not when his world might be turned upside down by your answer.

“Oh, you mean Peter?” You sip your water, seemingly working up the courage to explain. Each moment that the silence dragged on it became more of a physical monster. Pierre could feel it growing until it threatened to sink his claws in him and drag him deeper into the pits of his insecurity.

“If that’s his name, yeah.” Pierre braces himself for whatever comes next, reminding himself to be happy for you no matter what you choose. It would take time but he could put aside what he still felt for you and learn to accept your choice if it meant staying in your life.

You shake your head. “He’s a friend from uni. He’s not my boyfriend. At least not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning down at his food to cover the way his heart skips. “But he was?”

He had expected you to move on, if he was being honest. No way in hell did you deserve to be as miserable as he had been since you'd left- you deserved all the happiness he couldn't seem to give you and more. And if someone else had been the one to grant you that happiness, he should thank them.

“For a little while,” you say softly, like it would cushion the blow. “It didn’t feel right.”

He was familiar with that feeling. Nothing he did felt right after the break up. Just about the only thing that kept him sane was telling himself that you’d come to your senses sooner or later.

And now that he was here, his world was beginning to right itself.

“Earth to Pierre,” you say teasingly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just- I’ve missed this,” he says, picking at his food.

“What, eating subpar takeout in my tiny apartment?” You laugh and stuff another bite in your mouth. God, you could be so oblivious. It was one of the many things he adored about you.

“I do. I miss doing anything that involves you, actually.”

There it was. His heart laid bare before you for the second time, waiting to see how you would respond. You set down your chopsticks and wipe your lips. His eyes track their movement as you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.”

Four syllables and he melts. It takes all he has to keep himself from sobbing with relief. It was everything he had come here hoping to hear. He couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t lose you for a second time-

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he pleads, body thrumming with the need to wrap you in his arms. “Don’t put me through this again unless you’re here to stay.”

He wasn't strong enough to tell you to stop. He would let you wreck him and he would be completely powerless to stop it. He would welcome it if it meant you granting him a sliver of your time. It would ruin him for anyone else but he didn’t have it in him to turn you away.

You rise to your feet and pad around the low table until you’re standing knee to knee, his neck craned up to study your face. You just keep looking at him, the leash on his carefully controlled restraint slipping as he rambles, “Because I can’t take it if you leave me again, I won’t-”

You simply nod, as if that’s all the answer he should need. But it’s not enough. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me you mean it.”

He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that you had reduced his normally impenetrably stoic mentality to a jumble of you. If he was being honest with himself, you were the light of his life, the reason he pushed so hard for results on track. Everything had gone black and white when you left and racing had been the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. The need to make you proud still propelled him forward even if he'd had no idea if you still cared.

So no, he didn’t care at all that he was practically on his knees. He would grovel at your feet for his entire life if it meant you’d grant him one more day to be with you.

“I mean it,” you murmur and place a hand on his cheek. He draws a shaky breath, leaning into you. Home, home, home, his head screams, acutely aware of every square inch of contact between the two of you.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve finally come to terms with it- your lifestyle. If I love you, I have to accept it being public. I have to build myself a shelter to withstand the storm, but I’ll make it big enough for two.”

It takes everything in him to keep from crushing you to his chest and never letting go. He had to ask, had to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was forever. “Promise me you won’t leave again if things get hard. Promise me we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together.”

“I promise. I’m not afraid anymore,” you murmur. Pierre’s head falls forward to rest on your hip bone, your fingers threading in his hair. “Daniel’s girlfriend helped me see that it doesn’t matter what anyone says. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I haven't been the same since I…”

“Neither have I.” His thumb winds under your shirt to sweep over your soft skin. “You’re safe with me, you know that right? I can protect you from whatever they say and you’re right, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this-” he finally lets himself look up at you- “what we have. I’ve never stopped loving you, not once.”

Your smile is soft and tentative as you climb into his lap. His hands slide up your sides to pull you closer, refusing to let an inch separate you now that you’d bridged the gap. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I learned my lesson.”

You lean down to ghost your lips over his brow, his closed eyelids, his nose. He can feel himself reconstructing under your touch, that final piece of the puzzle clicking home after being lost for so long. “I promise that I’m yours until the last star falls from the sky.”

He had lost four months of time with you. He wouldn't allow another second to slip through his fingers.

Anticipating his movements, you meet him halfway. Fireworks explode as his lips finally return home and his world is finally, finally righted. Your nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer as your body moulds against his. He had nearly forgotten how perfectly your curves fit against him after all this time. He was determined to memorize every mountain and valley of you by the night's end.

His hands grip your thighs and he stands. Your arms automatically wind around his neck to keep from falling. He carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the edge of the island, never breaking the kiss. Nothing mattered outside of this apartment; not his career, not any baseless gossip, nothing existed beyond the space where your skin met his.

Pierre pulls back long enough to remove his shirt. Your fingers dance over his skin, relearning the planes of his chest like you had all the time in the world. And you did; he would stay here as long as you let him, reveling in the way you drank up every inch of his body like it was the first time you’d seen it.

“I love you,” you say as he kisses along your jaw.

How many times had he dreamt of you whispering that to him the past four months? How many times had it echoed in his head before a race, taunting him? He could scarcely believe his mind wasn’t playing more tricks on him now. He had to be certain it was real.

“Say it again,” he breathes. “Please. Please, tell me again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “I love you Pierre, my champion, my heart, my everything.”

Pierre groans against your mouth, knotting his fingers in your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat. He nips at the soft skin, not caring that he was leaving a trail of tiny marks in his wake. His focus was entirely on the gasps he was dragging from you with each touch, your heels digging into his ass and begging for him to be closer.

"My sweet, kindhearted man," you continue breathlessly. He didn't know if the words were for your benefit or his. "My best friend. My one and only love."

In that moment, you could ask him to bring you a star from the midnight sky and he wouldn't stop until he found a way to make it happen. You could ask for his last dollar and he would hand it to you with a smile on his face, completely enthralled with the way his name sounds on your tongue, professing that you still wanted him as much as he wanted you.

You were his undoing.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at your sweatshirt. You obey instantly and fling it aside, neither of you caring when dishes clatter to the tile floor and undoubtedly break. Your jeans follow suit after he helps you slip out of them. He runs his fingers over the delicate black lace of your bra and panties and pauses to appreciate that you knew exactly where the night would lead.

His cock twitches as you reach between your bodies to run a knuckle over his clothed length. “Your turn.” You undo the button with practiced ease, taking your sweet time as his breath comes in ragged gasps. He’d had a taste of you and hadn’t forgotten how you’d felt around him. He needed you more than he needed the air he breathed, his desperation taking over as he swats your hand aside and strips off his jeans and boxers himself.

He drops to his knees and grips your thighs, pulling you forward until your center is inches from his face. The yelp that escapes you is intoxicating, your hands flying back to catch yourself. His teeth sink none too gently into the flesh of your thigh and he’s rewarded with a moan before he flicks his tongue over the hurt.

Your head falls back and Pierre places one of your legs over his shoulder. “Mon amour,” he purrs, garnering your attention. Your head lolls forward and he waits until you meet his gaze to speak again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I never doubted it,” you confirm, lips curling in a smile. “But why don’t you prove it to me again?”

He pulls your panties aside and blows lightly. You groan, thighs tensing under his fingers as your toes curl and he chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Do you really want to tease me?”

“What I want,” he says sharply, “is to have you moaning my name until it's the only word you know.” His tongue flicks out to dance over your thigh, dangerously close to where he knows you want him. “What I want is to make up for lost time.” He rips through the thin lace of your panties and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.

“Those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

He would buy you an entire lingerie store if he could rip every set of it off you. He didn’t care how much it costed, it was never too much when it came to you.

“What I want most, my love,” he murmurs, smiling when his hot breath curls over your dripping cunt and you squirm, “is to forget everything else and stay here forever.”

You cry out when his tongue finally flicks through your folds. Pierre hums approvingly at your reaction, one arm snaking up to pin your hips in place. He sucks lightly at your clit and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“P-Pierre,” you breathe. He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact. He grins up at you, the wickedness of it dragging the moan from your lips that he was after. He was drunk on the sound, desperate to hear it again and again.

“There’s my good girl.” He runs his tongue flat over your sex, savoring the taste as you squirm under him. You let out a choked noise when he repeats the motion before fucking you with his tongue, his nose hitting your clit with each stroke.

He doesn’t miss the way your lip wobbles and Pierre knows you’re ready to cry with frustration. He decides he’s tortured you enough for now and relents, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them before plunging them inside you.

His mouth is spelling his name on your clit a moment later, your walls already clamping down on his fingers as your orgasm nears. In the handful of times he’d taken you to bed, he had already learned that when your head rolls back like that and your breathing stops, you’re seconds away from climaxing. He doesn’t let up until you’re shaking beneath him, finally slowing to work you through your orgasm without making you hypersensitive.

“Baby,” you groan breathlessly. Pierre slowly withdraws his fingers and wipes them on his thigh before pressing a final, tender kiss to your center that makes you jump.

“Use my name,” he demands, uncoiling to his full height. He grips your wrist and hauls your boneless body up, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

“Pierre,” you murmur and he grinds his hips against you in approval. He captures your mouth with his, taking advantage of your hazy mind to lazily explore it.

You hum into the kiss, managing to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Suddenly the column of your neck is all he can think about and he wraps a hand around it, squeezing with enough force that you pull back with a gasp.

“Too much?” He murmurs, lessening his grip. Your brows knit together and your lower lips juts out, begging for him to take it between his teeth. He leans in and gives in to the impulse as he swipes his thumb under your jaw.

“Tell me if you want my hand on your throat, my love. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you say finally. Your eyes are cloudy when they meet his. “Keep it there.”

He shows his approval in the form of a light squeeze. You angle your hips up, nudging his cock with your center. You reach a hand down to wrap around his shaft and drag the head through your folds, teasing him as he had done to you. The grip on your throat tightens to a point bordering blissfully between pain and pleasure, both a warning and an order to continue.

If you knew how close he was to flipping you on your stomach and slamming into you, you’d call him crazy. Or maybe you’d like it, judging by the way your head falls back as he rocks his hips and inches into you.

You both moan when he decides the time for restraint has passed and he slams into you. You lift your hips to meet his with every thrust, clearly missing this just as much as he had. God, he’d lost months of fucking you, of feeling you clench around him and writhe beneath him. If he could stay like this forever he would, his hand around your neck and cock splitting you open as he laps up your moans like sweet candy.

“I’m- Pierre,” you squeak out, and he knows you’re barreling towards your second orgasm of the night. He pulls you up by your neck until you’re eye to eye and forced to look at him.

“Come for me,” he whispers, slamming into you again and again. “Come on my cock mon amour and I might just cum inside you.”

His words are your undoing, pleasure rippling from you in waves as your mouth falls open in a silent plea. He grants you no clemency as your cunt twitches around him, instead following through on his promise and following your lead.

You pants mix with his own as he struggles to keep both of you upright, his knees turned to jelly. Your head rests on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your temple, slowly pulling out of you. A pitiful whimper escapes your throat involuntarily.

