#like THAT kind of smile with full teeth and dimples and his eyes crinkling at the corners

[gopeachllama]

LOOK- if there isn't a scene in the next book where elain puts a flower in azriel's hair then i don't want it

#acotar #acotar 5 #elain #azriel #elriel #proelriel #my sad boi deserves all the flowers #THINK ABT THE WAY HE WOULD BLUSH #I WILL SOB #and then he would smile #like THAT kind of smile with full teeth and dimples and his eyes crinkling at the corners #and then he tackles elain into the grass #and flowers surround them as they kiss and laugh #and they are just so GODDAMN happy

[thebangtancloud]

You get into a dangerous situation after a serious argument (Part 2) - Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader.

Warning: Car Accident, Death, ANGST.

Word Count: 3.2k

Part 1

Fake smiles are an easy way to get out of situations, right? Who would even know that you were faking it? All you needed to do was make sure your eyes crinkled a bit at the sides, your head had to be held high, teeth on full display, showing off that little dimple at the side of your lips as you greeted the staff members in the car. No one needed to know how difficult it was to pretend, to put on a show. No one needed to know that it took every ounce of strength within you to not break down then and there, no one needed to know, right?

Everything was normal. The driver greeted you with a warm smile, bowing his head respectfully and asking you if you had any song preferences that you wanted to play. You, of course, told him that you were fine with any kind of music. Although it would’ve been better if they didn’t play any BTS songs, otherwise they’d have to deal with you crying a river out of nowhere, because when did their songs not go straight to your heart? Never.

The young lady that sat next to you wrapped her arm around your shoulder and welcoming you with a side-hug, telling you that she didn’t expect you to travel with the staff that day. Well, neither did you. With a wide smile and a few mumbled words that were most definitely an incoherent reply, you quickly changed the topic and asked her to show you the pictures of her little nephew that she never got to show you. She was so sweet, always finding her way to you once you both finished working, sticking to you by the hip and gushing about all the dates she went to in the past week, either intricately explaining awkward moments that made your toes curl, or the little gestures that made her heart leap with joy. Trial and error, as she had termed it, until she met the one who was just the right man for her. Did she really have to be such a sweetheart?

You had also greeted the two cameramen that sat behind you, thanking them gratefully when they offered you a portion of their meal. Gimbap was always the best solution to an empty stomach when you had not less than a few hours until your next proper meal. Blessings, count your blessings kids. It was pleasantly surprising how nice they were being to you, welcoming you as if you were a part of their family, treating you with so much love that you never expected to receive. Things would eventually feel normal again, you just had to keep up the act, and keep him out of your mind. Until you reached the dorms where you could find yourself an empty restroom and cry away to glory, you had to stay strong.

With a pout and widened puppy eyes, you adored the little boy that Sumin, the make-up artist showed you, gasping and asking her how it was possible for him to be so handsome. He really was, arms and chest sticking out as he pretended to be taller than his father, brown hair falling over his forehead like a tiny mushroom. He displayed his little wonky teeth to the camera, eyes hidden away as he smiled as big as he could. The little shorts, paired up with yellow spider man socks and dusty white keds, it was so cute that it made you want to reach into the phone and squish those chubby cheeks of his.

“I want to have kids too, someday.” Sumin smiled softly, a dreamy look in her eyes. She really was such an angel; you knew that she’d make a great mother. There was just something about her hands, so soft and careful whenever she dealt with the boys, always being cautious so that she wouldn’t accidentally jab someone’s eye while dabbing eyeshadow onto them. You just knew that those hands would always make sure they cared for her little ones, protecting them, catching them before they could fall, brushing away their hair gently with so much love in her eyes.

“You’d be the perfect mother, Sumin.”

“You think? Ah! I want two kids. Three sounds good too, I can’t wait for the day I dress them up, play house with them, pretend to be the lost princess or something. Even eating the non-existing food that they would cook for me in their toy vess-”

Sumin suddenly screamed, her hands lifting to cover her ears at the sound of a loud blast. You jumped too, grasping the seat in front of you as your eyes landed on a black car that zoomed past you. Squinting to catch sight of the number plate, the sound of panicked shouts filled the car, everyone in it thrown to the right, smashing against the windows. The impact brought a squeak out of you, your head banging into the glass and bouncing off of it, throwing your arms into the air to catch hold of something that could keep you steady. The sound of the airbags deploying startled you, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Sumin fly out of her seat, thrown forward in between the gap of the driver’s and the passenger’s seat.

“Sumin!” you cried out, wanting to grab her but you only got your hand stuck between her body and the seat as the car took yet another turn, undoubtedly in a frenzy. If you didn’t hear the crack, you certainly felt it, bringing out a yelp from you in response to the extreme pressure on your elbow. With your eyes screwed shut, you pulled your hand towards your chest and held your breath, hanging onto the bar of the car door for dear life.

The driver let out a strangled ‘oof’ when the seatbelt locked him in place, the rest of his body jerking forward. Yet, the sudden turn caught him off guard, his head banging into the window the same way it did with you. Only this time, he slumped in his seat as the impact knocked him unconscious.

The car managed to screech to a stop, and you were sure you felt it almost turn over, but it didn’t. That would’ve been worse, considering the fact that Sumin was now crumpled up against the dashboard, her body folded and twisted in ways that it really shouldn’t be. “Oh my gosh, Sumin!” you called out, trying to look for any kind of response, watching her eyes to see if they were open, looking for a moment in her chest that indicated she was still breathing.

A loud groan from behind you caught your attention, turning swiftly to look at the two men that were holding their heads in their hands, wincing in pain. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?” you asked quickly. They both nodded, the younger lad looking up to make eye contact with you. He stared at you with worried eyes, a deep frown etched onto his forehead. “Your head, it bleeding.” He whispered, pointing a shaky finger to the side of your head. The blood slowly trickled its way down your face and you wiped it away, focusing on your breathing, willing yourself to stay calm.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fi-,” you gulped, trying to focus on your words when your head suddenly swayed to the side. “Um…” you slurred a bit, your visions beginning to darken with black circles that made your eyes throb, blinking back rapidly to try and fight it.

“(Y/n)? What’s happeni- (Y/N)!” he screamed when your head fell against the window with a loud thud, your shoulders immediately slumping and mouth parting slightly. You let out a whimper, the sensation of pins and needles in your fingers making you feel like those hands were no longer a part of you. Desperately trying to fight it, you tried to keep your attention on the voices that were calling out your name, wanting to stay awake, but a wave of unconsciousness suddenly hit you, passing out before you knew it.

~

“The security team will be here any moment, please stay calm.”

“We need to get to the hospital, please.” Hoseok pleaded, grabbing onto his manager’s shoulders and shaking them for emphasis.

“Hoseok-ssi, please be patient. I can’t let you leave without security. As soon as they reach, you’ll be on your way.” The manager spoke so formally that it was almost scary. There was something in his eyes, Hoseok was sure he caught a glimpse of panic that his manager was quick to blink away, covering it up with a subtle cough.

“Is she okay?”

All heads turned to the quiet voice that came from the corner of the room. Namjoon sat on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, his face devoid of any trace of emotions. He stared blankly at the marble under his feet with a navy blue scarf held in his hand, knowing that if he didn’t have that piece of you with him, he’d probably strangle someone. The only thing that kept him going was your perfume on the scarf, a soothing mix of oriental scents with an earthy undertone. Namjoon went bonkers for that fragrance, remembering the times he’d secretly spritz his outfit with your perfume, not going overboard because that scent was familiar to everyone, a scent that told them it was you who just entered the room. A scent that was now not just an olfactory memory of the woody forests that he loved to explore, but also a piece of you.

He looked up at the man who seemed to have no words, lowering his head while maintaining eye contact, wordlessly indicating him to answer.

“We have not heard back from them yet, but…” he sighed, dropping his gaze to fiddle with his fingers. “…things don’t look good.”

Namjoon blinked, taking his time to process those words. He now realized that it was much more difficult to gulp down the guilt that was eating him alive from the inside. How did things go wrong so quickly? Just a few hours ago, you were sitting in the same car as him, laughing at some lame dad joke that Jin had cracked. He didn’t even find it funny, to be blatantly honest, but that joyous sound immediately lifted the corners of his lips into a dimpled smile as he gazed lovingly at his girlfriend. And now she was in danger, she was hurt. He didn’t even care about that stupid fight anymore, he just wanted to sit next to you, hold your hand, and place a kiss on each knuckle, just anything to soothe away your pain. He wanted to hold you close to him, he wanted to tell you how beautiful he thought you were, how blessed he was to have you, how much he loved you. He would even go to the extent of telling you that he wished there was a better word than love itself, but then would proceed to show you that there was nothing he was more sure of; he was just crazily, stupidly, madly in love with you.

What if he never got to do that? What if he was too late? There would be no way he would forgive himself, no way he’d be able to get past that.

“Take me to her.”

~

With hurried steps, Namjoon didn’t even bother waiting for Hoseok and Jin who were trying to actually find out where you could be. Three bodyguards, tall and well-built, were on his tail as they took long strides, effectively keeping up with the troubled man. They had their eyes all over the place, carefully observing the surroundings and memorizing each face they landed on. The attack was, after all, meant for the car which had the members in it, not the staff.

Namjoon halted when he spotted two familiar faces down the hallway, giving enough time for Hoseok to catch up and grab his arm to steady himself. “They’re our cameramen, aren’t they?” Jin squinted at the men who were speaking with a doctor.

