#what this looks like to me. this is so unbelievably funny to me.

[rosenclaws]

Hello😸 I saw that you have requests open and I’m still on that Leopold high‼️

So, could I request a little something where Leo is jealous of the attention Reader is getting and tries to get their attention back on him?

(I’d prefer if Reader was gender neutral but fem is fine too‼️)

a/n: omg jealous leo is sooo cute. That scene in the movie where he gets jealous of Kate's boss is too good. I took a lot of inspiration from that. Also there is a lot of wine talk in this and I do not know anything about wine so don't come for me for incorrect wine information okay

warnings: no pronouns used for the reader, jealous leo, asshole corporate guy

Leopold has been exposed to many unbelievable things in the past year. Time travel, television, cell phones, and the worst of all. Frozen food trays. However what Leopold isn’t used to is this feeling twisting and turning inside of his stomach. Jealously. The collar of his shirt starts to itch uncomfortably, not quite used to the wear of the 21st century. Business casual as you had called it.

He had been to many parties back in his time but they were nothing like they are now. This was no party to him. As you had explained they were more for celebrating themselves and showing off how successful the company. Still what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't accompany you. Ever the gentleman he is as he leads you through the crowd of people.

He had offered to get drinks as you go and mingle. With two glasses of wine in his hands he made his way back to you. Only to find you trapped in a conversation with a man he had never heard of before. He can feel his jaw clench as he slides right next to you. Handing you your drink and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oh Leopold this is Mason," Leopold's eyes narrow as he notices Mason look him up and down, a smug look in his eye.

"You're the butter commercial guy." Mason says with a smirk. You feel Leopold tense slightly but he flashes his smile and reaches his hand out.

"Yes, and you are?" Leopold grips his hand a little too tight as they shake hands. You place your hand on Leopold's arm as you butt back into the conversation.

"He's new-"

"I'm the new director of marketing." He cuts you off and Leopold feels anger bubbling inside of him. Before either of you or Leopold could speak he starts talking.

Dominating the conversation with stories of how successful he's been and all the wonderful things he's done. He can't help but feel the jealously build in his gut. Your attention is on this arrogant man who is clearly trying to court you despite Leopold standing right next to you.

"You know, to be in marketing you need to have a certain, charisma about you." He glances over at you and flashes a smile. He takes a sip of his champagne and grimaces.

"Of course they got the cheap stuff, back home I have bottles of the finest wine. A bottle of champagne called La Romanée from 1873. Expensive yes but I would be happy to share. Maybe come back to my place and I'll show you." Leopold chuckles which makes Mason look to him.

"Something funny?" Leopold looks at him with a sudden confidence.

"No no. Just that from my memory that wine is from 1870 and it's pinot noir, not a champagne." Leopold raises an eyebrow as Mason starts to stammer.

"I think you've got your information wrong. My guy is a very reputable wine seller." He has a false confidence about him that Leopold can see right through. He grins, taking a sip of his own wine. He knows he isn't.

"I would contact your merchant, but perhaps I am mistaken." The damage is done as Mason starts to turn red from anger. Leopold takes a step closer. He's a polite man but he even he has his limits.

"I must add, that attempting to court someone who is already taken really is in poor taste. Simply put, you're making a fool of yourself." Mason mumbles something under his breath before stalking away in defeat. You finally let out the laugh that you had been holding in. Relieved that you were finally alone with Leo for the night.

"What a dick." You huff as pull Leopold to the side of the room.

"Didn't think you were the jealous type." You tease as Leopold starts to calm down. He sees Mason go over to what appeared to be a very important group of people. A sense of guilt washes over him. An egotistical, dick as you put it, he may be but he was still an important figure at your company.

"Forgive me if I have overstepped my place. I fear that jealously had blinded me and I acted out of line." You place your hand on top of his, gently squeezing his hand.

"You didn't, he's your typical asshole corporate higher up. It was nice seeing someone put him in his place a little." Also seeing him jealous was hot. But you'll tell him that later. You lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

"How do you know so much about wine?" He shrugs and places his now empty glass down.

"I visited Bordeaux in my youth before moving to New York." You stare at him in awe, his life before he met you was constantly surprising you.