“I know,” Pierre murmurs, reaching over to start the kitchen sink. He wets a clean cloth and runs it between your legs, still supporting you as he doesn’t trust that your legs won't give out if he doesn’t. When it’s clear you can barely form a coherent thought, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to your room. He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip and sets you on the vanity.

The absence of his body heat makes you shiver when he goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied with the temperature. He gathers you in his arms and steps into the tub, your sigh audible as the warm water hits your skin.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs before kissing your temple. You nod against his chest and he sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist just in case. You’re thankful for it when your knees wobble, a hand flying out to steady yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say after a beat and grin up at him. “I can stand, promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m taking my hands off you,” he says, grinning right back. “At least not for long.” He reaches over your shoulder for the shampoo and gestures for you to turn around. You obey, tipping your head back to wet your hair. A blissful sigh escapes you when his fingers meet your scalp, the cherry blossom scent blooming in the air as he works it into a lather.

Taking care of you was just as satisfying as the sex was. He cherished the intimacy of taking this small burden from your shoulders. The seemingly simple task was one of deep seated trust and it proved to him that your love ran bone deep. There was a level of trust in you letting him wash you that he didn't want to have with anyone else. It was reserved for you and you alone.

“Close your eyes,” he warns before guiding your head back under the water for a rinse. He cups a hand to your forehead to keep the soap from your eyes. Your smile is soft but unrestrained as you lean further into him until your back is pressed to his chest.

You both stay silent as he runs the creamy conditioner through the ends of your hair. His hand cups your jaw and tips your head back for a lazy kiss before he rinses that too and cuts the tap.

Once you're wrapped in a fuzzy white towel he finally dries himself off, fighting off a chill. He doesn't realize you're watching him until he turns around and notices you standing in the doorway.

"What?"

You push off the wall and pad back to where he stands to wrap your arms around his middle. His thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, perfectly content to stand there dripping on the tile until morning.

When it's clear you're lost in thought he speaks up. "What's on your mind?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Like the exact moment?" He asks, caught off guard. You nod against his chest.

"When you visited me in Milan last summer," he says a few heartbeats later. That night insisted on making guacamole at two in the morning and woke me up because you couldn't find a lime. You told me you couldn't sleep because it was all you could think about after you saw that couple at the cafe eating it."

"Why then?"

"Because I knew I didn't have a lime but I was fully prepared to knock on every door in the building to find you one. Because in that moment all that mattered was seeing your face light up when I handed it to you and knowing that it was me that made you smile like that. I knew then that I’d do anything for you."

It still amazed him how a lime of all things was the tipping point. In that moment, a lime was important to you and it so naturally became important to him. If anyone else had woken him from his deep sleep he would have grumbled and told them off. But you, seeing your face inches from his, the light from the hall casting a warm halo around your frame as you whispered his name, he hadn’t cared at all.

"But then I found the juice in the fridge," you recall and glance up at him.

"Yeah, you did. And you felt so bad for waking me up- you had no idea that I had already fallen so hard that I had to keep myself from shutting you up with a kiss.”

The easy admission seems to stir something in you and you rise up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. “I knew that time you sent food to my dorm at midnight when I was pulling an all nighter. I was studying for my calculus final, remember?”

Pierre nods. “I was in Barcelona. You weren’t answering your phone so I sent a message with the takeout guy.” He had been wholly enamored with you at that point, having quickly learned that trying to keep his feelings buried deep was an option that would never work. So he leaned into it, letting little bits of it shine through in hopes that you might pick up on it.

Your laugh rumbles through him. “It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was too nervous.”

“Took us long enough to figure it out didn’t it?” He untangles himself from you and leads you to bed.

“I’m just glad we did eventually.” You let him guide you to the mattress while he stays standing and goes to your closet. He hunts for the shirt he wants to see you in, praying you hadn’t gotten rid of it. He finally finds it tucked back in the corner and pulls it out, the cobalt blue fabric a little faded from how often you’d worn it over the years.

“I remember that,” you say softly as he returns with it and slips it over your head.

It was the first shirt he had ever gotten upon entering Formula 1 and somehow you had wound up snagging it from his closet while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during that same trip to Milan. He had choked on his guac when you reappeared wearing it, eyes lingering on the Torro Rosso logo on the chest and his name splayed across your back like a claiming.

"I don't have sweatpants for you anymore," you point out with an apologetic wince. "I got rid of them."

Pierre just shrugs and hands you the shirt. "I have a change of clothes in my backpack. I was planning on working out to blow off some steam if…"

He trails off and you nod in silent acknowledgement. He didn’t have to voice the thought, you were already in his head and knew exactly what he meant. Unable to help himself, he kisses your head just because he can before retrieving his bag from the kitchen. "I have something for you," he says and lets the towel around his waist drop.

You let out a low whistle and grin at him as your eyes slide over every inch of his body. He takes more time than necessary to pull out his shorts, appreciating your gaze. You're still watching him as he slips them on and brings his bag to you.

"Do you wanna see what I got you or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

"I think I'll stare."

Pierre rolls his eyes and chuckles, plopping down next to you. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

You do as he asks but not before cocking a brow at him. Knowing the sound of the package will give it away, he does his best to draw out the first item as quietly as he can. The second he sets it in your hands a smile splits your face. He'd tear down the energy station with his bare hands to keep that expression on your face.

"It's candy." Your eyes open and you gasp. "Laffy taffy? But you can only get this-"

"In the states," He finishes. “I got as much as the store had.” The chewy, fruity candy was your absolute favorite and every once in a while you craved it. His backpack was currently stuffed full of it and various other packages of sweets, having been collected at every gp he had been to since Austin.

You tear into the package and dig for a pink one. You hold it out to him triumphantly and somehow, it’s that simple gesture that makes him melt. “You like the strawberry ones don’t you?”

“Yes baby, I do.” He lets you pop the sweet in his mouth - Pyry would certainly not approve- and grins at you. “If you eat too many before bed you won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s still early,” you point out but don’t hesitate to set the sweets aside and cuddle up to him when he lays back. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I have to be at Milton by eight,” he says, wrapping an arm around your middle. “But you’re coming with me.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #my writing #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf

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cyantomatos · 3 years

Text

Kinktober - Day 11

Day 11 of the Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen

Prompt: Being recorded || Sleepy sex || Mirror sex

Character: Marcus Moreno

It had been the day from hell. From the moment you woke up it felt like the work was working against you.

First, your phone updated overnight and reset your alarms, meaning you woke up to Marcus’ alarm, which was a solid half hour after you were supposed to already be up. You were out of creamer, so you had to take your coffee with only plain sugar. On a normal day you would have just grumbled about that and moved on, but you were already in a rush and upset. It had snowed the night before, meaning you needed to clean your windows off and scrape off a layer of ice, and everyone in town had seemingly forgotten how to drive en-masse overnight because of the dusting of powder on the road.

Meetings ran long, paperwork was missing, you forgot your lunch on the kitchen table. Your heel broke on your way back from picking up your substitute lunch, your favorite sweater got caught on a doorknob that yanked several of the stitches out of place. Your creepy co-worker hit on you, again, despite blatant disinterest on your part - and the ring on your finger, put there by your very famous and sometimes very scary fiancé. Someone forgot to pick up an important client from the airport, the break room fridge was also out of creamer.

By five you were ready to call it a day - a horrible day, but a day - and you were packing your things up and already planning the bubble bath and candle scents and then-

“Hey, could you stay late and work on these reports? I forgot they need to be sorted through and categorized before my breakfast meeting tomorrow. You don’t mind, right?”

By the time you made it out of the office, a neat pile of color coded reports placed somewhat passive-aggressively on your boss’ empty desk, it was almost ten. Marcus was probably already in bed, and you didn’t want to wake him, so you snuck into the apartment as quietly as you could.

Instead of a dark and empty living room, you were greeted by the sight of your fiancé spread out on the couch, a movie playing quietly in the background. Your heart swelled at the sight, imagining him stubbornly staying awake to be there when you got back and eventually drifting off as he lost the fight against sleep.

You didn’t want to wake him, but if he stayed on that couch his back would give him hell tomorrow, so you set your bag down and toed off your shoes and crept forward. Softly you laid your hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Marcus, baby, you need to wake up. You can’t sleep here, it’ll hurt your back.” Thankfully Marcus wasn’t one to wake quickly or violently. Instead, soft brown eyes slowly blinked open up at you in the flickering light of the television. You knew exactly when he registered your face, a sleep mile breaking out across his own.

“Hey, baby. Fuck, did I fall asleep? I wanted to be awake when you got home…” As he spoke his arms lifted lazily off the couch, wrapping around you and tugging you down on top of him. You giggled at his sleepy antics, wiggling around to get comfortable before nuzzling into his neck with a contented sigh.

“It’s ok, Marcus. I’m just glad to be home with you. Today was awful.” Your fiancé let out a sleepy hum, arms working to draw you even closer. “Can I fix it?”

You hesitate for a moment before finally shaking your head. “No, just need you. That’s enough.”

Marcus hums quietly again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Need, or need?” He presses your hips down in emphasis, pressing you against where he’s already half hard for you. You lift your head from where it rests on his chest to grin down at him. “I wouldn’t object to either.”

With a grin one of his hands slides up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a soft kiss. Your own hands move, one shifting to prop your body up and the other sliding down to slip under the hem of his shirt. Featherlight touches across his belly and down towards the waistband of his shorts make his stomach muscles contract involuntarily, hardening under your fingers and drawing a groan from you.

Maybe it was the hard day, or maybe it was just the man under you being so damned sexy, but he’s barely touched you and you’re already needy and wanting for him. He takes it at his own pace though, and by the time his fingers slide up your thigh and under the hem of your dress he finds you dripping for him. Marcus lets out a low groan, slipping two fingers into your panties.

“Already wet for me, baby?” You whine and nod, grinding down against his fingers and hard length through his shorts. “Need you, Marcus, please.” For a second you think he’s going to draw it out to make you beg, but he relents and pushes your hips up so he can shimmy his shorts down enough to free himself.

You sit up straight, bracing your hands on his chest as he lines himself up with your cunt. Slowly, you sink down onto him, your eyes closing and your head tipping back as he stretches you open inch by inch. He watches you with lidded eyes, and as you open your own you can’t help but wonder how he manages to look so fucking good after being woken up from a nap on the couch.

You set a slow pace, reluctant to lose the sleepy, slow intimacy with rushed and eager movements. Marcus’ hands grip your hips, guiding you and helping to keep you going when he hits a particularly stunning spot and you whimper and lose the rhythm you’d set.

After a few moments one of his hands drifts up to the back of your head and guides you back down into another kiss, and his hips begin to thrust up into you to compensate for the angle. The change makes him feel so much fucking bigger inside you, and with every thrust he hits something devastating inside you and you go boneless atop him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s pushing you towards the edge, and you don’t even mind the slow build-up. This isn’t about getting to the end, it’s about the journey to get there and how close you feel to him in this moment. He’s wrapped around you, invading your senses, the only thing you can think about, and the events of your awful day fade away in the face of his love.