Without waiting for them to reply, Namjoon began to walk towards them. They would know where you were, it would save him a lot of time instead of searching the whole hospital. The doctor seemed to be tensed, folding his hands as he explained something to the two men with a sorrowful expression. Namjoon caught onto the last few words as he stopped right behind them, his hand that raised to touch them pausing mid-way as he felt his ears begin to ring.

“-but she had already passed on the way to the hospital. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

There was an eerie silence that had fallen upon the corridors of the hospital. Hoseok stood a few feet, his mouth falling open in shock. Jin stood there too, both hands clasped over his mouth as his chest twisted in pain. What?

Despite them being too stunned to comprehend anything, their reflexes kicked in as they lurched forward to grab Namjoon before he collapsed.

“Namjoon!”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head in denial. “No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbled, falling to the floor and looking around aimlessly. “It’s not possible,” he swallowed thickly, patting the ground beneath him for no reason. “No, she can’t be dead, wha-how? This is- no. No.”

“Sir, I regret to break the unfortunate news to you, but your friend seemed to have suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. It must have been due to the impact during the-”

“SHE’S NOT MY FRIEND!” he exploded, reaching forward in a flash to grab the doctor's collar. “She’s not my friend,” he hissed venomously, jaw clenched as hot tears began to fall down his cheeks.

“Namjoon, leave him, leave him!” Jin pulled him back, locking his arms behind his back to stop him. “Stop, stop, shh,” he patted his chest, holding him close as Namjoon looked up at him desperately. “Hyung what is he saying? She can’t be dead, right? She’s not dead right? She can’t leave me like this,” he cried bitterly, clutching onto the shirt that Jin wore with a death grip, feeling so sick, so pathetic.

“Namjoon,” Hoseok knelt beside him as silent tears made their way down his flushed cheeks. He placed a hand over his friend’s head, overwhelmed with the pain of watching him break.

“Hobi, I’m not even kidding,” Namjoon sat up and grabbed Hoseok’s hands as he sniffled, “I’m not crazy, I can hear her voice, it’s like… right in my ears. You believe me right? She’s not dead, she can’t be dead.”

Hoseok smiled sadly, nodding and wiping away his tears.

“Namjoon-ah, I’m-”

“No, I can hear her, she’s calling my name. Jin hyung, you can hear her too right?” he turned to the doctor and the two cameramen who were silently sobbing into their hands. “You can hear her too right?”

“Namjoon-ah, take a deep breath, you need-” Hoseok abruptly stopped, staring at Namjoon with a distant look. There was no way he heard that. Was he going crazy too? It sounded so real, almost as if-

“Joonie?”

Namjoon’s head shot up, staring at you in disbelief. You stood at the end of the hallway, your left arm in a cast and a white bandage covering your forehead. Your clothes were dirty, covered in blood, and your face had a tiny cut over your cheekbone, tears streaming down rapidly. Namjoon would’ve passed out then and there if it wasn't for the strong urge to run to you. Even though you looked like you walked out of a storm, which you did, Namjoon had never felt more relieved in his life.

“Baby,” he choked, scrambling to his feet and dashing towards you. In the blink of an eye, he had you in his arms, sobbing into your shoulder and running his hands all over you. To feel you, to make sure that you were really there, alive and in flesh. “Oh god, oh god, I thought you-” he gasped out his words, pulling back to hold your face in his hands as he placed a firm kiss on your lips. You were safe, you were alive. “Baby, you’re okay.”

“Joonie, I was so scared, Sumin…she- she didn’t make it.” You cried, leaning into him and holding him tightly with your good arm. Namjoon paused for a moment, trying to think of who Sumin was. In the panicked state that he was in, all he could focus on was that he almost lost you for good, yet here you were, in his embrace, safe.

“Oh, oh no,” he whispered, tightening his hold on you. The doctors must’ve been talking about Sumin, and as much as he knew he had to deal with this topic rationally, he really couldn’t have been more relieved that it wasn’t you. All he cared about was that you were alive.

“(Y/n),” Hoseok called out for you, walking quickly and pulling you away from Namjoon, only to engulf you in a warm hug. He breathed a sigh of relief into your hair, placing repeated kisses on your head and patting your back.

“You will not believe how happy I am that you’re okay. I almost lost it, my little sister was in danger and I couldn’t do anything about it.” His eyes were glassy, yet so relieved, holding your head delicately as he continued to express his feelings. You could feel his arms trembling around you, the aftershocks of the news that almost took him to his grave pulsating through his body.

Namjoon held your hand even though you were wrapped up in Hoseok’s embrace, reminding himself that there was no way he was letting you go again. He knew for a fact that the fear of losing you was so much more than simply telling the world that he was most definitely in a committed relationship with you. There was nothing that could hold him back now, he couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Move, move.” He pushed Hoseok away and pulled to back against him.

Hoseok smiled softly, wiping at his eyes and glaring at his friend. “Hey, she’s my little sister!”

“And she’s my girlfriend,” Namjoon quickly retorted, holding you closer and kissing the top of your head. Hoseok’s eyebrows shot up at that, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced over at the group of people standing nearby. Namjoon followed his gaze, noticing the rest of the boys with their own bodyguards and his manager.

“Did we miss something?” Jimin squeaked, gesturing to you hidden away in Namjoon’s chest. “In fact, Park Jimin, you certainly did.” Jin approached them, grabbing Namjoon by his collar and motioning for him to let go of you. He frowned but let you go nonetheless, watching closely as Jin held your hand gently.

“I think you should say goodbye to Sumin,” he smiled sadly at you as you began to cry again, still unable to digest the fact that she was no longer in your midst. She was so precious, she had so many dreams, but it seemed like fate had a mind of its own.

You nodded, holding onto her phone that had multiple cracks on it, yet it displayed the special little boy that made her want to have children of her own. “Yeah…”

“We will all be here, okay? You take your time.” Jin patted your head and nodded for the doctor to lead you.

“Baby wait,” Namjoon stopped you, slipping his hand into your palm and smiling softly. “I’m going with you.”

You looked up into his eyes, and with a trembling bottom lip, you placed your head against his collarbone. “Thank you,”

“From now on, I will be with you whenever you need me. I promise.”

.

.

.

.

.

are you crying yet? cuz I am.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #bts kim seokjin #bts min yoongi #bts jung hoseok #bts park jimin #bts kim taehyung #bts jeongkook #bts angst #bts x reader

[bodycountgame]

can you tell us about the RO's laughs? 🥺👉👈

throwing this down bc i answered this on discord today but it's lichrully just stream of consciousness so soz if it Makes No Cents but hopefully you'll get, like, some idea.:

Adegoke: Full and smooth and infectious – the kind of laugh that makes other people feel like they should be laughing.

Arthur: I think it’s pretty unusual for Arthur to actually, genuinely laugh – and even then you might just get a lil chuckle. If he ever does a full proper laugh there’s like a 50% chance that he is very uncomfortable and it’s a weird stress reaction, but it’s nice - deep and soft.

Atticus: Quiet and sniggering – one of those stealth laughs where you can only tell because he’s got his hands over his face and his back is shaking?? Often just comes as like a sharp exhalation and/or head shake. Jamie Dornan is my (loose, sort of) voice claim for Atticus so he has a pretty similar laugh too.

Avery: Her eyes crinkle at the corners and her nose does a little wrinkley thing – a lot of her laughs are out of politeness but her real, proper laugh is unexpectedly loud, very clear and resonant? Kind of like Emilia Clarke’s laugh???

Charlie: A bit of a snorty, full body laugh – like he’s always caught off guard by how funny he finds something. Really cracks up, often when he had just taken a sip and he has to flap around to avoid spitting it everywhere.

Ellis: Melodic, almost musical? Insecure about their teeth so often laughs with a hand in front of their mouth - just out of habit, they aren’t even aware they’re doing it anymore.

Florrie: Loud and shrill, kind of shrieky, does that thing where it kind of squeaks when she tries to breathe in as she’s laughing?? If Florrie finds something funny, everyone is gonna know about it.

Griffin: A real belly laughing, guffawing, leg slapping kinda guy. Has a very wide smile, dimples in his cheeks. Kind of like Chris Evan’s laugh the way he really goes like HA HA HA HA HA

Imogen: A giggle – kind of breathy, wheezy. Her cheeks go pink, like, immediately, but it’s still pretty quiet.

Nyra: Kind of deep and slow and relaxed, but warm and kind of impressed, almost reverent?? If you make her laugh she’s like Oh Okay. I See.

Rowan: Extremely goofy – like Rachel McAdams’ laugh in The Notebook or like Cobie Smulders??? An extremely good laugh 😌 Quite a touchy laugher – one of those people that will like reach out to slap a hand on someone’s knee/shoulder as she’s laughing.

Syd: Syd has almost a canned laugh that's always in their pocket ready to go that they whip out for people when they’re, like, ~performing~ and being their switched on ~social persona~. When they’re really, properly laughing it’s like unexpectedly high pitched – kind of like Burt Reynolds’ laugh??? Like a proper eyes closed, mouth open, head back howl.

Vinh: Usually just a polite smile, if they’re really laughing then it’s either at something Extremely Funny or Extremely Ridiculous And Inappropriate. Really seems to come out of nowhere and disappears just as suddenly – like a funny little barky laugh that has just kind of slipped out???

#before anyone asks no i dont have voice claims for everyone lmao #ch: griff #ch: arthur #ch: charlie #ch: florrie #ch: ellis #ch: vinh #ch: nyra #ch: atticus #ch: adegoke #ch: avery #ch: imogen #ch: rowan #ch: syd #soz to everyone in the discord who just has to see me answer questions and then like sometimes just post those same answers on tumblr lmaoo #very boring content xoxo #greatest hits tag

[psychedellic-phase]

Straight As

gif creds above!