"I want to hear more." You slowly start dragging him to the exit.

"Let's ditch this party and go home. I have a bottle of wine I got for 20 bucks that I'd be happy to share." You say, mocking the words that Mason had said to you. Leopold laughs as he places a hand on your back, guiding you away from the party.

"It's no fancy wine from France but I hope it will do." Once you're clear of the door he gently presses you against the wall. Capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

"The best wine is any I get to share with you." He says sincerely, brushing his thumb across your lips.

He kisses you again. The sound of footsteps pass by but he could care less. A small part of him wanting to show that you are his and he is yours. He can't help it. Anyone with you in their life would feel the same way. Too bad for them, your his now.

His and no one else's.

[sincerely-sofie]

In response to my post mentioning being baffled by my younger brother naming a tynamo after me when he was playing Pokémon for the first time as a little kid, my boyfriend made a chart to compare and contrast + showcase the many similarities I apparently share with this Pokémon.

[keclan]

breaking my silence as the resident swiftie mutual. it was bad.

[seafoam-taide]

Gleefully imagining my ocs as more and more unwell and codependent and Not Okay

[moe-broey]

Man..

[lion-buddy]

as someone who likes to draw expressions drawing supreme is so difficult all the time bc this is the roster im pulling from like girl i am begging make any other face please

[silverislander]

gradually learning that coping w my anxiety is gonna require a level of what feels rn like narcissism (but i know logically is not). i have to respond to "what if everyone hates me" with "so what if they do, they can all have bad opinions if they want to, i hate some people too that's just life". going out wearing outfits i like but am nervous about with the mindset of "i look hot as shit and anyone who disagrees is wrong because it's subjective anyways". about half of trying to get over my fear of social situations has been me hyping myself up by telling myself that not only do i have as much of a right to be where i am as they do, someone there is going to be happy to see me for some reason

[robertsbarbie]

my mother telling me that she wishes i wore more clothes that “fit my body type” and that everything else looks bad on me because i’m fat

[jungtoria]

haters will have you believe that revel aren't close but in reality they literally treat each other like sisters. by which i mean they would give a kidney for each other in a heartbeat but also they would actually just rather die than say something genuinely nice to each other undiluted by ten layers of sarcasm and one million roasts.

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[echoofadream]

Thinking about big strong men who could easily overpower me, who could easily harm me or use me however they want. But who start trembling once I raise my voice at them. Falling to their knees, desperately clinging to my clothes, begging to be told what they did wrong so that they could make it up to me.

They take up more than half the bed yet they wanna be babied, taken care of. Tell them how pathetic they look begging for affection, begging to suck on your tits and have their hair played with while their pants get tighter before you even get to take your bra off. Aren't they so cute when they struggle to sit on your lap? "Mommy please I know I'm heavy but I need it please please please"

Completely and utterly at your mercy. And unbelievably shameless. "Mhm please...stuff my mouth! I need to suck on something! Anything please!"

They don't leave your side. Scary dog privilege my ass. No one messes with you when they see him walking behind you on the streets but what they don't see is the way his legs are shaking, the way his ass is clenching around that vibrating butt plug. And that's not even a punishment, he begged for it! Begging to be used at all times. Can you even refuse him when he's so fucking polite? Make him beg even harder for the small pathetic ounce of stimulation he wants when he's already on the floor sobbing like it's the end of the world just because it hurts how hard he is for you at all times. He craves it. Relief, a brief touch, anything to make the tantalizing ache go away. But his mind is so messy he doesn't even know if he wants to cum till nothing comes out of his abused cock or if he wants to be edged to the point he starts speaking unintelligible nonsense.

"Mhm~ don't know! Do something pleaseee! You know I...ahh I need something please..."

"What is it, sweet thing? Use your words. How can mommy help her puppy hm?"

"Nhg~ don't knoowww mommy...need you...lots...want yes want...mommy!"

And you laugh at him. The whole situation is just so fucking funny, yet it melts your heart at the same time. Seeing how reliant he is on you. Seeing how vulnerable he allows himself to become in front of you. The level of trust that takes.

And you wipe away his tears and kiss his lips gently, taking care of your pretty boy to the best of your abilities. Making him feel so good.