Eventually your body gets impatient, tired of sitting on the edge for so long with nothing new to push you over, and your hips start grinding down against him again. You’d long ago broken the kiss, instead burying your face against his neck and peppering soft kisses to his collarbone, and you tilt your head now to murmur in his ear.

“M’close baby, please, please make me come.” Marcus groans, his movements picking up speed, and you whine against his neck. His hand slips around, wiggling between the two of you until he can rub a finger over your swollen clit, and it’s like a magic button. You cry out, walls tightening and rippling around Marcus, and only seconds later he presses up into you hard, going still as he spills inside you.

It’s not a mind-blowing orgasm, but you drift for a while in hazy bliss, caught somewhere between the pleasure of your release and sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness. Eventually, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead, and you lift your head to see Marcus smiling sleepily down at you.

“We need to get up, baby. Can’t sleep here, both our backs will be angry in the morning.” You just grumble because you know he’s right, reluctant to give up your comfy bed on his chest. With a sigh - and a light smack to your ass from Marcus - you clamber to your feet.

After both of you are clean and in bed he tugs you against his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you drift off to sleep, all thoughts of your awful day completely gone.

#tppkinktober2021 #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #We Can Be Heroes fic #Marcus Moreno fic

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paperpocalypse · 4 years

Text

tumble dry.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 2. Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it + 32. A soft smile before leaning in for a kiss

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,635 words

Warning: None

[A/N: Updated Viktor’s name and pronouns; in this fic, he transitioned sometime during his first year of college.]

At the beginning of fall semester, the RA on your floor had stuck a “5” onto Five and Viktor’s door because, as you wholeheartedly agreed, it was funny as heck. Five hadn’t cared either way, and upon your insistence that the blue, wavy lines around his name tag were quite cool, he wryly stated that it just brought more unwanted attention. Viktor had been mildly amused.

In any case, it remained on the door for you to appreciate whenever you stopped by.

“Five – oh!”

The door to Room 128 opens right as you prepare to knock. Five’s face appears behind your raised fist, and you quickly uncurl your fingers to wave instead.

“Laundry day?” you ask upon seeing the empty basket at his hip, stepping aside to let him out. Obviously, it is laundry day, but you see him enough that a simple “hello” wouldn’t have made any more sense.

Five juts his chin toward the open doorway. “I’ll be back.”

While he saunters down the hallway toward the laundry room, you go into his and Viktor’s room and set your things down near Viktor’s desk. After stretching your back with a sigh of relief, you unzip your backpack and take out one of your textbooks, followed by a beat-up notebook and your little box of pens. You set them onto the desk, stare at them blankly for about a second, then promptly exit the room to bug Five.

He’s taking the last of his clothes from the dryer when you come in. Hands tucked politely behind your back, you smile when he notices your presence.

“What?” Five pauses his folding, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing …”

Gaze flicking down to the pile of clothes in the basket, you spot a blotch of blue amongst the crisp, autumn colors of Five’s wardrobe. Your smile widens, and you dart forward with an outstretched hand.

“[Y/n] –”

Your fingers dig into the warm, soft fabric of the winter sweater you had gotten him last year. Meeting Five’s eyes one last time, you dash out of the laundry room with a delighted snicker.

You don’t get very far before he blinks in front of you and tries to snatch the pilfered piece of clothing back. You’re fast, though, and yank the sweater out of reach just in time.

“Give it back,” Five orders, though he doesn’t sound mad. Maybe just a little exasperated. Of course, he could simply blink the sweater out of your arms if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, which prompts you to hug the bundle of cotton to your chest and shake your head vigorously. (You see him roll his eyes, which he usually does when he’s trying not to smile.) “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You left your laundry unattended,” is all you say in reply, tone cheeky.

The boy gives you a thoroughly unimpressed look, then disappears to fetch his clothes from the laundry room.

You quickly bury your face into the sweater. Soft warmth and a familiar, fresh scent coax your eyes closed for a moment, and when you open them again, Five is already at your side with his basket.

An odd expression skates across his face as you turn to him. However, just as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he starts walking, and you keep quiet for the time being as you follow him.

“So, how’s studying going?” you finally question when he pushes the door open, ushering you through.

“Well, it’s all just review, so I'm almost done,” he says. Five pushes the door closed behind him with his foot and locks it, setting his clothes down in front of his dresser.

“Oh.” You sit sideways on Viktor’s chair, leaning on the backrest as you watch him put away his things. “You have a test on Friday, right?” He hums in affirmation. “What’s it for again? I forgot.”

“Electromagnetism.”

Electromagnetism! You perk up immediately and clap your hands. “Oh, yeah! I can’t believe I forgot. You’ve got the test in the bag.”

“Of course. I knew most of the material before taking the class,” Five answers, casting you a meaningful look. “Plus, I’ve seen how it works up close.”

Beaming, you cross one leg over the other. “You have, haven’t you?”

Five puts the last of his shirts into the middle drawer before sliding it shut. In the back of your mind, you know that you should be studying before Viktor comes back from practice, but the thing about being in a room with people – or a person, and especially Five – is that the people are infinitely more interesting than the task at hand. You fold your hands and drum your fingers against the backs of them, peering up curiously at Five as he approaches.

“You’re working on physics too,” he states once he’s close enough to see.

“Oh –” You glance guiltily at your unopened textbook. “Yep.” Despite not being a science major, you were supposed to take at least one course related to it; your advisor had suggested Concepts of Biology or Conceptual Physics, and naturally, you had gravitated to the one most familiar to you. It was alright. After seven years of Sir Hargreeves’ curriculum, this physics course was much easier and maybe even a little boring. “We’re talking about thermodynamics right now. No magnetism yet.”

Prying the book open, you flip through the pages, stopping at the chapter you’re supposed to read for tomorrow. Five’s hand braces against the edge of Viktor’s desk as he skims through the introduction.

“That’s easy enough,” he says.

“… Yeah.” You shrug, a little sheepish. “I wish I were more interested in all this stuff like you. Maybe I’d be better with my powers, you know?”

“Probably,” he says bluntly. You grimace just the slightest bit; Five blinks when he glances over at you, adding, “But if you’re not planning on using them much anymore, it doesn’t matter.”

Flicking the dog-eared corner of page 213, you nod reluctantly. Five is right. Being a news reporter probably wouldn’t require you to attract spoons or stop cars, which is one of the reasons why you had wanted to become one in the first place. Still, you’d like to stay connected with your ability somehow – on your own terms this time. Find a way to use it productively, help people and stuff. You just don’t know how you’ll do that yet.

Dropping your hands into your lap, you suddenly remember that Five’s sweater is still there and lift it up. “Whoops.” You stand and hold it out to him. “Sorry, you can have this back now, Five.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

A thought pops into your head. “Can you put it on?”

You feel, oddly, a bit shy requesting such a thing. Five gives you a questioning look at first, but soon obliges and slips the sweater on, hands in his pockets as you study the cable-knit pattern. All right, you think – it hasn’t shrunk very much. And it still looks good. You’re not very fashionable, yourself, and neither is Five, even though he always looks nice in the clothes that he owns; however, you pride yourself on making the right choice for this sweater. He seems quite cozy.

“It looks nice on you,” you state, reaching out to pluck a tiny bit of fuzz off his shoulder.

“You’re kinda obligated to say that,” he retorts, not moving when you step closer upon finding more bits of fuzz, “since you’re the one who bought it.”

“But it’s still true.”

Five rolls his eyes as he exhales amusedly. You refrain from going on a sweater-cleaning rampage, smoothing out the loose fabric on his shoulders instead, and let out a sigh.

“You done?”

“Yep.”

You look up from the blue of his sweater.

… Oh. You didn’t realize how close you’ve gotten.

Five’s face is barely more than four inches away from yours, close enough that you can see the shadows cast by his eyelashes. Something keeps you glued in place as you hold his gaze, hands frozen on his shoulders, feeling them rise and fall softly with each breath.

You don’t feel nervous from the closeness. Rather, you feel content. Like you’re supposed to be here.

Maybe you say his name out loud; you’re not really sure. But you know that your lips move before they settle into a soft smile, a smile just for the boy that stands so near to you.

He looks so serious.

He starts to lean in.

You don’t move away because … well, because you don’t want to. In fact, you find yourself drawn in as well.

The door unlocks with a loud click.

“Sorry"—Viktor peeks around the door, violin in hand—"practice ran late again.”

He smiles when his eyes land on Five, who’s sitting at his desk, and then you. You grin back, willing your heart to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Hey, Viktor,” you breathe. “How was practice?”

“It was good,” he replies happily, walking in and setting his instrument underneath his bed. “Are we still eating out for supper?”

“Yeah, if you’re up for it!”

Viktor nods, then turns to his brother and utters his name. “Are you ready?”

Five nods as well. He doesn’t make eye contact with either of you. “Whenever you are,” he mutters.

Okay. You take in a deep breath and try to clear your head again, digging your wallet out from your backpack and starting towards the door. Soft murmuring takes place behind you as you open it – you can’t make out what they’re saying. Probably family stuff? Ah, well, it’s none of your business, whatever it is.

… What would have happened if …?

Turning around, you ask the two siblings whether they want Italian or Chinese for supper.

#cliché tropes and prompts #source: bucky-plums-barnes #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #magneticverse #the prompt said LEANING IN for a kiss not an actual kiss ahahahahask #the college au no one asked for #pouring one out for five rip #Unresolved Romantic Tension #again !!

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butwhyduh · 4 years

Note

Hi! Can I request 'First Apartment' with Tim Drake? Like maybe be and reader are trying to get it on while moving but bat family appears because the want to help and/or see theirs new place? Whatever floats your boat rly. Just plz can I have some Tim content :)?

I love our boy Timbo 💕

Warning:smut, bra ripped

The keys entering the door and turning the lock sounded heavenly. It felt like freedom and ownership. As Tim gently turned the handle, he stopped in front of you. You looked at him a little confused.

“What?” You asked and he gave you a shy smile as he shoved the keys in his pocket.

“Hold on,” he grabbed behind your knees and back to pick you up bridal style. You grabbed at his arm.

“Tim!” You yelped and he laughed before walking you into the room sitting you down on your feet inside.

“I’d lay you on furniture but they’re kinda hard to get to,” he admitted. Boxes made a maze to the couch and chair. The apartment was way nicer than anything you’d ever considered but it wasn’t surprising that Tim Drake-Wayne could afford a fancy place. A nice penthouse apartment in a relatively safe area of town had a drop level living room, open airy stainless steal kitchen and a giant master bedroom with a walk in shower and jacuzzi.

“We’ll get to work on that tomorrow. Look at the view,” you said looking at the dying light of a sunset. The city of Gotham almost looked hopeful in the amber light. Tim wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. You could feel his body warmth and smell his soft cologne. You felt secure.

“I’m glad you like it. The view really sold me on the place,” he said in your ear. He swayed you both side to side. Of course he had many strategic reasons for the place including security and privacy. There had been a whole spreadsheet to his decision. He hadn’t stressed you about the 25 places he inspected but showed 3 equally perfect choices.

“And I thought it was the easy commute to your work and my university,” you quipped.

“That’s a bonus. But the fact that I can stand in my living room without my brothers interrupting us right now is pretty nice too,” he said with a kiss to your neck.