A/N: this is based on a request I got forever ago! Because I’m SO SLOW IM SORRY!!!

tw: SMUT! (Unprotected sex/creampie, cock warming, praise kink, impregnation kink)

wc: 1.9k

masterlist

“Baby?” You heard Spencer’s voice echo lightly from his office, “Can you come here a second?”

“Coffee?” You called back, grabbing the almost empty pot and bringing it into his office.

You were met with his grinning face, a ghost of a beard on his cheeks and his hair long and curly. You knew he hated his mandatory thirty-days off, but you couldn’t help but love having him around more. The house didn’t feel like home without Spencer Reid.

He had his laptop open, papers covered in red pen all over the desk. His tie was half undone, his shirt unbuttoned so you could see his collarbones.

“No, actually,” He said, taking a sip from his mug that was still full.

You stared at him, still holding the half full carafe, “Oh, well, what did you need?”

A devilish look graced his cheeks, dimples coming out in full force. His eyes were glinting but serious, his lips in a half smile, half pout.

You knew that look, it was a look you’d seen a million times and never got tired of seeing.

“Come sit?” He asked, voice cracking as it always did when he was excited. His eyes raked up your body, which was in one of his t shirts and a pair of shorts.

You smirked, sitting the carafe down on a table before padding over to him.

He slid his chair out, patting his knee, “Darling, please?”

You sat on his thigh, arm round his back and toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. He grabbed your legs, swinging them over the arm or the chair so he could hold you there. His hand was on one buttcheek, the other moving hair away from your eyes.

You laughed, arms both coming around his neck, “You’re affectionate today, Dr. Reid.”

“You’re just so pretty,” He whispered, leaning in dangerously close to your lips, but not quite kissing you.

You could feel his breath on your face, smelling of coffee and altoids, “You have work to do.”

He groaned, “Their papers are insufferable. Does no one know how to use an oxford comma anymore?”

You smiled, tracing the side of his face with your fingertip, “You still have to grade them.”

He nodded, sliding his hand from above your shorts to underneath, palming your ass in his hand slightly, “I know, but I need a break.”

You raised your eyebrows, not minding where this was going at all, “A break?”

He nodded, “Just a short break, with the most beautiful woman in the word.”

He kissed your lips, sucking on the bottom one. You pulled away just slightly, so he couldn’t reach you anymore, “The most beautiful woman in the world, really?”

“Uh-huh,” He whispered, catching you in a kiss again, “The smartest, kindest, sexiest, most amazing woman in the world.”

You kissed him back, tugging at his hair to open his mouth for you. You suckled on his tongue slightly, his hand moving to squeeze at your ass now.

“You flatter me,” you panted between rushed kisses, “Dr. Reid.”

He groaned, “Call me that again.”

You kissed from his lips, across his cheek to his ear. There you sucked just behind it and nibbled at the lobe, “Dr. Reid.”

He lifted you up, reminding you of just how strong he was under those slim-fit suits and cardigans, and placed you on top of all the essays, not caring where the pens and papers fell.

He stood between your legs, leaning over you to kiss you. His kisses were sloppy, rushed, hungry, so, so needy. Your hands landed on the buttons of his shirt, frantically pulling at them so you could get to his chest. He kissed from your lips to your collar bones, stopping to lick and suck at special places on your neck where he knew he could make you whine. Every kiss felt like electricity, so moving down your body down to the familiar wetness and throb between your thighs. His hands were rough as they pulled your shirt over your head, not caring where it ended up as long as it was off of you. He immediately pushed you back so your back was flat on the table, papers scratching at your soft skin as he kissed the valley between your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful, laying back like this darling, you know that right? That you’re so, so beautiful.”

All you could do was groan as his lips found your nipple, sucking on it lightly as the other one was pinched.

His shirt was undone, hanging loosely off his body as he kissed across your chest and around your nipples. He grabbed your hips with his arm, pulling you closer to him. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his dick through the thin material of his dress pants. His hair tickled your belly as he moved from your breasts down, leaving butterfly kisses in his wake. You ran your hands through it, tugging on the ends, begging him to go where he was most needed.

He kissed the line above your shorts, toying with the top with his teeth.

“Please, Spence,” You said through ragged breaths.

He pulled back, breathing on your stomach, “What do you want, Darling?”

“You know, taste me,” You pleaded, and he pulled your shorts and panties down at once.

He kissed from the inside of your thighs to your core, where he places a kiss before moving to your other leg. You squirmed under him, begging for some kind of touch, anything.

“You look so gorgeous when you squirm for me,” He said, before licking a fat stripe from bottom to top, making you moan immediately.

His hands found your hips, pinning them down and stopping you from bucking up into him as he sucked and licked every part of you his mouth could touch. He stared up at you, chest heaving as delicious moans filtered throughout the office.

He grinned, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit and sucking there gently. You jolted under his touch. Your hands needed something to hold, and the closest thing they could find were pieces of computer paper. You scrunched them up in your hands, arching your back as he alternated between sucking and viciously licking at your clit.

He didn’t stop until you came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head as you moaned and cursed.

He continued licking and licking, long after your high had passed, until you were whimpering from oversensitivity. When he finally came up for air, you leaned up to match him, meeting in the middle in an intense kiss.

“I love when you cum for me, darling. I love making you feel good,” He whispered as you kissed along his jaw, “Now be a good girl and bend over this desk for me.”

You happily obliged, head still foggy and legs slightly feeling like jelly as you flipped over.

He dropped his pants just slightly, one hand pulling you closer to him. Your back was arched, ass pressed up in the air just waiting for him to do something. Anything. The air was cool against your wetness, sending a shiver down your spine. The papers felt rough against your nipples as he ran his tip through your folds, groaning as he did so.

“You’re so perfect,” He grunted, as he completely bottomed out inside of you on his first stroke, “Coming when I need you, letting me fuck you over this desk. You’re such a good girl, my good girl.”

“Y-yes I am,” You managed out between the slaps of skin against skin. His pace was brutal, slightly hurting at first and soon dissolving into pleasure. His left hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him as he propped himself up with his right. The papers and books on the table rattled, pens flying off as he shook the desk with his thrusts.

“All mine, pretty, pretty girl, right?”

“All yours, always,” You promised, squeezing your eyes shut in over sensitive pleasure, his thrusts getting more and more erratic as he chased an orgasm similar to the one he had just given you.

He thrusted a few more times before emptying inside of you. He stayed there for a few minutes, not moving, regaining his breath and keeping his cock warm inside of you.

You liked the feeling, responding by clenching and throbbing around him, your second orgasm not attained but still in reach.

He rubbed the dimples at the small of your back, before slowly starting to thrust again. Just small, mini thrusts to fuck his cum back into you. You loved the feeling, groaning and pressing your ass back into him. He did that a few times, before stopping again to sit inside of you.

“I want this to stay inside of you,” He mumbled, “Stay inside that perfect pussy. You like that, darling, do you?”

You nodded frantically, starting to move yourself against him again, still desperately needing that second release. He knew what you needed, and slowly rocked with you, his cock oversensitive, as he roughly thumbed your clit until you were shaking over him again.

When you came down, he finally pulled out, bringing a drip of cum out of you and watching it trail down your lips.

He squatted, licking the stray fluid up as you shuddered under his tongue.

He slid your shorts back up, helped you put your shirt on, and kissed your forehead.

You wobbled as you stood, like a newborn deer.

“You okay?” he whispered, kissing your cheek.

You smiled, “Of course I’m okay.”

You started buttoning up his shirt, smoothing it out and tugging in his collar to fix it, “Can I ask what that was about?”

He shrugged, pecking your lips, “I was frustrated and horny and I just love you.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing him back, “I love you too.”

When you went to leave, you grabbed the carafe and saw him staring down at the essays in horror. They were smudged and crinkled and some were even ripped and covered in mysterious fluids. Pages had been strewn all over the room, most of them not even with the rest of the paper they belonged to.

You giggled, “Sorry for the mess, professor.”

He smiled, “You know what? I think I’m just going to give them all As.”

————

Taglist :) (so many arent working blah)

@slutforthegubes @safertokiss @tomorrowmeansoportunities @fullwattpadmusictree @helloniallslovelies @patronising-raven @anthoqhila @chocolateflowerzipperbear @imjusthereformggcontent​ @haliekayy​ @drspencerreidscum @youre-a-wallflower-charlie​ @blameitonthenight21 @joanofarkansas @pinkdiamond1016 @jojostyles17 @ellegreenawayapologist @goofygubler14

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Ooh can we get Lambden cuddling for warmth in a cave during a storm/blizzard that turns into some heavy smut/it’s their first time and they’re both nervous bc there’s been -t e n s i o n- for a few years now (canon verse) pls ☺️

A/N: Aiden and Lambert have been friends for years. Until they get stuck in a cave in the middle of a blizzard that is. Warnings: sweet negotiations; past pining; virgin Aiden; experienced Lambert.

“This is your fault,” Lambert seethed through a clenched jaw as they stared out of the cave mouth at the blizzard. He wasn’t that pissed off. It was just that if he didn’t grit his teeth then they were likely to rattle out of his head. “I told you we didn’t have time for that nekker nest.” 

The fire wasn’t enough. The flames danced weakly in the space between them, and frozen fingers clutched at the edges of their cloaks to pull them tight around their bodies. “It was just a minor pest control job,” Aiden huffed dismissively. “You’re the one who had to haggle for more money and then get us driven out of the town in the wrong direction.”