And he thanks you over and over again. "Mommy thank you! I love you! Love you love you love you soo much! What can I do for you, mommy? Wanna make mommy feel good, please!"

He'd gladly do whatever you say. "You want me to eat you out? Yes yes yes! Mommy tastes so good! Hold my face and fuck it! Fuck my mouth please! Please...." Even better if you want his fingers inside you since his cock is already too sensitive for your soft and warm walls to wrap around. He'll worship your pussy as well as he can. Long thick fingers curling just right inside you, his soft skin intensifying the pleasure he was giving you. "Am I doing it right, mommy? Am I a good boy? Mhm~ mommy does it feel good here?" And it does. He's a good boy and his yours. Your good boy.

[tgcg]

happy day of egbert

CG: DON'T YOU JUST HAVE THE MANUAL SOMEWHERE?

TG: dude its the most overwhelmingly basic thing on the planet trust me i literally did all the other settings for you

TG: all you gotta do is point the thing at egbert

TG: half press to focus subject

TG: press down fully and bam done the shit is shot

CG: BUT --

TG: i know youre desperate for this to be rocket science but its genuinely like first grade biz i promise whatever pic you take is gonna be fine

===

EB: yeah, come on karkat!

EB: i am only going to be the birthday bad ass for like, 24 hours total you know.

EB: longest birthday of my LIIIIIIIIFE. haha.

EB: oh hey, from one birthday-dooms day guy to another…

EB: i am pretty sure you understand the magnitude of what i just said!

===

CG: OH HEY. FUCK YOU.

CG: I'M JUST ACCOUNTING FOR THE LITERAL FUCKING INEVITABILITY THAT WHEN I TAKE THIS PHOTO, SOME INSIDIOUS LITTLE KARMA GNOME WILL FROLIC ONTO THE SCENE IN AN UNBELIEVABLE STROKE OF LOATHSOME SERENDIPITY TO BURY ME IN 12 CUBIC METERS OF FOOL-GRADE FUCKING IDIOT POWDER.

CG: AT WHICH POINT ANOTHER HEFTY BOULDER WILL BE ADDED TO THE BULGING MACRO-BINDLE OF SHAME YOU PEOPLE HAVE FORCED ME INTO CARRYING MY WHOLE LIFE.

CG: SHIT, SOMEONE HAS GOTTA LOOK OUT FOR MY ASS.

TG: alright give us a sec

TG: huddle formation

EB: psssshhh, alright.

===

TG: youre not gonna fuck this up

TG: your ass is completely secure dude

TG: i got the double foam padded booster seat and you know that shit is strapped on this 5mph drive through quaint ol piss-easyville

EB: you know if it really is so bad you can just re-take it, right?

EB: it is really not worth aggravationing your sponge over.

TG: 'xactly

TG: knights honor that shit isnt hooked up to my ishades and will not instantly forward me a copy in crisp HD of whatever blunder youre cooking in your beautiful nugbone

===

CG: IT'S NOT JUST THAT.

CG: HAVEN'T I SHADOWED YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY SHENANIGANS LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU TO TOSS ME A GODDAM BONE?

CG: I MEAN. I FEEL LIKE I'M READY FOR THIS. I'VE BEEN PRIMED FOR THIS BULLSHIT FOR EQUINOXES AT THIS POINT, WATCHING YOU PRANCE AROUND WITH THIS FUCKING THING.

TG: woah wait youre legit into it?

CG: YES, I AM LEGIT FUCKING INTO IT.

CG: AND I KNOW IT HAS SETTINGS YOU'RE HIDING FROM ME. WHAT IF I WANT TO TAKE A BLACK AND WHITE SHOT, HUH? WHAT IF I WANT TO ADJUST THE "APERTURE" OR THE "EXPOSURE" OR SOMETHING.

TG: alright i dig the enthusiasm but maybe we can unwrap that shit when we dont have someone waiting for us

TG: i didnt know you were scoping photography man you shoulda said something!

CG: I WAS PLANNING TO! I DIDN'T ENVISION IT COMING UP SO FRIGGIN SUDDENLY MAN.