“Definitely a bonus. It’s like they knew when we were kissing. Every time,” you said leaning your head back to expose your neck more. Tim hummed in agreement against your skin. His lips pressed soft kisses along your skin. His fingers slid up your shirt to make circles on your stomach. You gasped and grabbed his hair as he nipped a sensitive spot on your collar.

The door bell rang. Tim groaned before walking to the door. He opened it to see Barbara and Dick standing at the door, Dick’s hand was casually thrown over her shoulder. They looked like a pair of models and must be very conspicuous when seen together. Dick offered Tim a bottle of wine. “Hey Timbo, we thought we’d come congratulate you guys. Hey Y/n,” He waved. You nodded back.

“Do you both want to come in?” Tim offered, always a gentleman. Dick walked in and looked around. Barbara gave you a light hug before coming in.

“Look at the view! This is a little nicer than my first place in Bludhaven,” Dick laughed. Tim sat the wine on the counter.

“Your first place in Bludhaven was terrifying. I could smell the crime walking in. You didn’t have to travel far for patrol,” Barbara laughed.

“It was a nice place on a rookie cop pay,” he defended himself. Barbara rolled her eyes.

“This place will be cute when it’s fixed up,” Barbara said. While Dick was looking at the place, Barbara took a look at you and Tim. Tim’s hair was messy and cheeks and lips pink. You looked similarly flushed.

“Dickie, let’s give them space. They’ll probably want to start unpacking,” Barbara said. She gave him a wink. Dick looked confused for a second before it clicked.

“Yeah, we can visit again later,” Dick said with a little smile as he walked to the door. “Congrats on the place. And don’t forget protection,” he said quickly before he and Barbara left. Tim flushed a deep red.

“Well at least they left,” you said grinning. Tim rolled his eyes. “And wine!”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re 19 and a cop gave us wine but it’s nice,” Tim said walking over to you again. “But I’d rather tap something else instead of that bottle,” he muttered under his breath.

You gasped and giggled. “Tell me what you really want, Timmy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. His blue eyes were always so intense that sometimes you could see him thinking. Tim’s big brain always took your breath away when he’d finally tell you what he was thinking.

“You’re happy right? Psychologically, moving is the 3rd most stressful life event most people have, statistically,” he said quietly. He looked at you like you were the sun. He held your waist gently and your faces were only a few inches from each other.

“I’m very happy. You make me so happy,” you said softly. He relaxed visibly and kissed you gently. Tim reached a hand up to caress your cheek. He pulled back a fraction.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Tim said. His face searched yours for a reaction. You shyly smiled and leaned up to catch his lips. He held the back of your neck and waist tightly as he deepened the slow kiss. It was not rushed or in lust. It felt like he wanted you to feel appreciated and treasured.

“TT. Father, we should have waited another day to visit. Though luck because leaving the door unlocked was an ill advised choice, Drake,” droned the younger Wayne brother. You pulled away from Tim and looked to see Bruce Wayne and Damian Wayne standing in the doorway. Bruce had the slightest upturn of his lips. Tim glared at Damian.

“Knocking works. And the door bell,” Tim said.

“I was testing your security system. Everything appears functional except human error of an unlocked door. You should take mind of that particularly as your partner is insufficient at self defense,” Damian stated looking around. You gave Damian a mirthless smile.

“Damian,” Bruce said and the boy quieted. “This is a good apartment. I designed it myself some time ago. The sunset through the full window was a design feature. I hope you both enjoy it.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tim said rubbing his neck, knowing that was basically a hug and love you from a non-emotionally constipated parent.

“It’s really nice, Mr Wayne. I didn’t know you did architecture,” you said watching Damian who was now inspecting the wall and window seals.

“Occasionally I have spent time personally designing certain buildings. Especially when I plan to give them to one of my boys. This is yours, Tim. The name transfers to yours on Monday,” Bruce said walking around the room and purposefully not looking at Tim. You looked at him in shock.

“The whole building,” you asked faintly.

“Yes. Tim is an adult. I built this as an investment piece. We can talk revenue stream and care on Monday but I assure you that it is quite profitable. I’ve done this for each of my boys as they’ve moved out as adults. Dick has a building downtown and Jason insisted on an entire block in the Narrows that is now a non-profit clinic and homeless shelter. I have others for my other children as well,” Bruce said.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tim said and he gave Bruce a half hug.

“Of course, as the blood son I get the manor,” Damian said with a smirk.

“You’re the blood son? Never heard that one,” Tim said rolling his eyes.

“In many years. I’m still using the manor, Damian,” Bruce said and you swore you saw him rolling his eyes at Tim.

“You can still use it as long as you want. It will just be in my name at the earliest convenience,” Damian started. Bruce laughed.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Let’s get going. They probably want to be alone in their new apartment.”

Damian gave a look. “Lock the door, Drake. No point in top point Wayne security if you leave the door open.”

“Yeah I know,” Tim said with a fake smile.

“Thanks for stopping by!” You called after them. Damian locked the door on the way out.

“Finally!” Tim said. You laughed. “Where were we earlier?” He pulled you into a deep kiss and any questions you had about owning a freaking building was lost. He grabbed at your hips and pulled you tight. You moaned as he nipped at your neck. Tim pushed you against the island in the kitchen. He slid his hands underneath your sweater before turning you away from him. You were bent at the waist over the counter.

“Timmy,” you breathed as he kissed your neck and palmed your breasts under your sweater. He hummed against your skin while grinding on your ass.

“Woah, Timbers,” came a voice from the bedroom. You yelped. Jason and one of his outlaw friends stood in the doorway. Tim quickly pulled his hands from in your shirt and pulled the fabric down. He didn’t let you go as he had a massive erection by this point but he basically covered your body with his arms, the best he could. You turned and buried your head in his neck. It was one thing to be seen kissing and another groping over a kitchen counter.

“What the fuck, Todd,” Tim asked mentally planning to change all locks and updating security. He glared at his brother.

“Just thought I’d bring over a housewarming gift,” Jason said with a 6 pack of beer in his hand. His friend showed off another pack and a bag of chips. “We’ll leave and come back another time,” he said with a big grin. Tim noticed that they didn’t leave the food or drink but instead went back to the secondary elevator in the bathroom. “I’ll lock this for you. Don’t forget protection,” Jason said with a wink.

“Bye,” Tim said forcefully. Jason and his friend laughed and left via the elevator. “I’m checking every lock in here.”

He walked around the apartment, checking every lock just as he promised. He came back to you with a look of hunger in his eyes. Tim roughly kisses you before all but pushing you to the bedroom where he pressed you on the bed.

“Oof,” you made the soft sound as you bounced on the mattress. Before you could get your barings, Tim kissed at your neck. Normal you’d complain about him marking you so roughly but the sensation was amazing. He quickly threw off your shirt and continued marking down your chest. His fingers fiddled with the strap of your bra before just ripping the thin fabric.

“Timothy!” You gasped. He grinned up at you before taking your nipple in his mouth. You moaned and grabbed at his hair. You pulled at his tie and dress shirt. Tim pulled away and quickly shoved them off. He might have even popped a button or two. You ran your hands along his bare chest feelings the muscles underneath. He unbuttoned and with a hook, yanked both your pants and underwear off in a smooth movement. You gasped at his eagerness. He never acted this way.

Tim hand slid up your thighs to play with your folds as he kissed you. You all but panted against his lips. You pulled at his belt and he leaned away for a second to roughly shove his pants and boxers down his legs.

“Where are the condoms?” He said, palming himself.

“No need. Birth control,” you answered and he groaned with a look similar to pain. Tim climbed over you again. He sunk in slowly.

“Holy shit you’re wet,” he said. You really were but the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he had sex without a condom had more to do with it. Tim grabbed your hips to ground himself.

“Please... move,” you whined. He started slowly. It was agonizing on your end. Tim reached between your legs to rub your clit. He wasn’t going to last long but he’d was damned if he didn’t want you to finish first. After getting his baring, he started moving faster.

The sounds you made were magical and it sped him faster and harder. You moaned into his mouth as he roughly kissed you deeply. His tongue possessive lay swept in your mouth. Tim could feel you tightening around him and your sounds growing louder. You weren’t going to last long. You clenched around him tightly in release. He grunted and thrust roughly before cumming. He moved through both of your highs before stopping.

Tim’s forehead rested on yours and his weight laid on your body. You could feel his heart pounding roughly. “Tim, you’re heavy,” you protested. He rolled off to beside you.

Tim pulled you on his chest and kissed your lips gently. “I’m so glad you moved in with me. Our place.”

You smiled and stared at his perfectly blue eyes. “Our place,” you said kissing his cheek.

#friday night smut #tim drake x reader #Tim drake smut #tim drake #batboys smut #red robin x reader #Red Robin x reader #dc

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

risks ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “Hi! Do you take requests?? If you do, can I please request a Spencer x Reader (Including the BAU), where they are dating and the reader is a year or so younger than spencer, but just as smart and very loved by the team, and one day she has to save the team from an unsub and gets really hurt and after everyone is safe they are all really worried about her?? Idk if that made sense at all. Love you work!” 2898 words

a/n: do i know anything about bombs or surgery or post-op procedures? No. did i still have a lot of fun writing this? Yes . i hope you like it! this specific request has been sent to multiple fic writers which i didn’t know until i’d already written and posted BUT the good thing is every writer is different so every request will be approached differently

masterlist

“No.”

“Hotch-“

“I said, no.”

“My girlfriend is stuck in there with a psychopath, Hotch! I can’t leave her in there!”

“I know, Reid. But I need you out here, alive, rather in there, dead.”

Spencer glares, “She could be dead in there for all we know.”

Emily winces from behind Spencer. Hotch stands, hands on hips, trying to think logically despite the situation, “We can’t afford to think like that.”

“He has a bomb! He-he-“

“Reid.” Hotch says, tone authoritive to show he’s playing unit chief and not old friend Hotch, “I need your head in this. We need to profile him to figure out the best way to negotiate – we can’t do that if you keep threatening to act irrationally.”

Spencer scoffs. Derek steps forward and pulls Spencer aside to talk him down from the metaphorical ledge he’s standing on. He’s one second away from running right into that abandoned building that everyone had just evacuated, bar you, and straight into the arms of the man who now has you hostage with a bomb ready to be detonated whenever he pleases.

Hotch already tried calling and negotiating. The man scoffed, voice gruff, and rumbled, “Either I get what I want, or both me and the pretty agent are getting blown to bits.”

In hindsight, they should’ve been more prepared.

Storming the abandoned warehouse, the team expected to find the remnants of a crime scene – they profiled the warehouse was the base of operations for the unsub, a place for him to store all his supplies, and because it had made the news that the FBI were on the case, they assumed he would’ve started running the second he felt them closing in.

He didn’t. He’s ready to go down with his ship, and you’re the unfortunate one that found him. And his homemade bomb.

Derek found the bomb-making equipment. He shouted in his comm for everyone to evacuate, and Spencer realised the second he stepped outside that you were not there. And you hadn’t responded to any calls after stepping into the building.

All it took was one call from the too proud unsub for them to realise your life is in the balance and for Reid to stop thinking rationally.