“I can’t abide a cheapskate,” Lambert grumbled. “There were twice the number of mini-munchers than they said, and – what?” He trailed off. Because Aiden was smiling. It was a thing he did. A beautiful curve of glossy pink lips that showed just a touch of tooth; it created dimples in his lightly freckled cheeks and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. It was the most gorgeous sight on the fucking Continent – sunsets, the Blue Mountains, Aen Seidhe princesses, could all do one – it was all Aiden. Aiden, smiling and amused, was the only kind of beauty that ever stole Lambert’s attention.

And his heart.

Oh, and Aiden was hot. The tear-my-braies-off-and-bend-me-over-right-fucking-now kind of hot. The kind of hot you saw across the tavern and then had to readjust your damned trousers because they weren’t built for enduring that kind of view. The few times Lambert had seen him naked – showering beneath a waterfall Murivel, changing in the backroom of an inn – it’d required a deft bit of self-maintenance when Aiden wasn’t paying attention to keep things… not awkward between them.

There was one problem. Small – minor – issue. Lambert had never actually told him.

Words were hard, alright? Fuck off. Besides, why should it all be on Lambert? Aiden was the other half of this sexual tension sweet bun. Oh, his ass was like a sweet bun.

And yet somehow, after all this time, Aiden hadn’t noticed. Or pretended not to. Somehow didn’t scent it on the air when Lambert’s hormones all decided he was hardcore Aiden-sexual every time the guy bent over, or flexed, or fucking… smiled.

It was like one of those shitty romance novels full of pining, except the princess was a scarred Cat Witcher with a love of cake and a laugh more beautiful than the winds singing through the caverns of the Blue Mountains, and the prince was… Lambert.

“You know, we should share our cloaks,” Aiden blurted out, like he thought if he said it quick enough he could throw the words down and run away. Two greeny yellow eyes gazed at Lambert from the cave of his hood, wide and… afraid?

Lambert blinked. If he curled up against Aiden, then his body was going to betray him instantly. And what if that drove Aiden off - ? No. This was just… huddling for warmth. Practical. If they didn’t, then the others would come down from Kaer Morhen to find two frozen idiots ogling each other for an eternity over a dead fire.

“Yeah, we should, totally,” Lambert cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly around the fire until he was shoulder to shoulder with his… friend. They sat there for a moment, inspecting the fire as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Slowly, deliberately, Lambert opened his arms, cloak like the wings of a bat and scooped Aiden up in one deft move. Like ripping a bandage off so that the pain was brief.

They pressed close, and Lambert’s face buried in Aiden’s hair, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. That hadn’t been the idea. But now that he was there, now that Aiden’s auburn hair spread out over his nose and cheeks, he inhaled deeply. Oh yeah. Yeeeah. That was the good shit. That was – oh, bollocks. Blood rushing. Trousers tightening. Stomach knotting. 

Aiden shifted; a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch, but his ass definitely felt everything that was currently pushed out against the ties of Lambert’s trousers. A very heavy silence sat on top of them. Like a huge troll had just come and plonked its fat ass right on their heads. Aiden suddenly sat up a little straighter, like he’d come to a decision. “Lambert.”

“Y’hello,” Lambert croaked, because he was trying his damnedest not to rut up against that pert ass with its tight trousers. Fucking Cats and their tight armour. Why? At the moment, it could pass as a poorly placed knife or something.

“Do you…?” Aiden seemed to lose his confidence for a moment, and so Lambert just… tightened his arms a touch. You know, a little, reassuring squeeze. He wasn’t sure what he was reassuring him about, but the reassuring had been done. Aiden tilted his head back and Lambert could hear him snuffling at the air. Fuck. Busted. 

“Aiden, I can explain - ,” Lambert immediately loosened his grip and tried to move away, but Aiden grabbed onto his forearms and suddenly pushed back.

“You like me,” the Cat stated.

“Yeah, you’re alright,” Lambert forced his lips down, pressing them close together, toes curling in his boots. Yes, yes, fucking yes. 

“Hm,” Aiden huffed. Another long pause. A pregnant pause, if you will. “Lambert, I’ve never... “ he stopped, again, and Lambert was about ready to throttle him, but just when he was sizing up that elegant neck, Aiden started again, “if you laugh, I’ll punch you.”

“I won’t laugh,” Lambert grumbled, vaguely offended.

“I’ve never…” Aiden sighed, “...had sex.”

“Oh,” Lambert’s brow furrowed, and then realisation bloomed through his head like spilled mead on a tavern floor. There was a reason Aiden was telling him this specific fact right at this specific moment. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Aiden sagged in Lambert’s arms. “Medallion kinda… puts people off. And there’s a rule about never putting your dick in crazy, and the School of the Cat is just an asylum on wheels most of the time, and - .”

Lambert could feel Aiden bunching up with each passing word. “Hey, oi,” he turned his face into Aiden’s hair again, nosing through the small braid that fell down behind his ear. “If you’re askin’ what I think you’re askin’, then the answer’s yeah, yeah I want to.”

Aiden squeaked. Fucking squeaked. And Lambert’s heart did this little fluttering thing it had never done before. Like someone had replaced it with a sparrow that was trying to fight its way out to settle in Aiden’s pretty hair, where it would nest forever, and - 

“Now?”

Lambert’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Can we do it now?”

“Aiden, it’s kinda cold, I’m not really at my full - grandeur,” Lambert did a little shuffle to make sure. Actually, you know, with Aiden all warm against him, maybe he could muster a little bit of a show.

“No,” Aiden turned in Lambert’s arms until they sat nose to nose. “I want - uh, I want your ass.”

“Oh,” Lambert’s eyebrows shot up. That was… unexpected. “Well, I mean…”

“I’ve looked at it a lot,” Aiden said seriously. “You… your trousers are very tight.”

“That’s fucking rich coming from you. Sometimes I think you’ve painted them on,” Lambert growled, and then decided that mouth was too close and, oh fuck, it was smiling again. Their lips pressed together - dry, chapped, not exactly the most dazzling of kisses - but Lambert moaned softly into it nonetheless. He’d been wrong before about the hair. This was the good shit. 

Then suddenly Lambert could smell it. A swell of raw need soaking the air, emanating from every single one of Aiden’s pores; it was sweet, and soft, and beautiful. Aiden wanted, and he wanted bad. Agile fingers scrambled at the front of Lambert’s gambeson, shaking with excitement, and he grinned into Aiden’s lips. “Alright, alright. No need to tear me out of my kit,” Lambert guided him away, putting some space between their chests. His gaze travelled down Aiden’s chest to his - well, holy fucking Melitele on a horse cock, it was huge. Even inside the restraints of Aiden’s clothes, Lambert could see that beast of a dick growing down Aiden’s right trouser leg. 

“Now I feel somewhat inferior,” Lambert’s eyes flicked up, and then raised an eyebrow when he saw the Cheshire cat level grin sprawling across Aiden’s face. He stared at him long enough for it to falter a little because he was a cruel fucker like that, and then rubbed their noses together. “Gimme a sec’. There’s a bit of, uh… prep, I need to do.”

The mad dash outside for a bowl of snow was totally worth it, his teeth chattering as he melted it down with a little puff of igni. As was the awkward shuffling with a washcloth underneath the cover of his cloak so as not to completely destroy the moment. Aiden watched it all, with big, interested eyes, plucking idly at the ties on the front of his trousers. When Lambert returned with a stoppered bottle though, he squinted in confusion. “Is that oil for - ?”

“Don’t think about it,” Lambert warned, and then nipped that pouty frown as he wiggled out of his trousers and boots. It was too cold to shed his gambeson and shirt, and he was already shivering from his brief time away from the fire. “C’mon, get these down, and sit on my pack… yeah, like that.” Lambert guided Aiden back and tugged his trousers down to his knees. When he finally straddled those well-muscled thighs, he stroked his fingers slowly down the front of Aiden’s vest. Lingering over each button and clasp, allowing their breath to mingle as they both watched his hand progress, Lambert bit his lower lip as he finally slid his fingers down velvet soft skin. 

Aiden let out a strangled noise somewhere on the spectrum between a grunt and a whine. The drool of precome leaking from Aiden’s slit wetted Lambert’s palm as he teased his foreskin around his head. “Wolf, fucking… ahh. Oh my - oh my - gods, ahh.”

“Huh,” Lambert smirked, stifling those desperate gasps with another kiss as he thumbed open the bottle. The cork skittered across the cave floor, and he tipped a generous puddle of oil over Aiden’s groin. His hand worked it back up his shaft until every glorious inch glistened, leaping eagerly against his palm with each gentle tug. “You’re not gonna’ be a two minute wonder, are ya’?” Another little shuffle. “Now, are you ready? Because you’re definitely about to put your dick in a whole loada’ crazy.”

Aiden looked almost pained, clearly unable to muster his wit amidst the mire of need, and Lambert chuckled as he leaned their foreheads together. With a little bit of shimmying, he moved his hips forward and reached between his own thighs for a little bit of preparation. Not too much. He loved the stretch of a good prick and Aiden… yeah, he counted and then some. It’d been a while though, and he had forgotten the pleasure to be found in a simple touch at the right angle. Aiden watched, mystified, and couldn’t help but lean up to kiss Lambert's slack jaw and damp lips. “Bert,” he whispered, and smiled hopefully up into those misty eyes as they dropped. “Want you.”