TG: i promise ill open the pandoras fuckin box of snap addicts anonymous afterwards alright

===

CG: OK, FINE. BUT I AM HOLDING YOU TO THA --

===

CG: HA HA EGBERT. VERY FUCKING FUNNY.

CG: FOR YOUR SAKE I SERIOUSLY HOPE THIS IS JUST AN EMBARRASSING NOSTALGIA-DRIVEN LAPSE IN HUMOR AND NOT A GENUINE ATTEMPT TO "PRANK" ME. I REALLY DO!

EB: huh? who is this "egbert" you speak of? i have never heard of such a character.

CG: OH, JUST THIS BULGECRUD-HUFFING IMBECILE THAT FALLS BACK ON SHITTY PRACTICAL JOKES SO PLAYED-OUT THAT THEY PHYSICALLY HURT TO BEAR WITNESS TO.

CG: MY LOWER JAW IS THREATENING TO REVERSE-DROP WITH ENOUGH VELOCITY TO BURROW DIRECTLY INTO MY THOUGHT SPONGE, KILLING ME INSTANTLY.

CG: SO EITHER GET SOME NEW MATERIAL OR GET ME TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM, YOUR PICK.

EB: damn, ok. that does sound like some pretty serious bullshit, but…

===

EB: whoever that weirdo next to you is kind of seems like he needs medical resistance more than you do!

CG: WHAT

[healmyhrt]

Ok so like yk how Chris always slaps Matt’s or Nicks ass well what abt they are like live on instagram or sum and he kinda just forgets and slaps the reader ass yk and he doesn’t realized u til Nick or Matt say something and so they is like edits on tt and yea 

⌗ public, c. sturniolo

chris x fem!reader

summary: what the request says :)

disclaimers!: established relationship, ass slapping, flirting, cursing, use of y/n, very short

a/n: i love when yall send requests and start it with “babe” like … what r we 😉??

“where’s matt? probably sleeping or something.” chris responds to a comment. nick sits back down next to him, handing him a pepsi can.

“but yeah guys, we’re back home in LA. and we just wanted to come on here and say hello for a bit.” nick smiles into the camera.

i walk into the kitchen, and open the fridge, unaware that i’m in camera view. “y/n, come say hey to the live.” nick smiles.

i walk over, a gallon of orange juice in hand. “hey guys.”

the chat starts going insane, and i slowly start to step away. chris grips the tee im wearing (which was his), and pulls me back. he manspreads, and i glance at the phone. chris shrugs, and i give him a look.

“wanna sit and talk to them, y/n? i can move seats.” nick suggests. i shake my head, and walk back behind the island. chris stands, and walks over to me.

all you could see in the background of the live was chris towering over me.

“why didn’t you sit?”

i glare at him. “you guys are on live, chris.” he shrugs. i cross my arms. “i thought we weren’t going public.”

“so friends can’t sit on other friends laps?” he smiles, and leans closer toward me. “chris.” his smile widens when he hears me say his name. “christopher.”

“call me that again.”

i laugh. “you’re unbelievable.” i begin to walk away, still in view of the live camera. i hear chris chuckle underneath his breath, and next a slap to my ass cheek.

i stop in my tracks, and turn around trying to contain my myself while i look at chris. nick had turned around, and his mouth gaped open.

“yall are fucking ridiculous.”

nick turns back toward the phone. “um… on that note, i think we’re gonna get off. i love you guys! bye!” he says.

nick picks up his phone, and walks over to us. “chris, you’re fucking insane. are you actually mental?”

i stand next to him, and look at chris. “THANK YOU!!” chris rolls his eyes, and i walk out of the kitchen, turning down the stairwell to chris’s room.

i hear footsteps behind me, already knowing who it was.

“what the hell was that chris?” i ask in a genuinely confused tone. he tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth.

“i thought it would be funny, sorry.”

“you’re the one who said you didn’t want to go public yet because of how hard it would be to have a girlfriend, then you do this shit?”

i sit on the edge of his bed. chris slumps down beside me, and leans his head onto my shoulder. “im sorry.”

i sigh. “its fine.”

chris pulls his phone out, and sees a text from nick.