Spencer should’ve gone with you. He knows you can handle yourself, you’ve saved his ass enough times, but if he’d just.. followed you instead of JJ. Maybe you’d both be in there, or, even better, out here. Alive. Safe. No hostage situation in sight.

Suddenly, several shots ring out.

The team ducks behind their SUVs, Hotch having to drag Spencer down when he doesn’t react, just in case he decides to run straight in.

“It wasn’t the bomb!” Derek calls across, their heads beginning to pop up from behind the vehicles.

Spencer breaks free from Hotch’s grip and sprints into the warehouse. Bomb be damned, there were exactly six shots fired – the exact amount you have in your revolver.

Also the exact amount he has in his revolver.

“Go! Go!” Hotch shouts. The team all charge after Spencer, separating and flowing through the hallways and doorways of the warehouse – there’s this sense of dread running through all of them. There’s something so unique to the panic you feel when someone so close to you, someone so dear, is the one in danger.

There’s a screech from the back of the warehouse. It’s filled with agony, anguish and unadulterated pain – loud enough to reach every nook and cranny of the premises.

“I need a medic!”

Spencer’s throat burns from the tormented yell that leaped from his throat when he found you. There’s so much blood, and it takes Spencer longer than it should to find where your wounds are: two shots to the stomach, one too close to your lungs for comfort.

Although, none of this is comforting. Your eyes are closed.

The unsub is dead. The team looks around the room and easily pieces everything together: you both shot at the same time. You were able to give fatal hits and Spencer refuses to let the hits you got become deadly too.

They spare little to no attention to the bomb – the bomb squad stampede in and analyse it. Their focus is you, if you’re breathing and if the blood has stopped and how weak your pulse is.

It’s too weak. Spencer chokes on a sob above your body.

“Spence, you gotta move,” Derek’s voice is gentle despite the chaos around them, two medics taking Spencer’s place when Derek pulls him away.

“She-she- I can’t-“

“I know, kid, I know. We have to let them take care of her.”

The team is frozen around you as a stretcher is brought it. You’re being given oxygen, the medics are frantically shouting all kinds of things that Spencer doesn’t register – he follows behind you, shoulders slumped and cheeks wet, scanning you from head to toe constantly to see some display of life within you.

Hotch tells him to ride with you to the hospital. He doesn’t bother sparing the team a glance – he needs to keep his eyes on you because if he doesn’t he’s terrified you’ll disappear and he’ll never see you again and never hear your voice and never get to hear you say “I love you” ever again.

He’s terrified.

+++

You’ve been in surgery for hours.

Spencer’s still covered in your blood. He sits next to Derek, who just force-fed him half a granola bar, leg bouncing while he bites his nails.

The whole team is waiting impatiently. Hotch hasn’t sat down once, JJ has been on the phone to Will and Henry several times so she doesn’t go crazy, and everyone has been taking laps around the hospital to burn off some… fear? Apprehension? Just to do something?

Penelope broke several driving laws to get here. She came in, makeup smeared all over her face and hiccupping as Derek caught her when she approached them and collapsed. It took her an hour and a half to calm down.

“Reid.”

Spencer doesn’t move.

“Reid, kid.”

Derek nudges him. He looks up, lips chapped and bitten raw, and looks at Rossi who holds his to-go bag.

“You should change.” Rossi says, a warm smile on his face as he speaks quietly.

Spencer stares at the bag, then his shirt and sweater vest. He nearly vomits – your blood is everywhere. It’s dried now, a testament to how long you’ve been on that table, and he feels himself getting choked up all over again. He wishes he could help you. He wishes this wasn’t happening.

The guilt sinks in.

If he’d stayed with you. If he’d followed you. If he’d found you a little earlier. If they’d realised who the unsub was quicker. If they’d come to the warehouse more prepared.

Maybe you’d be here. Maybe it would be him on the operating table. God, he wishes it was him.

He needs you alive. He needs you.

“C’mon, Spence,” JJ whispers. She can’t speak any louder or she’ll cry. She takes the bag from Rossi, gingerly takes Spencer’s hand and pulls him towards the toilet just a little way away.

She opens the door and holds it open for him, gesturing with her head for him to go in.

“It’ll take you five minutes. I’ll be right here.”

He sniffles and nods, a tear sliding down his cheek, and heads in.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when they hear the lock of the door.

Spencer hasn’t moved since he got to the hospital and you were hurried away straight into surgery. Your eyes opened in the ambulance and Spencer could only cry harder – you used every last bit of strength you had to grip Spencer’s hand and passed out again.

He hasn’t spoken, either. No one can blame him. But changing clothes, cleaning your blood from his hands and forearms and it’s somehow on his neck, that’s progress. It’s about as good as they’ll get until there’s an update on you.

Spencer slumps back out of the toilet, walking clumsily towards his friends with his head facing the floor. The room is too bright, his eyes are beginning to sting from crying, and his heart is hurting because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. All of it is giving him a headache.

You know how to help him with his headaches. You always know how to help him. You.

There’s movement from the large doors next to Spencer. A doctor comes out, looking frazzled and still in scrubs, and says, “Y/N Y/L/N?”

They all stare.

“She’s stable.”

Penelope lets out a verbal gasp and a “Thank God,”, both Emily and JJ’s heads fall in their hands in disbelief and even Hotch’s head falls back as he lets out a sigh of relief.

Derek’s hand grips Spencer’s shoulder. He’s too shocked to say anything.

“Can we see her?” Derek asks. He knows Spencer will want to see her the second he can, and he’ll spend every moment with her until she’s fully healed.

The doctor gives a pitiful grimace, “Only one at a time, unfortunately. These next twenty-four hours are vital and we don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“I have to see her.” Comes Spencer’s voice, weak and fragile as he still chews his thumb.

Hotch nods, “Of course. Spencer, you stay with her and we’ll come back later.”

He then nods towards the rest of the team and they all filter out slowly, all acknowledging Spencer in one way or another – Penelope kisses his head, Derek and Rossi give his shoulder a squeeze, JJ, Emily and Hotch tell him to text them if he needs anything.

He knows they don’t want to leave, but Spencer would fight every single one of them if any even tried to see you before he could. He needs to see you for himself. Needs to see you breathe.

“Follow me, sir,” The doctor says, “She might look a little off-putting – she had more injuries than we thought. But she’s steady and strong, so we’re confident she’ll make it through.”

She gestures towards your room. Spencer nods and gives a tight lipped smile, mumbling, “Thank you.”

When the door’s pushed open, Spencer chokes on a cry.

He remembers the only time he was shot: that one time in the leg. It wasn’t much. It was a shock to the system, but ultimately he was fine. He’s come to love the scar thanks to you - you’ve placed plenty of kisses on it for him to see it and instantly think of you and the love you bring.

Which is exactly why he can’t lose you. He loves you too much and he knows you love him and he’s never been so sure of anything or anyone in his life until you and he swears to God if you’re taken from him-

He takes a deep breath, pulling the chair towards your bed as close as possible as he moves to interlock his fingers with yours and grip tightly.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

+++

Penelope is the first to visit. She waddles in, flowers, chocolates, a card, a cuddly bear and some food for the good doctor in her arms. When she walks in she realises Spencer is knocked out in the chair next to you. She’s not surprised; she didn’t want to leave you, but Spencer needed to be with you.

She pokes him gently. And again, when he doesn’t respond.

He jumps awake, immediately going to rub his neck that is stiff after spending hours at an awkward angle.

“Morning, handsome,” Penelope smiles. She hands him the food she brought and, after sparing a glance to your sleeping form, he takes the bag and digs in.

“Thank you,” He says quietly. Penelope looks at you.

“How is she?”

“Not bad. She hasn’t gotten worse, and that’s all I can ask for.”

Penelope leans over and presses a kiss to your head, “She’s a boss. She’ll be up and at it before you know it.”

Spencer pauses in his eating and watches you, feeling nothing but love and pride, and his lower lip began to quiver. He clears his throat and looks away.

His eyes have been rubbed raw from Spencer trying to stop his tears and from trying to stay awake all night, just in case you woke up. He doesn’t remember when he fell asleep.

Derek appears then.

“Hey, you two,” He’s also carrying flowers and a cuddly bear (the team knows you so well – the way to your heart is stereotypical gifts). He gives Penelope a side hug and shoots Spencer a nod, “How you feeling, pretty boy?”

He rubs his eyes, “I’m awesome.”

Derek chuckles, “Uhuh.”

He looks at you, then, and his smile becomes tighter. Penelope grips his arm and tugs him towards her, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“You two look cosy.”

All attention is snapped to you: half lidded, voice coarse, lips dry. Spencer drops the bag of food.

“Hi, pretty,” He grins, eyes filling with tears again when he stands and leans towards you on your bed. God, what do you do to him?

His forehead rests against yours and you close your eyes in comfort. His smell fills you, all familiar and oh so welcome after whatever the hell you went through. Your whole body aches, breathing feels strange and almost unknown, and you’re acutely aware of the tubes in your nose.

Spencer pulls back suddenly, eyes jerking open, and grabs some water for you, “Here, drink.”

You do as he says, gulping it down and gulping down a second and third cup.

“I’ll get the nurse,” Penelope says, having to tear her eyes away from you because you’re awake and it fills her with so much happiness to see you okay.

After a quick visit from the nurse, you’re told you have to stay for a further few days and you pout at the thought. No one likes hospitals. No one likes being stuck in a hospital.

The whole team arrives and Derek and Penelope offer to go meet them to catch them up on everything before they come in. Everyone knows it’s really so you and Spencer have a second alone.

The second the door closes, Spencer kisses you. It’s eager and full of angst. You wish you could wrap your arms around him and pull him in tight, but everything hurts. So that’ll have to wait.

“You had me so worried,” Spencer gasps, forehead against yours and hands cupping your face, “So, so worried.”

“My apologies,” You giggle. It hurts to do it, but Spencer makes you so happy, even in a dreary hospital. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He smiles. He feels like all the tension has evaporated from his body - you’re here, you’re okay, you’re awake, you’re as perfect as ever. “You had everyone scared.”

“I have fans?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at you. You just woke up from being shot and going through a long surgery, and you’re joking around?

He loves you so much.

Your arm slowly moves up to loosely hold his wrist. Your eyes look glassy, suddenly.

“I love you, Spence.” You breathe, “My first thought when I got shot was I’d never be able to say that to you again. I love you so, so much.”

Spencer grips your face tighter and pulls your lips back to his. There’s so much passion in the kiss; he wants to tell you he loves you every second of every day for the rest of his life, and he’s trying to show that.

Now you’re here, he can do that. Thank God he can do that.

“I love you too. So much. I’ve never been as scared as I was when I found you, I-“ He gets choked up again, “If you ever do something like that again, we will have issues I swear to God Y/N-“

“Kiss me again you idiot,” You say, all smiles.

When the whole team roll in, Spencer is perched on the very edge of your bed, hand in yours, thumb rubbing back and forth. They all smile at you, holding various gifts that get you very excited, and tell you how glad they are you’re okay.

Derek’s brows furrow, pointing at your heart monitor, “Now what happened while we were gone, cuties?”