“Mmm,” Lambert cupped Aiden’s jaw and tilted his head back as he angled his hips. The thick head of Aiden’s prick notched into his rim, and with slow, gentle rocks he worked himself down into Aiden’s lap. He didn’t want to miss the moment - that moment - when a person discovered the pleasure of joining with someone they lov--uh, liked very much. So Lambert lifted his lips away, watched as Aiden’s mouth formed an awed ‘oh’, eyes glazing over in bliss, as Lambert’s body gripped around him. “Oh, fu -  Aiden, yeah.” Lambert stuttered, stopping only when he was fully seated, his ass flush with Aiden’s groin. 

“Feels good,” Aiden gasped out the understatement of the millennia. He looked like he was floating in the heavens; the admiration poured out of his eyes, his body quaking with need. Finally rediscovering the use of his hands, he reached around to grab a handful of an asscheek while the other scrubbed over the bristles of Lambert’s beard with an appreciative growl. Feral fuck. 

Those blunt nails scratched through Lambert’s hair next and pulled him down for another kiss; wet, slow, with tongues that brushed lazily together. Lambert began to slowly move his hips in the rhythm he loved; he knew the angle, knew the pace, knew everything that would make this more than just good for them both. As he worked, their combined sweat dampened the warm interior of their cloak cocoon, skin slick and flushed, the cold a distant memory.

Lambert lost the capability to coordinate a kiss as his body built to its peak, and slumped onto Aiden’s shoulder. He tilted his head so that his lips pressed to the hammering pulse in the side of his lover’s neck that matched the throb deep in his ass. Aiden was gaining confidence, heels pushed into the floor so that he could meet Lambert’s lazy rolls with firmer thrusts that found the sweetest spot. He nudged Lambert away from him so he could watch their bodies join; his cock pumping into Lambert, and Lambert’s erection shivering, leaking. Aiden wrapped a hand around it, tugging roughly in time with his thrusts until Lambert’s noise filled the cave.

Lambert groaned, and panted, and gasped, moving faster, demanding more, until finally Aiden went rigid below him. His lean body tensed like a coiled spring, and Lambert managed to lift his head to allow Aiden’s to fall back. 

Well, that was fucking unfair. Even his orgasm face was pretty. 

Pink lips parted, green eyes wide, lean throat perfect for nibbling. In fact, yeah; Lambert leaned down and bit his ownership as he rode himself to completion. The brush of Aiden’s palm down his shaft and over his head was enough, and he painted that ocean blue gambeson with strips of white. They slumped on Lambert’s packs, the cloaks draped over them, their own body heat enough to keep the cold of the blizzard at bay.

Lambert moved with a quiet grunt, ignoring the mess between them in favour of studying his blissed out kitty-cat. “Consider your cherry popped.”

“Huh,” Aiden smiled; it was bleary, almost drunken. “Can’t believe I was missing out on that all this time.”

“How much time?”

“How long have we known each other?”

“Uh,” Lambert ran the calculations. “Ten… fifteen years, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Aiden slumped. “That long.”

“Well, fuck,” Lambert stretched, rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Got some catchin’ up to do then. Wait until you see what I can do with my tongue…” Aiden’s eyes went wide, and Lambert wiggled his eyebrows as he shuffled down. 

“Oh,” Aiden gasped. Perhaps getting caught in a cave in the middle of a hellish blizzard wasn’t so bad after all…

#rawrkinwrites #smut #Lambden #Lambert #Aiden #Bottom!Lambert

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Tips and Tricks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Spencer scares you for a second. And your mom is disappointed.

A/N: I know I have so many things going at once but I couldn’t help myself with this! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Like, comment, reblog, send me asks and shit. I love you! Enjoy!

___

A true book enthusiast knows that the most beautiful smell in the world can be found in the middle of a book. Whether it’s old and it’s pages are yellowed with age, or its so new that the text wipes off onto your hands when you open the cover, the smell is like a drug that gets your engine running the way no actual drug ever could.

It’s that thought that makes your pull your car into the nearly deserted parking lot of the bookstore as the rain crashes around you. You’ve seen enough ID Channel to know that waiting for the storm to pass while parked on the side of the road is about as dangerous as walking into a serial killer club meeting with a sign around your neck that reads, ‘kill me, I look like every person who has ever wronged you in life.’

Pulling your bag up over your head, you dash inside as fast as you can. The bell rings through the empty store, the smell of books hitting your senses and putting you at ease.

Even with your bag over your head, your hair is drenched and your clothes stick to your body in the most uncomfortable way possible. The store is manned by one forlorn looking teenage girl with short black hair, you can hear the gum she’s smacking behind the desk from four feet away.

Classical music filters down from the speakers, nestling among the thousands of books that take up every available space in the room. While some books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the rest have been stacked on the floor like a maze of knowledge. Some stacks go up so high that even if you stand on your toes and stretch your arm as high as you could, you would still be a good ten five-hundred paged books from the top.

Every turn into the book maze reveals another secret of the store, like the collection of vinyls tucked into a corner beneath a record player that is older than your grandmother. Down a narrow path of towering novels, is a small reading nook with two red armchairs that have seen their fair share of readers.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon the house of an immortal book-lover, the rugs that stretch across the floor feeling just as ancient as the words around you. But it’s peaceful, relaxing. You find yourself humming along to Chopin’s Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 2, the spines of books bumping under your finger. Unsure how the books are organized, or even if they are, you’ve decided to look at the book your finger is on once the song is over.

When the last notes fade into a brief quietness, you stop on a book written by a ‘David Rossi.’ You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes from your chest in surprise that the first book you look at is a true crime novel.

Ever since you were a little girl, stealing your mom’s police badge to play ‘cops and robbers,’ and sneaking into her office to read case files you weren’t supposed to, you’d been in love with the puzzle-solving of the investigative world. You’ve always had a mind for finding clues no one thought to look for, it was the only reason you didn’t get in trouble when you left sticky notes full of observations and theories in your mother’s case files.

It was this background that made everyone around you so sure you would become a detective just like your mom. It was this same background that surprised everyone when you became an author instead. To say your mother was disappointed was an understatement, she’d been the most shocked when you showed her a four hundred page manuscript instead of an application for the police academy.

“Who gets a master’s in criminology only to write books?!”

Even still, she was the dedication in every book you published. So far, that was two, you’d been in the midst of your third book for four months now. Something about the story didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times you rewrote every page, it still didn’t click together the way the first two books had.

You don’t let the thought bug you as you flip open the hardcover, the pages falling to the side as you read the synopsis printed to the inside flap. The ringing of the bell barely registers in your mind, falling somewhere behind the book in your hands, the sound of the rain beating at the roof, and Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8. After reading the first page, you decide to give the book a chance and you tuck it beneath your arm for safe keeping.

This time, you turn your eyes up to the tops of the shelves, scanning for something that might be interesting. Each binding tells a story of its own, with spines creased from frequent readings or smooth spines begging to be cracked open. There are titles in gold and black, silver and red, the backgrounds varying in more colors than the words.

By the time you’ve wandered back to the reading nook with armchairs strategically placed to face each other at a diagonal, Beethoven is coming to a close. The notes vibrate for just a moment, and you choose the book tucked into the end with a dark purple cover and gold lettering. You can’t quite see the title but something tells you that this is something you want to read, that this books is going to be a good one.

Call it a reader’s instinct.

It’s just that, there are no step ladders to get to the top shelf and you aren’t exactly tall enough to reach it. Climbing the shelf just sounds dangerous, and you aren’t too eager to die at the hands of hundreds of books and a large bookcase. You contemplate moving one of the armchairs to assist you, but ultimately decide against it when you imagine that teenage girl coming to the back with a disappointed look on her face at the sight of you.

Instead you stretch like your life depends on it, your toes cramping a little as you push up on them as high as you can go. The tips of your fingers bump the spine when you curve your hand around the lip of the shelf. The wood digs into your wrist but maybe if you keep pushing and pulling at what you can grab, it will wiggle itself free.

That’s your plan until a warm body unintentionally brushes against you, an arm longer than yours coming up beside you and taking the book from its place up high with ease. Falling back to your feet, you’re quick to turn around and come face to face with a man you’ve never met before.

His expression is kind and gentle, crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he offers you a shy smile and the book he grabbed for you. He’s definitely in the department of tall, tilting his head down a little to meet your gaze with eyes that you can’t quite describe as brown but you can’t quite describe as hazel either. Everything about him makes your heart stutter in your chest, from the color and shape of his lips, to the sharp cut of his jawline.

He’s curls himself down a little, his empty hand palm up and open as if he is trying to seem less threatening. It’s such a stark contrast to most of the men you meet, who invade your personal space and eyeball your breasts like they’re human bra size detectors.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until he clear his throat, a dusty pink color rising to his cheekbones as he shuffles nervously in his spot. Blinking away the cloud of initial shock from the angelic being before you, you grab the book and mumble a ‘thank you.’

“Are you a big fan of David Rossi?” He says, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets.

“Who?” Internally, your facepalm yourself at the absolute stupidity that must be radiating off of you in waves strong enough to affect the whole population of Virginia.

“You’re holding two of his books.” Sure enough, not only is the book tucked under your arm David Rossi, but so is the book in your hands. The laugh that sputters out of you is even more surprised than the first laugh, the sheer coincidence of grabbing two random books by the same author in this whole building pulling the laughter from the pits of your stomach.

His lips flicker into a confused smile. It makes him that much more adorable.

“I was choosing books my eyes or finger landed on when the song ended. I couldn’t really figure out how everything is arranged so I thought I’d let the music decide for me.” He looks around now, his male-lead, love-interest eyes flying across the room to confirm that there really was no form of originization, his brows furrowing in thought. His bottom lips is sucked between his teeth and the vividness of the lewd fantasies that come from the small action are enough to push you back a step.