“look what you did dumbass.” the text read. i giggle at the message, as chris slides it to the side, opening it.

it was a tiktok video of a screen recording from the live, and the clip was of chris slapping my butt. my eyes widen.

“shit, they’re fast.”

[verstappen-cult]

Could you do a Lestappen one where they act as her voice after reader is advised not to speak due to a sore throat that has left her hoarse

Your phone lights up with an incoming facetime call from your mother, Charles is grabbing it before you can even reach for it.

“Charles?” Your mother’s voice cuts through the air. “Hello, darling. Where’s my daughter? What did the doctor say?”

“He advised her not to speak or it may get worse. He also prescribed her some medicine.” That’s when Max enters the living room, a glass of water and your pills on his palm. You see him waving at your mother before joining you on the couch.

“Take this, baby. It will make you feel better.” You kiss Max’s cheek before accepting the pills and water. “Good girl.” He says, making you blush. You mouth to him to stop, pouting to your phone. You’re definitely never going to be facing your mother again if she heard him. But she doesn’t say anything, so you relax.

Charles chats animatedly with your mother for a few minutes while you cuddle next to Max and look for something to watch on the TV.

“How is work going, darling?” Your mother asks. You’re going to open your mouth to answer her, but Max beats you to it.

“Everything’s good. Next week she’s going to Paris for a meeting,” Max explains, hand on your knee. “something about making some changes to one of the last projects.” He shrugs and you feel your heart hammering in your chest.

It’s unbelievable how much they care about you. Ever since you’ve been like this they have not leave your side. And it is not like they don’t do that every day but now it’s just extra special. And kinda funny because you can talk, the doctor said you can’t raise your voice and need to drink lots of water, but can communicate verbally. It’s them that won’t let you.

The call ends with your mother telling you to take care and thanking your boyfriends for being so attentive with you.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks and, knowing they will scold you if you talk, you give him a thumbs up. Your throat doesn’t hurt that much anymore.

The bell rings and Max is up in no time, when he comes back there’s a smiling Lando by his side.

He waves at you and Charles before handing you a bag. “I got you this. They bullied me into buying it because it is my fault you can’t talk now.” Lando looks down when he meets Max intense gaze, he looks like a scolded child.

When you open the bag you find a whiteboard and a pen. It makes you laugh and decide to use it. They wait patiently as you take your time to write, making them believe you’re actually writing something important. Once you finished you turn it around to reveal a ‘you’re all idiots’.

You know you will be using the whiteboard a lot around them because it’s impossible to get them to understand that you are fine. It may be a little annoying but you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen react to their s/o suddenly getting shy

requested by anon! u gotta read the full req for this to make sense really but oh god. it is So cute.

masterlist

seungcheol, dokyeom, seungkwan

unbelievably and adorably flustered when you admit u think he just looks really pretty rn and it's making you shy. makes those adorable whiny sounds going all “뭐야~” cuz he's so flustered by the fact that you like him so much. ridiculously pleased, and will tease you about it but he needs about 5 minutes to compose himself beforehand, which in turn gives you something to tease Him about :] it's literally not fair tho like how can you just say those things to his face likeee ?? wdym you get hit with the fact you're in love with him at random while he has to deal with this soul-crushing adoration every minute of the day???? 

jeonghan, joshua, hoshi

he's never letting you live it down. tilts his head when you look over at him and suddenly hide your face in your hands, wagging his eyebrows suggestively when you mumble that he just looked really pretty. then he laughs, utterly endeared, and just is constantly going “aww did you get flustered? you thought i looked handsome? look at you, you're so cute, getting all shy over me being your boyfriend 🥰” for a full ten minutes straight just to see you blush even more. will bring up this situation in conversations for the next seven years, a) because it's funny and b) because he really is quite touched that u think he's that cute

junhui, mingyu, chan

“aww babe that's so cute but guess what?? i have a crush on you tooooo!!!!” literally unfazed. giggles and flirts with you in an instant, like that's the most natural response to your comment. he is literally suchhhhh a loser when it comes to u bc he just loves you sososo much and like. what else is he supposed to do when u suddenly tell him that you have a crush on him? spends the rest of the day alternating between flirting heavily and reminding you again and again that he Also has a crush on you and that he likes you. a lot. like ridiculous amounts, you know? his crush on you is bigger than the universe, and he makes sure you Know It