Everyone looks towards the monitor, where your heartbeat is still high from kissing and being close to Spencer after being scared you’d never be able to again.

You and Spencer blush, “I’m just very happy to see my team.” You say, trying to suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek smirks at you both, “Just couldn’t keep your hands off eachother, huh?”

Spencer sputters, “It would be so inappropriate to do anything like that in a hospital, Morgan! Actually, hospitals…”

As Spencer rambles on, you scan the room and find yourself tearing up. You feel so cared for and loved, surrounded by the people you consider family and holding the hand of the love of your life. You’re so lucky, you realise, despite the situation that led to this, to have such amazing people so close.

You move and lean your head against Spencer’s shoulder and, mid-sentence, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

It’s an honour to be so loved by such lovely people.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #mine #god does this suck?#man i feel like it sucks

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mrsmaybank · 4 years

Text

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”

PART ONE HERE

A/N: It came out fast!!! I had lowk already started it, so that’s why this update came so quickly. Please don’t expect them all to come this fast LMAO. I usually write slow as fuck. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this part so I can maybe just maybe turn this into a mini series. Please lmk if you guys like :)

CONTENT WARNINGS: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SEX (lmk if i missed any please)

I paced the bullpen as the team spoke to Penelope. The shock of her pregnancy was starting to wear off, and now I could think more clearly. How could she? What was she thinking?

Recently, I’d found myself thinking about it more, a baby her and a mini-me. A family of my own, with the love of my life. It was exciting and like a lovesick fool it made my stomach fuzzy. But she wasn’t ready and I couldn’t do that to her. So how could she do it to herself? She hadn’t finished school, hadn’t started her career. She could barely take care of herself! I wasn’t mad, absolutely not. Just disappointed at her self-sabotage and the fact she’d made the decision completely without me. I couldn’t think about it for long though, because I was swiftly reminded by my surroundings that right now, there was a chance I’d lose her, our child and any children we wanted to have in the future. That was the priority.

“Garcia, check her credit card records, we need to see where she last was.” Hotch said.

“Uhm, okay,” Penelope took a deep breath while clicking away, “Let’s see. Her last purchase was last night, 6:49 at a CVS Pharmacy, oh--”

“What Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“She was um, picking up her monthly case of birth control.”

JJ broke the silence, “Spence…” she started towards me.

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.”

“Thank god?” Morgan questioned.

“She’s 23.” I wiped my face, “Whole life ahead of her.” The team understood what I was trying to say. Rossi’s hand fell on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“So why would she tell Brook she was?” Garcia asked.

“I uh, I..I don’t know.” I spat out. I really had no idea.

“Think Reid.” Rossi told me. “You guys ever talk about kids or pregnancy?”

“She might be trying to send us a message,” Emily added.

I thought back to the last time we discussed starting a family.

--FLASHBACK--

We were surrounded by timeless pieces of art and history, and yet the true masterpiece was still her. She was always beautiful to me, a perfect being, truly. But today, something about the way she looked today specifically, made her look like the kind of beauty you see in a painting. Had she been a painting, her creator must have been skilled. Each stroke of his brush creating every divine curve of her face and body to produce a work of magnificent art, one that I so proudly hung on the walls of my heart.

I remember exactly what she wore, and how it felt to take it all off. The painter had an eye for color. Her denim skirt, the length or lack thereof making me embarrassingly wary, was blue like the Mediterranean Sea, complementing the pigment of the skin of her legs. A white button down made of silk, not worn properly, of course. Too many buttons were left open at the top, as to draw attention to the gold adorned on her chest, but in the spell of temptation she procured to cast upon me, my eyes wandered to admire territories of her body they shouldn’t have. Not in public, at least. The buttons at the bottom were left untouched as well, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. She looked like an angel, but of course, went out of her way to instead be my temptress.

My affinity for her beauty aside, the wide eyes in delight at the museum artifacts and careful attention to my commentary were what made our excursion wonderful. The feeling of her smaller hand in mine, and the giggles and the teasing “You’re way too nerdy to be so stupid hot Dr. Reid.” made it absolutely perfect.

In exchange for her listening so attentively to my historical facts and stories, I took her for ice cream. She insisted we ate it on the greens of Lincoln Park. Who was I to deny her that? What came next--I expected. She’d devoured it. Made a mess of strawberry ice cream on her white shirt.

“It was the wind!” She insisted as the first of many drips of ice cream fell down her chin.

“No it was not!” I argued back while wiping it, “You just never learned how to eat ice cream properly.” I gently removed the cone from her hands and into mine, taking an overzealous bite. “This, lovey, is how you eat ice cream.”

“Give it back, you...you dickass!” She snorted. We laughed like two lovesick teenagers.

“Dickass?” I asked, eyes watery from laughter.

“Yeah dickass, give me back my damn ice cream.” I took another bite, “Stop! You’re eating it all!” She pouted. Pouts were unfortunately my weakness and I handed it back to her. However, in her rush, the pink scoop had fallen directly on her blouse.

“Way to prove my point,” I started to take off my cardigan, “You want dickass’s sweater?”

She wanted to be mad but couldn’t contain the wince of a smile. “Please.”

We carefully removed her shirt from under while simultaneously putting the cardigan in its place.

“Spence don’t let me flash! There’s kids and judgmental old ladies here!”

I laughed and shushed her, “I know, I know.” I moved all the fabrics quickly and it was done. Her sticky pink shirt was replaced with my soft sweater. “There.”

“My hero,” She kissed me, “Truly.”

She leaned back on our picnic blanket on her shoulders as we observed our fellow park goers. “So many kids.”

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah…”

“We should bring our kids here one day.” she said, instantly breaking my haze from the crowd so I could only see her.

I smiled again at the thought, “Yeah, and tell them how their mom is the world's clumsiest ice cream eater.”

She looked at me with disdain before shoving her shoulder into mine. “Shut up.”

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”

I toppled her so we were laying down, facing each other. She kissed me hard, and my hands went to the sides of her face, only pulling back to say “I can’t wait for it, you know. My two little girls.”

She smiled, “But I’ll always be your favorite right?” she asked sarcastically.

I laughed, “Oh of course. Always.”

“I’ll have a big ol’ belly, you know.” I nodded, “You’d still be perfect.”

“We’d have to go to the mall, buy me a shitload of new clothes. Do ya know how dirty malls are Spence?” I winced at the thought of thousands of strangers bacteria on every surface and she laughed, “Got ya.” I shook my head, “Nope! I uh, I’ll just bring hand sanitizers and uh, to the Maternity section we’ll go.”

“Non-stop Panda express eating.” I nodded again, “I’ll be non-stop Panda Express buying, then.” She smiled so hard her nose scrunched.

“I love you Spencer.”

“I love you too. I am so in love with you.”

--FLASHBACK ENDS--

“Yeah but it was trivial.” I said.

“Maybe not,” Hotch argued, “Was anything mentioned specifically?”

“A name she liked?” Prentiss added, “Maybe a craving she thought she might have? Anything at all?”

I nodded, “Not a food, but a fast food place. Panda Express.” I doubted that would be helpful.

“It’s a stretch but, Garcia, check for any dilapidated buildings within 10 miles of a Panda Express.”

“Yes sir,” She typed away and then said, “No, guys. I’m sorry. All of our Panda Express’s are in pristine malls or new developments.”

“Mall!” I shouted, “She said we’d have to go to the mall! She knows I hate the mall.”

Morgan pointed at us, “The tiles in that room look like they could be from some 80’s Bloomingdales.”

“Garcia-” I said.

“Already on it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pregnancy ruse was either going to get me killed, or save my life. It was a moment of panic and I just wanted to throw her off. I know it did, but in what direction?

She was still crying, her demeanor with me was still laced with bitter animosity, but she was calmer now.

“How long have you known?” Brook asked, the contents of her flask now empty and her words slurred.

“I found out yesterday.” I lied through my teeth.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Had you guys talked about it?”

“Vaguely.” I admitted.

“What’d Spencer want? Boy or girl?” I debated on whether or not to say, and she caught on. “Don’t fucking lie.” She stated harshly.

“Girl.” I breathed out. “He wants a girl.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I don’t care.” I said. That was true.

“How come?”

“I just want to start a family with him. Don’t really care about the gender…” That was true as well.

“Oh.” she nodded her head, “Why’d he want a girl?” It was strange, her genuine curiosity. It freaked me out, but my alternative was being stabbed. I chose to just answer her questions, regardless of how much I really did not want to.

“He liked the idea of a little girl who looked like me.”

She winced, eyes tearing up further. “Right.” I was beginning to realize her feelings were very real.

“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. My head was still looking for an answer as to how she could be driven to do something like this.

She clasped her hands together, her anger returning. “Don’t fucking start. You know nothing of what I feel for Spencer.” She came up closer and tugged at my hair, “Fucking nothing.”

“Okay,” I grimaced at the pain from the force at which she pulled my hair, “I-I’m sorry.”

She let go, “You should be. You really, really fucking should be.” She sat back down, pensive for a while. I wish I knew what she was thinking about.

My heart had not stopped it’s fast pace ridden with anxiety since I gained full awareness of my situation, but now, it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Was she planning on just killing me now?

My anticipation ceased when she got up and brought back the camera with her again. “Hello BAU. There has been a change in plans. Your beloved,” The words reeked of sarcasm, “Y/N here, will be returned eventually. . She’s gonna be fine. However, it is now in everybody best interest if this video feed was cut out. Sorry.” She said before mouthing, “No I’m not.” She shut the camera off.

She turned to me, “I hate you. Fucking despise you.” Figures.

“But I would never hurt Spencer. Or his child. Even if it is being carried by a whore like you.”

She began to pace once more, “You’re obviously a mistake on his part. You clearly tricked him with sex and...no just sex I think. You're not really smart enough to be capable of anything else. Regardless, he’s probably already thinking about abortions or adoption. There’s no way in hell a man like him could ever want to start a family with a girl like you.” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.”

I could only nod my head at her delusions. This woman was so far up her ass.

She pinched my cheeks together with her cold hands, “You tried to trap him. How’d that go for you?”

I was silent.

“I asked you a fucking question!” She held my face impossibly tighter.

“Poorly.” I got out, “Poorly.”

“In 9 months, I’ll help you deliver your baby. And then, you can go.” Brook backed away and let go of her tight grip on my face. “I’m keeping the kid. Raising it.” She smiled, “I’ll be the mother Spencer’s child will deserve. And then-” A giggle creepily reminiscent of a schoolgirl’s left her throat, “He’ll love me!”

Brooks intention had twisted from wanting to murder and torture me as revenge for “taking” Spencer, to a now twisted maternal desire for his (hypothetical) child. But if Spencer and his team couldn’t find me before the time I was supposed to be showing, I was fucked. Utterly fucked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Taglist: @britishspidey

(Let me know to be added)

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highqueenofelfhame · 4 years

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An: I’ll add tags later, i just wanted to get this posted because I’m like pretty happy with it, it’s alright. So i hope you guys enjoy! I’ll also attach links and stuff later, I’m posting this from my iPad and i just am too lazy for the tagging process. Me wants to sleep. This is part of the Disney au! Shoutout to @tangledraysofsunshine and @punkassbookjockey26 for the help on this one! This is mostly fluff (i know, how wild) but don’t worry i’m working on some angst for you soon. Fafs update soon too! I’ve already started on it and I’m going to keep working on it as the week goes. Thankfully it’s an easy chapter for me to write bc i have plenty of OG stuff to pull from. Okay, anyway! Enjoy!!