Only, you’re already pretty close to the bookcase, and when you step back to get some distance your back bumps into the wood and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head to keep it from hitting the corner. You’re not even sure how he knew to react so fast, those eyes coming back to meet yours.

“Careful there, your head almost hit the shelf behind you.” Putting just a little pressure on the back of your neck to guide you out of harms way, he doesn’t let go until his back is to the case and you’re standing in his old spot. The new smile he gives you is lopsided, causing your heart to trip over itself. What you wouldn’t give in that moment to capture that smile on camera or canvas, to hold onto it forever.

You don’t even know this man, what are you thinking?!

Pulling the books to your chest like a shield for your heart, which has digressed to the same emotional maturity you had as a thirteen year old girl when you were in love with every member of New Kids On the Block, you tighten your grip around the covers to the point that your knuckles turn white.

“I’m (Y/N).” Somehow his smile brightens even more.

“I’m Spencer.”

“Are you hiding from the rain too, Spencer?” Everything about you hates small talk, you always wanted to jump straight into the nitty gritty of getting to know someone. You wanted to know what made them tick, what made them who they were. But you were willing to do the normal thing and lure him into an actual conversation, if only to keep him talking.

“Actually, I came to this bookshop with a specific purpose.” Spencer schools his features, suddenly all business. The brown blazer with elbow patches and the lavender button up certainly help to make him appear serious. You still imagine reaching for the dark purple tie around his neck and pulling his lips to yours, the severity of his expression only adding to his sexiness.

“I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I came here because I’m in the middle of an investigation that led me here,” You blink in surprise, all kinds of questions popping into your mind. “You see, I got a tip that I may find it here. I wasn’t sure, but after some looking around it appears they were right.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, thinking of all the local cases you’ve heard about in the last week or so. Nothing that would involve the FBI comes to mind, especially not the BAU.

Between the end of his sentence and the opening of your mouth, Spencer has time to reach out to the side of your head, his fingers brushing against a few strands of hair.

“I only want to know two things; how you got ahold of my favorite pen, and why you thought you could get away with it?” Balanced in his thumb and index finger is a black pen, the writing tip pointed toward the ceiling. He holds it between you, a silly grin stretched across his face as you reach up to touch your ear.

Of course you’ve seen the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick before, never with a pen but it’s the same concept. It’s just so funny and out-there that you cant help being a little amazed.

“Is this how you flirt with women, Agent?”

“Actually it’s Doctor. Doctor Reid,” he smugly goes about tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of his blazer, you can briefly recall it being there before he distracted you by switching places just seconds ago, “I do work with the BAU, that wasn’t a ruse. I have my credentials if you want me to prove it.”

He isn’t boastful, he’s just trying to distract you from the answer to your question. The answer was yes, this is how he flirts with women. It was the only way he knew how to flirt with women that worked, having stuck to the method since Atlanta, Georgia. You wouldn’t be the first woman who thought it was cute, you were the first woman to call him on it though.

“As long as you don’t try to arrest me for the kidnapping of your pen, I’ll be inclined to believe you without proof.” He chuckles, the first time you’ve heard it since the both of you started talking, and you didn’t realize he could get better. The sound warmed every part of you so much that you felt like you were glowing from inside.

“I knew you were framed. I’ve had my suspicions on the girl running the store.” You nod your head, trying to keep the smile from pulling on your lips as you tuck a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear.

“I knew something hinky was happening with her.”

“My best law enforcement advice is to always trust your gut when it comes to crime, ma’am.”

With the ice broken thanks to the magical Dr. Reid, the conversation flows naturally between you. You both gravitate toward each other like opposite ends of magnets, unaware how close you are to touching until you absentmindedly kick your foot out and hit the tip of his shoe with your own. In an attempt to keep yourself rooted, you sit in the armchairs.

Anyone, FBI profiler or not, would have been able to tell what was going on when they found you both leaned against the arms of your seats, heads together as Reid explained how the serious looking man in the back of your book is actually one of his team members. He names all of his team members, affectionately describing them to you as if they were characters in a new book you were reading.

Normally he would keep all of this information reserved, but something about you made him feel so at ease.

You too, reveal more information than you normally would to a stranger you’d just met. You tell him about your books and your mother, you tell him how you aren’t sure why your newest book isn’t working and ask his advice on it all. He takes each question into careful consideration before answering.

It isn’t until you’ve been there for two hours, talking about anything that you could think of, that Spencer’s phone starts to ring. It’s a case. You want to ask, the young girl from your childhood coming out at the mention of a case you could help on, but you don’t.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N), but I have to go.” He fluidly rises from his seat, all at once the carefree air falls around him to reveal the intelligent, elegant, crime-fighting, doctor underneath the nerdy, magic-loving young man you’d spent the last couple of hours getting to know.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You offer, hoping to figure out a way to cheekily ask for his number before you make it there. His answering smile is infectious, reaching out and tugging your own cheeks into a smile that hurts. The books hit the wood of the desk with a thunk, Spencer standing just beside you as the girl, her name tag reads ‘RAveN,’ rings up your purchase.

“Watch out for your pens.” Spencer teases, that boy-like amusement coming out. You’ve noticed that when he tries to make a joke, he looks so nervous that you won’t get it in the seconds immediately following it. It isn’t until you laugh or crack a smile that he visibly relaxes, glad to have someone that understands his humor.

Earlier, he’d told you the joke about the existentialists and the light bulb and had been absolutely elated when you doubled over in laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but he’d been making you laugh for so long that your ribs had started to hurt.

“That’ll be $12.78.” You slide your card across the desk, pulling your eyes away from Reid longer than you wanted to. When you look back, there’s a look on his face that takes you a minute to recognize. It’s just on the tip of your tongue when the smack of pen and receipt paper hit the counter.

Quickly, you sign your name on the stores copy of your receipt. You flip your copy of the receipt to the back, using the pen to scribble out your phone number.

“Call me if you ever learn any new magic tricks you want to show off.” The bell dings when you lean back against the door, your books in a bag that dangle from your left hand while your right hand comes up in a wave.

Spencer still stands at the counter, the one in a hurry being the one who still isn’t out the door. The lopsided smile is back, that look crossing his face again as you let the after-storm sun shine on your face.

“Sir, can you take your longing elsewhere? I’d like to close early. I have a thing to get to.” He pats his hand on the countertop, ignoring the buzzing of texts coming through his phone as he makes his way to the car in a bit of a daze.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds

[instasiswetrust]

July Prompts, Day 5 - Camera

"You still kept this one?"

When Jonathan turns to look at him, Steve's holding a broken camera in his hands. It's the one he had broken after seeing the pictures Jonathan took of Nancy, cracked and missing a part of the casing.

"I figured I could get it fixed but then you guys got me a new one. Kind of forgot to get rid of it afterwards." He shrugs, going back to rifling through his cassette collection, trying to find the Motley Cure one.

"You mind if I take it?"

This time, when Jonathan turns to look at him he appears to be confused, maybe even curious. Steve just shrugs, trying for nonchalance. He's not sure how to explain why he wants to keep the camera, just knows that he feels like he needs to.

So he's relieved when, after a moment, Jonathan nods. He gives him instructions on where he can get it fixed, a few tips about taking pictures, and that's that.

Guess Steve owns a camera now. Fun times.

-*-

Bitterness.

That's what the first picture he takes makes him feel.

He had stared in the mirror, brown eyes taking in the aftermath of Billy Hargrove's anger, of two nights of restless sleep and nightmares that left the phantom taste of rot and ash on his tongue. Had stared, looking at the canvas of bruises, black and blue and purple.

Nebulae on ashen skin at 3 AM.

His fingers had been shaking, a hint of desperation in his movements, when he reached for the camera. The flash had reflected on the cracked bathroom mirror, the outcome of a previous panic attack, blinding him for a moment. The end effect had made his stomach churn when he saw it.

With his eyes scrunched closed and the bruises lit up by the light of the flash, he had looked so fragile. Vulnerable and in pain. The bags under his eyes so dark that they blended in with the bruises already there.

He hated the picture.

It was still tucked safely in between the yellowed pages of an old empty journal.

-*-

The second picture taken comes courtesy of Dustin.

He had spent a whole week locked up in his room, bitter and scared, too afraid to be alone but too tired to face the whispers that would undoubtedly follow him. Each time he closed his eyes he could see Billy's face. Twisted in anger, golden curls flying with the force of his punches, but there had been something in the depth of those blue eyes. Something like fear, like regret.

Something Steve had wanted to forget if only because he didn't think he could stand it if there was something more to Billy Hargrove than just all the fury.

On Saturday the doorbell had rung. Insistent and unrelenting, the shrill sound hadn't stopped until he had wrenched open the door, scathing words dying in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

"Mom made extra chicken pot pie because she knows it's your favorite." Dustin had said as soon as the door had opened, shouldering his way past Steve on his way to the kitchen. "And everyone's been worried about you so I figured it was about time to force you out of your self-enforced pity party."

"It's not a pity party..." He remembers himself murmuring, lips pursing into a pout as he followed the boy into the kitchen.

By the look Dustin threw him, it was obvious he saw right through his bullshit.

It had been later, stomach full for the first time in days, that the younger boy had spotted the camera he must've left on the coffee table at some point. Steve had been lazying on the couch, eyes closed and mind blessedly empty when the sudden flash of a camera had gone off, startling him.

"What the hell dingus?"

When he had opened his eyes, Dustin had been grinning wide, all boyish smugness. He had only given Steve a moment before the shutter had gone off again. And again. And again.