wonwoo, woozi, minghao, vernon

you shyly admit that you're getting all embarrassed cuz you just realised that. you literally have a crush on ur boyfriend. and he smiles a bit, dryly raising an eyebrow. “i sure hope that you have a crush on me, because i don't wanna be the only one in this relationship with a crush.” he says it so matter-of-factly, the i have a crush on you too devastatingly clear in his voice and you can't help but get even more flustered, giddy by the fact that the person you like also likes you back. which should have been obvious, but it's always nice to get confirmation, you know? 

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bunnliix @bananabubble

[chrissturniolosbiggestslut]

— BRATTY BITCH

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐

in which:

chris fucks your attitude out of you in the bathroom, nick and matt in the room just next door.

warnings: dom!chris, sub!reader, p in v, unprotected sex ( boooo wrap it before you tap it), pure filthhh, degrading, praising, oral (m receiving), creampie, slight breeding kink

**NOT PROOFREAD**

└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

it wasn't often that you and chris had arguments. however it was often that you and chris would have a huge fucking attitude on the same day. seeing that you and chris both were on the sassy, petty side of things, disagreements tended to spike when one or both of you were having a bad day.

though something about today was different, the way you and chris continued to shoot bitter and snarky remarks back and forth ticked you off just as much as it did him. but this time it set another something off inside of you; lust, desire.

as odd as it felt, the venom in chris's harsh words and the deep set appearance of his eyes and brows while he stared at you in annoyance caused a familiar warmth to grow between your legs. 

there was nothing you could do about it now, though, as you and chris were streaming on twitch, accompanied by nick and matt. you knew exactly what you were doing, constantly flashing him the "fuck me" eyes was your favorite thing to do right now. but as much as you appeared to want him, you only continued to shoot disses at him.

"im sorry this stream isn't giving as hard as it should be," nick begins, "y/n and chris have been bitching and complaining all day and like hate each other today so the vibes are a little off!" he states sassily, dramatically side-eyeing you and then chris before returning the attention to the game him and matt were in the middle of. 

thinking about what nick said, you smirk and turn your body so your back is rested against the couch's armrest. you pull your legs up toward your chest so that you just barely clothed pussy is on display for chris at the other end of the couch, it only covered by the thin sleep shorts you're wearing and nothing more.

chris looks in your eyes, down between your legs, then back up into your eyes. you couldn't help but notice the shift of his hips and the darkening of his eyes once he met your eyes again. you smirked once more, biting your lip and looking away. 

chris has finally had enough, glancing at nick and matt to ensure that the stream won't be able to see his massive boner when he walks by before making his way, grabbing you harshly by the wrist and dragging you into the bathroom just outside his room.

he slams and locks the door behind you both, immediately locking his dark eyes to yours. "you think you're fucking funny, hm?" he questions, his expression dripping in annoyance, anger, but most prominently, lust. 

you shrug, "i think i am, yeah." 

"who the fuck do you think you are, running your mouth all day with that big ass attitude?" he questions eyeing your body up and down. you watch as the print in his sweats grows, and you almost laugh.

you smile in amusement, "you act like you weren't doing the same fucking thing! ignoring me every time i tried to be nice and actually help you with something, really?" you sigh, "i mean it's seriously just unbelievably how-"

your rant is cut short when you're slammed against the bathroom door with a thud and suddenly, chris's lips are on yours. as much as you hate to admit it, you immediately gave into the kiss, answering it with so much desire and neediness in you.

feeling chris's hands squeeze on your ass, you gasp, apparently giving chris an invitation to shove his tongue down your throat, deepening the makeout even further. 

you clasp your hands behind his neck, kissing him harsh as you feel his hands leave your ass and instead slip your tiny shorts off of your body. his hands glide down your ass to your dripping pussy, gliding a finger through your slit, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. 

you feel him pull his lips from yours as he stands up straight. "c'mon baby, put that stupid little mouth to use, yeah?" he states, fiddling with the waist of his sweats before pulling them down and kicking them off at the ankles, soon removing his shirt as well.

you oblige, sinking to your knees desperately, feeling a twist in your lower stomach as more time goes by without him inside of you. 

he lets you do the honors of ripping his boxers down, letting his huge, hard dick spring out from under them. he kicks those off too, leaving him completely naked. you stroke him a few times before kitten licking his tip, causing his head to be thrown back as he leans against the counter. 