With every second that ticked by, it was getting harder and harder not to rummage through his belongings like she lived there. Even worse was that Rowan was sneaking glances at her with a smirk on his lips like he knew she wanted to. It made her scowl, a frown line appearing between her eyebrows as she glared into his back.

“I’m making you dinner, and you’re still finding a reason to be unhappy with me?” He asked her, putting down the spatula and turning to lean against his counter. The man looked criminally good in an ivory cable-knit sweater and dark jeans, an outfit combination that Aelin had never seen him in before. Thinking back on it, she was positive that when he wasn’t in a costume at work, she had only ever seen him in jeans and a t-shirt. There was also the single flannel he’d worn on Halloween, but all of that was simply incomparable to how he looked now.

“You said dinner would be ready ages ago.”

“I said it would be ready in half an hour when you got here, which was twenty minutes ago. I still have ten minutes before you get to hound me about lying.”

“Maybe if you’d prepared an appetizer…” she teased, hoping with every cell in her body that he knew she was kidding. When Rowan had said he wanted to cook her dinner, she’d been floored. The only meal that she could successfully make was breakfast, and the options were limited. Additionally, she couldn’t remember the last time a romantic interest had cooked for her at all. Probably Sam several years earlier, and it had been so bad they’d relented and settled on drive-thru burgers instead.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at her, and she knew she’d missed the mark with her joke. The date had been going well so far; not much could have been ruined. He’d kissed her hello once, or four times, then told her to make herself at home. Rowan even had a beautiful arrangement of kingsflame at the table in the dining area. Their banter had ensued as it always did, casual teasing comments. Until she went too far. Obviously.

He turned his back, and Aelin tensed, moving across the kitchen to get to him. Just before she touched him, he turned back around, eyes widening almost comically when his elbow nearly hit her temple. Without her boots, her footsteps had been near-silent on his hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, fingers brushing her temple where his sweater had grazed her face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” With their dinner sizzling in the background, she was sure that he could hardly hear the soft whisper of her voice. That didn’t seem to matter because Rowan leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, short and sweet and leaving her wanting more. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rowan’s brows knit together, green eyes tracing over every feature of her face before settling to meet her gaze.

“Being… me? Teasing? I don’t know. This is a date, and you’re so nice to be making dinner, and I shouldn’t be--”

“Aelin,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t busting my balls for something. I don’t think we would be us.” At the mention of them as an item, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth to ward off the embarrassingly large grin that was threatening to take over her face.

“That doesn’t mean I can be rude,” she grumbled, earning another smile from the man in front of her.

“You aren’t.” Rowan turned away from her for a brief moment. When he faced her again he held half of a cookie in his hand. “You just get hangry.”

She stared at the small offering in his hand before accepting it with a smile. Not only was he making her dinner, but it seemed he had also baked her double chocolate chip cookies. It made her heart squeeze in an almost painful way, but she took the cookie and nibbled on the corner. Whatever recipe he had used was perfect. It only made the rumbling in her belly worse, but she was determined to finish it without chocolate smeared all over her mouth.

“I’m almost done with dinner. Go snoop. I know you’re dying to.” Aelin wrinkled her nose, and Rowan was quick to kiss the tip of it, despite her failed attempt to swerve. Not that she wanted him to miss, really. Aelin wanted to beg him to kiss her until she was physically sick and couldn’t stand to feel his mouth on her body ever again.

The apartment was simple. It had one bedroom and an open living and kitchen area. Rowan had a small table that could seat four between the two rooms. It was sparsely decorated but had a few personal touches here and there that provided a glimpse into Rowan’s life. She walked around the living room, noting the pile of books stacked neatly next to the TV contained some of her favorites. She hadn’t pegged Rowan as an avid reader, but she realized that despite working with the man for the past two years, there was still so much she didn’t know about him.

And she realized, more than anything, that she wanted to know everything.

Furthermore, she’d been right about the books stacked on the coffee table. They were travel books, some of them with tabs and post-it notes sticking out of the sides. With a sly glance to the kitchen, she perched on the edge of the couch and pulled the biggest of them with the most annotations toward her, flipping through the pages to see what all he had bookmarked.

One of the first pages was a map marking all the parks and their major attractions. It seemed Rowan had a key for himself, little stars, triangles and squares marking various locations.

“The stars are my favorite places I’ve been,” Rowan said, pulling her gaze from pages of mountains and canyons and over to his green eyes.

“Is this what you do when you aren’t working?” Aelin closed the books and restacked them neatly on the table. Rowan was carrying two plates of stir-fry over to the table. In a few steps she joined him, sliding into the seat beside his.

“When I can, yes.” She was so hungry that she merely nodded, taking a too-large bite of food and meaning at the taste. Rowan’s eyebrow quirked while he took a bite of his own, and to avoid speaking with a mouthful she gave him a thumbs up.

“So good,” she reiterated after she swallowed, clearing her throat.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“It’s food. I like food. And you baked cookies,” Aelin reminded him, popping another bite in her mouth. The tickle she seemed to be developing in her throat worsened, forcing her to clear her throat again after she swallowed. Actually, the tickle was becoming an insatiable itch that she tried to chase away with water. She had no luck. “Is your um— is your throat itchy?”

“No…?” Aelin tugged on the collar of her shirt, nodding her head instead of responding. Rowan leaned over to brush his fingers along her cheek, worry settling in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Gods, my mouth is itchy,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, while she downed the rest of her water so quickly a drop slipped down the side of her chin.

“Aelin. What are you allergic to?”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” she insisted, despite the way her tongue felt undeniably too big for her mouth. Rowan had already left the table, though, disappearing through a door off the living room and coming back with a small white bottle. His phone was also now in his hand and the numbers his thumb was pressing looked a lot like 9-1-1 from her vantage point.

“Take these,” he said softly, holding two pills to her lips that she opened her mouth for and downed with Rowan’s full glass of water.

“That’s dramatic.” She nodded at his phone. “I can breathe fine. My mouth is just itchy. And my tongue is a little too big.” To prove a point, she stuck her tongue out. Rowan’s eyes were saucers and he was ready to hit the call button.

“Your tongue is twice the size it usually is!”

“Did you do this on purpose? Is this getting me back for the syrup?” Aelin was kidding. Half-kidding, maybe, but kidding all the same. When she spoke, drool dribbled down her chin that she wiped at with the collar of her shirt. The whimper that sounded in the back of her throat wasn’t voluntary. It was their first date and she managed to drool on herself in front of him. Aelin Galathynius was the epitome of cool.

“This is not getting you back for the syrup.” Rowan’s voice was sharp, if still soft around the edges while he watched her carefully. His thumb was still dancing over the call button, but Aelin refused to be carted out of his apartment on a stretcher. She took his phone, locked it, and held it hostage in her lap while he fussed and mumbled about how big her tongue was. “What are you allergic to?”

“I didn’t know I was allergic to anything,” she swore again, grabbing his water for another long drink.

It went on like this for several minutes: Rowan listing the ingredients for the stir-fry that she may not have had before, or maybe she’d not had it in such a long time she forgot she had a mild allergy to it. MSG, soy, celery, sesame, carrots, on and on. He ran through everything twice before Aelin asked him to please stop, she had no idea and listing them over and over wasn’t going to spark a memory or knowledge she didn’t have.

The signature frown he wore most of the time was all the more prominent the droopier her eyes got; the effects of Benadryl were hitting her harder than she cared to admit, but her throat wasn’t as itchy and her tongue was feeling closer to normal. Rowan held both of her hands and guided her to his bedroom. Aelin wanted to make a joke about how this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she was too sleepy to find the words.

Rowan undressed her, pulling her jeans off before guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. The duvet was softer, fluffier than she’d anticipated him to sleep on, and she wanted to burrow down into it as he replaced her shirt with one of his own. When he pulled back the blanket, she crawled under and didn’t settle until he laid down with her. His sweater was soft beneath her cheek and she felt like she was cuddling with him on a cloud. Gods, his bed was so comfortable she wanted to sleep in it forever.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date,” she mumbled, tilting her head back to look at him beneath heavy lashes and heavier lids.

“I’m sorry for accidentally almost killing you.” Despite the way his lips were turned down, there was amusement hidden in his words. Aelin smiled and tilted her head back enough for him to take the hint: she wanted to be kissed. A half smile spread across his lips and he kissed her gently, fingers brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

“This isn’t how I imagined our date ending,” she grumbled, ducking her face down into his sweater. Rowan chuckled and Aelin knew that it wasn’t what he had in mind, either. “I thought I would end up in your bed but not to sleep. I mean, maybe after you fucked me senseless, but I didn’t think we would be skipping that part altogether.”

“I didn’t think I would make something that had flare up an obscure allergy you didn’t know you had, either. So I guess we’re both surprised.” Aelin snorted, sitting up enough to tug on the side of his sweater. Rowan took the hint, sitting up to pull the sweater and his shirt over his head. While in the process of undressing, he stood and pulled his jeans off, too, tossing them over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room. Aelin swallowed, eyes dipping over the expanse of golden skin he’d exposed.

Her eyes caught on a scar on his lower abdomen, zeroed-in on the trail of hair that disappeared into his briefs. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t seen him completely naked. At work, they saw each other in various stages of undress while changing costumes, but the only time they’d had sex had been a quickie in Lorcan’s bathroom. They’d both been mostly clothed for that. She was making it a goal to see him entirely naked in the next twenty-four hours, because he looked so good like this it was unfair.

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I wake up,” she said, breathlessly. Rowan grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek that she didn’t see often enough.

“I’m counting on it.”

#Disney au #Disney #rowaelin Disney au #throne of glass #tog #iwsiil #i won’t say I’m in love #rowaelin #Aelin galathynius #Rowan whitethorn #writing #my writing

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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No Limits

Summary: Today's episode but minus the lies and with extra sexual tension but it gets resolved, somewhat.

Author's note: Today's episode called me a 🤡 too so in between writing my update for BMTL I wrote this drabble to ease my pain I love that the show keeps teasing us I really do it's delicious but I just wanted them to kiss sooooo badly today so here we go! I could keep going if people like 👀👀👀

P.s. Can an Italian tell me what exactly Vinny said to her in episode 3? Netflix says it was stupid idiot but that's stupida idiota and that doesn't sound like what he said to her in the clip. Help a writer out 🥺

She doesn't know if her father would be proud of her, or what she's been doing after turning away from Babel and reforming into a "good guy", it's borderline sanctimonious to consider herself a hero when she had spent most of the night torturing people. The ominous sound of toxic gas flooding the car still swooshes in her head, there was a moment when she'd truly considered going through with it.

Committing murder.

And he hadn't moved a single muscle to stop her, hadn't even uttered her name to pull her back in on the straight and narrow path to righteousness. In the end that had been enough to stop her, he trusted her enough to make the right decision. Every fiber of her being wanted to snuff out their lives the same way they had done to those innocent suffering families, but it was a line she couldn't return from. She should save it for a special occasion, they weren't worth tainting her soul. But there was someone else who was, Babo.