He had taken pictures until the camera had run out of film avoiding all attempts Steve had made to wrench the camera out of his hands. Despite the annoyance he had felt though, a smile had curled Steve's lips for the first time since they had made it out of the tunnels.

Looking back on the stack of Polaroids, most of them had ended up blurry and unfocused from the chase. Only that very first one he had kept. He had looked content faded bruises, and eyebags the only hints that not everything was okay but that maybe it was getting better.

Bitterness and Hope. Maybe he should start a collection.

-*-

The third picture doesn't even come from his camera at all.

"Wha-?"

Once the brightness of the flash cleared, Steve was turning to look at Nancy perched on the hood of Jonathan's car, his camera in her hands. She was smiling at him the same way she used to back when they had started dating, all dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes. She was even more beautiful now but she no longer his.

His chest ached with the knowledge. A quick jolt of pain.

It still didn't explain why she had just taken a picture of him.

"You should talk to them. If you miss them, that is." He didn't understand what she meant until the photo finished developing and she handed it to him.

She'd captured his right side in the frame, his gaze seemingly lost in a random point in the distance. At least, that's what he thought at first before he spotted the outline of a couple on the opposite edge of the frame. They looked a little blurry because of the distance but it was clear Steve's gaze was fixed on them. Longing was etched deep and clear on his features.

Maybe he should have stopped assuming that nobody was paying attention to him these days.

"Why would I talk to Tommy and Carol? They are assholes." It had come out a little too quickly, a little too guarded. An obvious lie.

"So were you but you changed." She gave him a soft but knowing look. Like she could see right through him. Maybe she could, he wouldn't put it past her. "Plus, you guys were friends since childhood weren't you? Those types of bonds aren't that easy to forget."

And he knew there was truth in her words but he felt scared.

Because although Steve was fine these days with no longer being considered King Steve, it was one thing to just passively lose popularity and another one to have Tommy and Carol spouting his secrets for everybody to hear.

Thing was, they hadn't done that yet. Even with Billy in the picture, they still hadn't.

"Maybe." And for a while that had been that.

Later that week he had dropped by Tommy's house. Tommy had begrudgingly accepted to talk after Carol needled him a little. They had talked and apologized, although it would take some time and effort before things between them resembled that of old.

Bitterness. Hope. Longing. Wonder what would join his collection next.

-*-

By the time the fourth polaroid joined the others in the old journal, his room was filled with dozens of pictures of his friends --his family-- hanging on strings over his head.

"I didn't peg you for a photographer, princess."

Billy had been standing in the middle of the room, looking at the motley array of pictures that littered the room. He had one in his hand, tugging surprisingly gently on the string so he could get a better look at it.

"Well I didn't peg you for an idiot but somehow you're in my room instead of the bathroom." But the heat that normally would accompany his words hadn't been there, the corner of his lips curling into a replica of a smile.

He remembers walking further into the room until he had stood next to the blonde, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his body. At the time he hadn't thought much of the heat on his cheeks, attributing it to his embarrassment when he spotted the picture in Billy's hand.

It depicted Steve and Jonathan, both of them either high or drunk. He had been draped over Jonathan's side, pressing a lipstick-covered kiss to his cheek. Dark red lipstick and black eyeshadow to match, to be exact. Probably high, that's the only way he would've allowed Nancy to put any of her makeup on him.

"Black really doesn't fit you, pretty boy." Billy had teased him, all wide smirks and tongue between his teeth.

"Oh shut the fuck up, Billy." He had scoffed, punching his arm. "I looked damn fine."

And the way Billy had laughed, loud and honest and surprisingly bright. Steve couldn't help himself. He wasn't sure why he had found it so important at the moment but it had been, so he had grabbed his camera and snapped a photo.

Billy had stopped laughing at once, but at least he hadn't tried to take the photo.

It would be two weeks later when Steve realized what it was that he had seen at that moment. Another week before he had scrawled Love at the bottom of the polaroid and tucked it safely with the others in the journal.

-*-

The fifth photo just cements Steve's resolve to never show anybody the polaroids tucked inside the old journal.

"B...B-Billy fuck... baby please. I can't- I can't. Please."

Steve bit down on his bottom lip so hard that he had tasted blood. It had been impossible to quieten his sounds and focus on rolling his hips at the same time, especially when Billy seemed intent on covering his neck with as many lovebites as he could.

"Gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock all pretty?"

And, oh god, Steve had whined.

High, and breathy, and so fucking lewd. Billy hadn't even touched him and he had been so close already, desperately chasing an orgasm that had been denied twice already. His eyes had been closed, head thrown back as pleasure mounted, dragging him even closer.

If he had opened them, maybe he would've seen what Billy was doing.

"Come for me, baby."

He vaguely registered the flash of a camera going off at the same time tremors overtook his body, thighs shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Later, when they were curled up on the couch going through the remains of a pizza, Billy had handed him the polaroid. Lust had been scrawled at the bottom of the photo.

"For your collection." Was what he had said.

-*-

If somebody were to ask what his favorite polaroid was, Steve thinks he would have to choose number 6.

He had caught Billy looking at his chest in the mirror, where the pale white scars twisted across the expanse of his chest. After the Mind Flayer, he had taken to wearing his shirts buttoned all the way. Even in bed with Steve, it was rare that he ever took off his shirt.

The look on his boyfriend's face then had been so miserable. All the iron defenses stripped away until only the fragile vulnerability underneath remained. It had pushed him to step into the room, wrapping his arms loosely around Billy's waist.

For a second Billy had tensed up, muscles going taut, eyes widening a fraction before he relaxed into Steve's arms with a sigh. The fragility had still been there but his roughened edges had softened some.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He had whispered, pressing a kiss to a bare shoulder.

He hadn't gotten an outright answer at the time but each kiss Billy pressed against his lips had been stained with a restless kind of desperation. Like he had wanted to etch each kiss on his skin and remember them forever, just in case he were to lose it all again.

And yeah, Steve knew exactly how that felt.

"Billy, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" The words had been muttered between slow kisses, reassuring and gentle. Silently begging Billy to believe in his words. "This? Us? I want this to be forever. Even if it's hard, or we have bumps along the way, I want to stay by your side."

Steve had gotten an idea then. With a quick *I'll be back* he slipped back to his room and grabbed his camera, giving it to Billy once he was back. His boyfriend had been understandably confused.

"Um, so I know this probably sounds lame and you can say no but just- Hear me out okay." He had taken a deep breath to try and battle the blush coloring his cheeks. "I was thinking that, as a... promise or something, we could take a photo each year. Just as a reminder. Of us. If you want, I mean, it's kind of a dumb id-"

Warm lips pressed against his, effectively shutting him up.

"You're a dork, Stevie." But Billy had still pointed the camera at the cracked mirror and taken the photo before dragging Steve back to bed.

#july prompts #stranger things #steve harrington #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #billy hargrove #harringrove #drabbles #yes i know this is late but i couldn't stop writing okay

[personasintro]

how love works | myg drabble

⏤𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; your new colleague who ends up showing you around in your new job, finds his way to your broken heart

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨; yoongi x reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, nurse!yoongi, single mom!reader

⏤𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5.5k

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: strong language, making out, mentions of sex

𝘢/𝘯: commissioned by @hyacinthgrrls​, thank you for being so patient about this one! I'm sorry if this one seems to be messy, but I really tried to squeeze everything you wanted here!

...I'd be more than happy to show you around, but unfortunately, my shift already started and I need to be there before Dr. Jung throws a fit,” His words are unclear, barely audible as he rushes through a long hallway, greeting a few patients along the way.

It feels like all hospitals look the same – white walls with a little bit of different, but still nonchalant colors popping every now and then. This one is matched with beige color, visible thanks to the intensive white lightening. The omnipresent smell of antiseptic caries through the whole hospital.

“Yoongi is going to show you around.” Namjoon, as you've learned his name just five minutes ago, says and briefly looks over the shoulder to check up on you, making sure you're catching up with him.

It's tough, his long legs move quickly and you barely get to catch up with him, ushering behind him. He finally stops in front of the white door, the same ones like all those tens you've just passed by, before he pushes it open and walks in. Following him, you close the door with a soft thud as you try to get a glimpse behind Namjoon's tall figure. He moves away, allowing you to see the whole room. It's medium sized room with two wooden tables next to the windows, a small kitchen unit on the left side with a white fridge.

It must be a break room, but before you can look around, your attention is caught by Namjoon's voice and another person in the room.

“Great, you're here!” Namjoon calls out enthusiastically, smacking his hands together as the young man with dark hair stares at him. “You're going to show Y/N around.”

His eyes widen, before he frowns with his puffed cheeks as he holds a sandwich in his hands. “I'm on my lunch break!” he exclaims with his full mouth, visibly annoyed by the sudden interruption of his chance to finally eat and take a break.

“I know, but Jung needs me and you're the only one free.”

Namjoon doesn't seem to be surprised by the man's grumpy attitude, not even when he grunts in annoyance at him. You watch the dark haired man swallow, putting down his sandwich before he opens his mouth.

“I'm not free, I'm on my lunch break.” he reminds him, dusting off his blue scrubs that nicely contrasts with his pale skin.

Understandably, you get his reaction of having to show someone around when it's his time to finally eat. You don't take it personally, but it still leaves you awkwardly standing next to Namjoon with tongue poking the inside of your cheek.

“I can wait.” you speak up, their eyes snapping to you as the man opens his mouth before he can, Namjoon already interjects.

“No, someone needs to show you around. It's your first day but you need to get to work as soon as possible.” he dismisses your idea immediately, glancing at his colleague that fumbles with his eyes before he sighs.