"we don't have all fucking night, bitch, let's go," he spits as he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail. 

you look up at him through your lashes, stuffing his cock down your throat. "oh shit," he whimpers softly, pushing your head down harshly, forcing you to take all 9 inches of him in your mouth.

you gag, spit dripping down your chin and into your shirt, onto your tits, however you didn't care one bit. instead, you took your hands off from chris's thighs and pulled the top of your tank down, causing your plump tits to pop from your shirt as you continued to suck chris off.

"yeah you do it so fucking well baby, jesus," he shoves you down profusely, your gags and tears constant as you look up at him, pleading for a break. he, of course, ignores you.

you moan against him, sending vibrations down his cock, eliciting yet another moan from him. "oh goddamnit baby. oh shit im finna fucking cum."

his motions sped up and got more intense, the hand in your hair pushing you down so hard that it was starting to hurt your nose, but at the same time, you loved it.

chris moans one last time, throwing his head back as his hot, white cum shoots down your throat, you immediately swallowing it all. chris looks down at you, satisfied. you stare  back up at him, sticking your tongue out just to show him how you drank up all of his cum.

he smirks, "such a fucking cumslut for me, hm? yeah, bend over for me, baby. you're gonna fucking feel this shit."

you do just as he says, bending yourself over the counter. you soon feel a cold hand press against your back, arching your fat ass up even more. 

"so fucking beautiful," you hear chris mutter, as he slaps his dick against your pussy before lining himself up. "such a shame your such a goddamn brat," he states, violently shoving his huge cock up your dripping wet pussy. 

your eyes roll back, loving his huge size. almost instantly, you begin to moan unstoppably. you were drunk on his dick so fast it was almost insane.

"shit," he groans, slapping your ass harshly, "you fucking love my cock, don't you, bitch?" he grits, pounding into you harder.

you moan loudly, "oh fuck! yes, god daddy i love it so much." you feel his tip brush against your cervix, his hard thrusts doing things to you.

"how do you feel, hm? you're such a fucking little slut, moaning my name so loud when my brothers; your bestfriends are right in my room next door. you must want them to hear me fucking you, huh? you want them to see what a slutty bitch you are for me," he spanks you once again.

you did, in fact, love it, to say the least. the feeling of him filling you up was probably one of the best feelings you've had. and the way he slapped your ass was something you could dream of. the sting that went through you hurt so good. all you wanted was more.

chris's thrusts got harsher, your insides surely bruised at this point. "god, you take me so fucking good, baby. you love being split open on me, yeah? you're so cockdrunk, its pathetic," he spits, placing a hand on your stomach just to feel the bulge of him inside you. "feel that, love? feel how deep in your stomach i am?"

you moan the loudest you have all night, his intense dirty talking getting you so good. "oh god, daddy i love your cock so much; fuck it feels amazing."

he smirks behind you, "yeah, i know it does- shit!" he moans, "im close, baby."

you whimper as chris slaps your ass once more, leaving a bright red handprint, "me too, oh my!"

his hands move from your hair and back to your hips, giving him a better grip to pound you as hard as he has all night, lifting screams from the back of your throat.

"you gon' let me cum inside you, slut? let me feel you up with my fucking kids, yeah?"

you moan, "yes, chris! oh shit im cumming! fuck!" you shout, letting yourself go all over him as he did the same inside you. he thrusts a few more times, fucking his cum into you.

he pulls out, leaning against the counter next to you, the two of you panting heavily. 

while you're still left collecting yourself, chris is already almost finished getting dressed. he opens the door, leaving you there; all fucked out with his cum dripping down your legs. he looks you up and down with a smirk, meeting your eyes again before saying, "maybe think about it next time before you act like a little brat all day."  with that, you hear him greet his brothers once more as you still sit there in disbelief. how could he get you so good, then just… leave?. but damn, that shit felt good.