When the opportunity came, she wouldn't hesitate. Her father would have to look away because she wouldn't be stopping that time.

Before she realizes it they are outside her house, her late father's house and he's telling her good night. She'd ran out of excuses to keep sleeping at his apartment. Wanting to see him first thing when she woke up wasn't a reason she could say out loud to him, at least not sober. She was no longer scared of bumps in the night, being alone seemed more terrifying now.

"Drink with me." She whispers instead, falling back on a tried and true plan. They have become regular drinking buddies, using alcohol to cope and detach from the heinous things they see and do daily.

He looks over at her, wistful and searching before nodding solemnly. He unbuckles his belt and slides out of the car, though it is marginal she can see the hesitation in his movement and the night catches up with her. The blood is soaked into the pristine white of his collar, she recalls the hollow feeling in her chest when he didn't answer her calls and she was left with her torturous imagination. His possible death making desperate tears fall despite promising herself she wouldn't cry again.

She makes her way to the bathroom as soon as she enters the eerily quiet space, noticing the way Vincenzo peeks around the corner always on guard and she's thankful for his presence. With him, she's safe.

Pulling open her medicine cabinet she collects packets of gauze, a small bottle of antiseptic alcohol and a bandage, holding the small bundle in her arms before walking back to the living room. She finds him staring at the embarrassing photos of herself that her father had hung on the walls, she couldn't bring herself to take them down. There was so little of her father left.

"Don't let the hair fool you, I was still a heartbreaker back then. I had boys chasing after me." She lies with a smile and when he turns to look at her with those huge eyes she pauses mid step, his eyes survey her face in a distracting sweep before he smirks and walks away.

Maybe summer has come early, that would explain the sudden overwhelming heat that curls around her.

Shaking herself from her daze she calls out to him, "Hey! Come here before you bleed to death. I don't want the mafia coming after me."

The look on his face is his patent I'm going to refuse because I'm a pouty baby look and she intercepts it as she has become custom to doing, grabbing his hand and yanking him over to the kitchen table. For someone so intelligent he still hasn't learned that his refusals are futile around her.

"I'm fine. It's a shallow wound, it'll stop on its own." He argues and she wonders how many other times he has simply left a wound to fester and painfully heal on its own, was that his penance?

She shakes her head, "Why suffer when I can help you? Stop being so stubborn you're reminding me of a certain patient who you love scolding." He grows chillingly still at her words, and again a thought tingles in her mind that there's something she's missing but she presses it aside and pushes him down into the seat.

He doesn't put up a fight, going a little too easily.

"Open your shirt."

He stares at a point on the wall across the room, not responding to her command at all at first and then he looks up at her with dark eyes. She swallows deeply, raising a single brow.

When he continues to look at her without obeying her instructions she grows impatient, repeating herself, "Come on open your shirt I need to clean the wound."

Still he doesn't react and she carelessly tosses the supplies on the table, reaching out with steady fingers to unbutton his starched white shirt. He discarded the jacket earlier, so there are less layers obstructing her way. His face is unreadable as she grabs the smooth button and slips it through the hole, she gets two buttons undone before reaching the center of his chest and as if jolting back to life he suddenly grabs her hand halting her movement.

She stares at him in question, hands still on the button before he sighs at her, "I can do it myself." There's a tightness in his jaw that she can't explain and she has to stomp out the desire to run a finger across that sharp jawline.

"Okay. You do it."

Looking away she tries to give him some space but the sounds of him undressing capture her full attention and she feels her eyes shifting back captivated by the fluid motion of those dangerous hands. Knowing what they are capable of does nothing to douse the fire under her skin. Frustratedly he has a thin white shirt under the dress shirt and she can only faintly see his toned body through the material. She stares harder willing herself to develop x-ray vision, unfortunately those powers do no manifest.

"Surely I don't need to get shirtless right?" He inquires with a smug air and she glares at him, they've been playing this game for a while now. Longer than two adults should be as far as she's concerned.

In lieu of responding she picks up a fluffy cotton ball and saturates it in alcohol before dabbing at the blood on the nape of his neck, as she swipes higher he hisses at the sting and she remembers what her father would do for her when she was young and had scraped her knee. Leaning over his shoulder she puckers her lips and blows, cooling the burn.

She continues this until the cotton is soaked from the dried blood and alcohol and blowing one final time she draws back, this time she feels smugness simmering in her belly. His eyes are blown and pointedly looking away from her, she notices his tight knuckle grip on the seat of the chair as well.

"I'm all done." She announces moving away walking to the small garbage in the corner of the room. His breaths are loud in the quiet of the room, her heart echoes in tandem. Taking a deep breath she speaks without turning around, "You remember where the clothes are right? Get changed so we can drink."

She moves to the fridge to take out the platters of food they had purchased at the market earlier and the bottles of makgeolli, it was that kind of night.

He looks soft and harmless when he comes back out in a large knit sweater, without gel his hair flops across his smooth forehead and she's still not used to this sight, there's a level of domesticity that she's never had with another person. A man.

"I'll go change too." She whispers sidestepping around him, her hands brushing against his.

It's easy to get lost in their escape, slamming back gulp after gulp of the strong cloudy rice wine until her thoughts start to blur and she doesn't know what she's saying out loud and what's only privy to her brain.

When she hears herself monologuing her thoughts as she had ran into his arms in the underpass all she can do is scream internally, she can blame the alcohol but only for lowering her inhibitions really, it hadn't manifested the thoughts.

He looks stricken and oddly amused by her musings until she tells him to get up. That smile is wiped clean off his handsome face.

"I need to test it. Come on stand up." His reluctance is noted but unable to deny her once more he stands, a long suffering look on his face.

She tells him her plan, it sounds crazy even to her but for some reason he doesn't refuse or question her at all. Agreeing to all her stipulations and she's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not an Italian stallion.

Ten seconds.

That should be enough to hold her over tonight after he leaves her alone. If she can't lay beside him she needs a tiny piece of him.

Taking a running start she dashes across the small distance, slamming into his hard chest enjoying the juxtaposition of his solid body through the soft sweater. He smells amazing, even without his clothes that expensive cologne still lingers on his skin and she nuzzles into his shoulder. Curling her arm around his body she drags him tighter against her chest, her nipples pebbling with the close contact.

It's been longer than ten seconds and she knows she should stop.

But she really really doesn't want to.

Twisting onto his other side she prepares to let go, already regretting it but her sober thoughts are now pushing to the surface and she realizes what this looks like. Peering up at his face she expects to see that unreadable face again, he's annoyingly good at hiding his true emotions it makes her second this all the time.

Her insides churn when she sees the very face she expected. So she detaches and takes a step back prepared to dismiss this whole ordeal, the words denying her feelings for him already on her tongue when the biting sound of wood scraping against the floor fills the room. Jumping a little at the noise she glances over to the direction of the sound and sees his hands holding the chair in a punishing grip. He immediately releases the object at her glance but it's too late, she's already connected the pieces.

"You're holding back." She confidently states stepping back into the space she'd only just abandoned.

She doesn't ask why, that much is all too obvious.

I didn't want you to get hurt.

Being with him will put her in danger she's seen enough mafia movies to know that friends and love ones are always the first to be taken as leverage. So he'd decided all on his own that this, couldn't be and she was better off without him.

"Stupid idiot." She tries her best to repeat those explosive words with the same emphasis he's used when he had spat her in face not too long ago, watching with satisfaction as surprise shrouds his face as the Italian glides off her tongue. She'd been practicing for a while now, mostly curses words.

Fanculo, was still a favorite. What a fun way to say fuck.

She doesn't give him a chance to question her sudden switch in languages, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer, even more so than the hug they'd just shared.

"We're supposed to share everything, even passion." She boldly declares watching with fascination as he still tries to hold on to his semblance of control, the chair squeaks loudly under his hold and she lunges forward putting them both out of their misery.

It feels like coming home.

If your home was a sauna built on an active volcano.

Unlike their hug earlier this time there's no hesitation as soon as her lips touch his liquor moist ones he's already opening up and devouring her tongue. His immediate response makes her hungry for more, peeling his lips open with her teeth she sucks the remnants of the wine from his mouth, eagerly lapping and searching for more. He grunts at the rough treatment but doesn't back off, rather he sinks those capable hands into the depths of her hair caressing her scalp as he tugs at her head, tilting her to the right and moving instantly to the left slotting them even closer together.

The sound of their kissing is messy and loud, echoing in the still of the night.

She breaks apart with sloppy pop, gasping for air and his flushed red face greets her looking every bit as wrecked as she feels.

"Already regretting it?" He teases with an edge that's a bit too real and she yanks him forward, pressing him down into the chair and crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his thighs and their cores meeting through torturous layers. She's burning hot and moist where he's aching hard and rigid.

"Regretting waiting this long." She replies in a clear challenge waiting to see what he'll do.

"We shouldn't do this, partners is enough. You're already in enough danger as is, if they find out that we're..."

He trails off unable to finish the sentence but his clenched jaw speaks volumes. She chuckles coyly from her spot in his lap.

"What? What are we doing? What do you wish we were doing Mr. Vincenzo Cassano? Fucking? " She grinds down into his groin simultaneously and instantly he grips her hips, halting her movement with a bruising hold.

"You're playing with fire." He warns her, she can hear the metallic click of his ever present lighter at his words.

She should be scared of him, he was a world apart from what she was used to even when she'd been working with Babel, manipulation and bribery those things she could do without batting an eye but murder and torture? She'd had never done anything like this before, never. Not until this Italian Korean enigma had walked into her life and shaken it up like a margarita in a mixer. Was she making the right decision? She had no idea, right and wrong had become blurred a long time ago for her. All she knew was that the idea of not kissing him for another second made her want to pull her own hair out.

"I trust you not to burn me up. Too badly."

His eyes flash dangerously at her words and this time he's the one to initiate this kiss, cupping her head gently and dragging her into a sweeter embrace, a simmering heat now licking at her skin. She moans softly as he slips a wet tongue into her mouth, stroking at her back before pushing his hands up the back of her shirt, his hands are sweltering hot on her naked skin and she arches at the rough touch. They kiss languidly breaking apart only to come back together, each kiss wetter and more mind numbing than the last. With soft suckles to her bottom lip he pulls away, she stares at his soft smile as she chases after his retreating lips. Not ready to stop yet. She won't be ready for a long time.

He glowers at her and she waits impatiently for his next move, with strong arms he lowers her onto the table dishes clanging as he shoves them to the side laying her down like she's his last meal. She expels a loud breath allowing herself to be placed on the table, gasping as he stands looming over her.

"I'm the one in the mafia so why am I terrified of you?" He whispers too honestly, looking devastated as he stares at her helplessly all too ready to bolt.

"You don't want to get hurt."

He stares at her with liquid eyes emotions all but spilled across his face, with a whimper he closes the distance between them once more with her guiding hand on his back, this time they meet in the middle surrendering to the flames.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #the tension is killing me #I wrote something without angst for them #it's a miracle

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