“Fine.” he mutters, tossing his almost untouched sandwich down onto the table.

“Great!” Namjoon exclaims in excitement and claps his hands again. “See you guys later!”

Not even waiting for you response, he's already out of the room and leaves the two of you alone. You wonder if the man hates you for not being able to finish his sandwich, which doesn't even look like a proper lunch, because of you. He sighs, leaving you standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with your handbag clutched in your hands.

“It's okay if you want to finish that,” you speak up, feeling like you need to do something rather than just staying in silence with awkward atmosphere in the air. “I can wait.”

You've heard Namjoon, so did he, but you just need to say something and you feel bad for being a burden to him. The man looks up, meeting your eyes properly this time, and you expect him to glare at you or at least show kind of irritation, but his gaze is soft.

“No, it's okay I can finish it later,” he says, speaking to you for the first time with much more relaxed tone than he spoke with to Namjoon. “It's your first day here, huh?” he chuckles, packing his sandwich and places it into the fridge.

“Yeah,” you answer with a mere smile, noticing the untouched cup of coffee on the counter which makes you feel even more bad.

“I'm Yoongi,” he tells you, stretching his arm towards you. You take it, glancing into his dark orbs as you tell him your name.

Something about him makes you want to observe him, maybe it's his interesting personality you got to see and even though you don't know him, he doesn't look as intimidating as you first thought now that you think about it.

“Very well then, let's go before Namjoon bursts through those door again,” he jokes, causing you to laugh at that, remembering how in rush he's been ever since he introduced himself to you. “Come on.” he walks up to the door and opens it, motioning for you to go first as you thank him, ushering back to the busy hallway.

If Yoongi ever felt annoyed by the sudden interruption of his lunch break, he definitely doesn't seem to be in a bad mood at all. He's very polite, showing you each floor and explains how it works there, answering your every question with friendliness and even briefly talks about himself when you ask how long he's been working here.

For some reason, you're surprised when a 'four years' as an answer resounds from his mouth, you don't even know why but it makes sense, judging how much he knows about their work ethic and other employees. He makes you chuckle couple of times, whispering about some of the older nurses, warning you to stay away from them because they're grumpy all the time. You're pleasantly surprised by his humor and thanks to him, the nerves you've been feeling the whole morning are eased up. He doesn't know it, nor you acknowledge it loudly but you're grateful for him being the one who shows you around.

When he tells you it's your time to get changed to your work attire, you can't help but feel disappointed over the fact that it's over. His presence is weirdly pleasing and nice, and you wonder if the rest of your colleagues are such nice people as him.

He leads you through the hallway which you recognize as the same where the break room is, before he stops in front of the identical door, just with the different sign next to it.

“This is the dressing room, obviously, women and men have separated rooms.” he informs you, opening the door as he lets you to walk inside first before he follows after you.

You don't expect anyone to be there, especially not a woman wearing jeans with a bra covering her breasts as she looks at the both of you. Your cheeks heat up, not at the sight of her not covered chest, but from the situation. She doesn't seem to be phased, and her smile spreads into a huge grin as she cocks her brow at Yoongi.

“If you wanted to see me naked, Yoongi, you know all you need to do is just tell me.” she speaks up, lips curving into a smirk as she pulls out a shirt out of the opened locker, putting it on.

“Well, see, I'm not here for you.” he says nonchalantly, not phased by her flirtatious attitude which makes her grin even more.

“Ah, what a shame,” she sings out, closing her locker with a loud thud as she collects her handbag. “And who's this?”

“Y/N, our new colleague.” Yoongi answers before you can even open your mouth, and somehow, you're grateful for that.

Maybe it's the way she eyes you, wiggling her brow at Yoongi which you don't miss. She's not an introvert, for sure.

“Oh, nice to meet you. I'm Mishil but you can call me Misha.” she smiles, showing you a set of her white teeth in confident and cheerful smile.

You notice the dimple in her cheek and her sharp eyeliner, wondering if you might possibly look this good after the whole shift. She's beautiful, her strawberry blonde complimenting her soft skin and even though you can't see her mascara slightly smudged under her eyes, she can still pull it off.

“It's nice meeting you.” you smile at her.

“As much as I'd love to talk to you guys, I gotta go. The whole night shift was a nightmare,” she complains, rolling her eyes in exhaustion as she makes her way to the door. “Bye, bye!” she sings out, not waiting for the two of you to react, identical to the way Namjoon did it.

“...and she's gone.” Yoongi mutters, chuckling when he sees your widened eyes.

“She's... quite something.” you comment with a similar mutter.

“Yeah, you'll get used to her, it just takes some time.” he waves off his hand, assuring you.

“She's flirty.” you voice out your thoughts, causing him to chuckle once again.

You're not sure whether you said something funny, but once he opens his mouth it causes your mouth to drop open.

“She's married.” he tells you, laughing when he sees your opened mouth and bulged out eyes.

You're mesmerized by his smile, it instantly catches your attention as the way he shows his gums and his eyes crinkle in the ends. No, no, stop! This is your colleague, you remind yourself.

Gulping, you find words to ripple out of your throat. “Her husband doesn't mind it?”

“Wife,” Yoongi says, “She has a wife.”

“Oh,” you let out, “Doesn't her wife mind it?” you ask again, chuckling at your correction as he shrugs in response.

“I think she's used to her personality,”

You're not sure if you 'd liked it if your partner would flirt with other people, most likely not.

“Love works in a weird way.” he shrugs, opening one of the drawers besides the lockers as he pulls out the same blue scrubs as the ones he's wearing.

You thank him once he hands it to you, smiling lightly. “The size should be right, if not just pull out the correct one. I'll leave you to it, I'll be waiting outside.”

“Waiting?” you ask in confusion, watching him walking towards the door.

“It looks like your first shift is with me.” he smirks, opening the door as he leaves without any other word.

You stand there for a few minutes, surprised how fast your heart beats just from the single exchange of a few words and looks. This hasn't happened for a long time, it feels almost new and never experienced. Unfortunately, you've felt this way before and it brings nothing but sadness and anger.

Looking at the fresh clothes in your hands, your smile spreads into a wide grin before you even realize.

He got the right size.

“I'm scared,” The little boy murmurs, staring with wide eyes at the needle in your hand.

His eyes averts to his mother who's standing just a few meters behind you, giving you the space to work, while her son stares at her in a hope she'll take him away before the needle can even go through his skin.

“You don't have to be,” you tell him, eyes filled with sympathy as his bottom lip trembles. “It's probably going to be a little bit uncomfortable, but you're a big guy. I'm sure you can handle it.”

You search his eyes in question, which dance between the needle in your hand and your eyes. He thinks it through, wondering what his response will be before he inhales shakily.

“I'm a big guy.” he assures you, straightening himself to prove his point.

It makes you smile, looking over your shoulder to call his mother to hold his hand. Stitches aren't comfortable, he's lucky enough to end up with only two of them instead of more. He cries out as soon as you pierce the needle through the skin of his forehead, trying to work fast but precise. It breaks your heart, even though you're helping him by sewing his wound. He whines and cries, even when you're done and he looks almost mad.

“We're done, you did so good!” you cheer him up, ruffling his curly hair as he looks up at you with a mere glare but you don't take it personally. “Now you know it's better if you listen to your mom not to run on stairs.”

His mother chuckles, ruffling his hair the same way you did as she praises him for holding still. You fish out a lollipop which you hid into the pocket of your scrubs as soon as you've heard about an emergency with a kid and bleeding forehead. Candy always helps and you just happen to carry them in your bags ever since Em was little.

The boy's eyes shine as soon as he sees the lollipop in your hands, reaching for it almost immediately as he takes it from you.

“What do you say?” His mother chimes in, caressing the dark skin of his soft skin as he mumbles a cute 'thank you'. “Thank you so much.” she turns to you, a gratitude shining in her eyes as you give her a smile in return.

When they both leave, it's just you and Yoongi in the room, who made sure you're doing your job right. Instead of breathing down your neck, he started to sanitize equipment as soon as you started to take care of the poor boy.

It's your first day working as a nurse and thanks to your colleague, it's not as stressful as you thought it would be. He seems to be very chill and laid back, yet precise and skilled. You're glad he's the one training you.

“You're good with kids.” he comments, putting the disinfection back on its place, glancing at you.

“Yeah, I have a--”

“Hey, slackers. We need you here.” Namjoon walks into the room, rushing the two of you out of it before you can even response to Yoongi.

Sighing, you both follow Namjoon who keeps telling you to hurry.

Yeah, Yoongi is definitely much more chill than Namjoon is.

Two months in and you think everyone hates you.

Maybe it's just the sixth sense inside of you, or you're completely overthinking everyone's reaction. You wouldn't expect them to understand, nor you're shocked by the glares you receive on daily basis. In other situations, you wouldn't care about it that much, even though it's uncomfortable and some part of you feels bad. But what really bothers you is none other than your colleague, one of the first people you've met on your first day and was kind enough to show you around.

From what started as a great relationship between two colleagues, turned into brief greeting where he wouldn't even meet your eyes. It affects you more than you'd like to admit, especially when you started to cook more food, just to pack it and bring it to him during your shifts together. Those sandwiches from the vending machine are unhealthy, and just as Yoongi said, there's nothing which compares to the home-cooked meal.

It became a routine, you packing him a soup and meal every time you both had shift, no matter how many times he told you, you shouldn't bother. Everything went well, after you had to run home whenever you got a call from the babysitter or school, which led to someone else taking all of your shifts.

It ended up with almost every colleague glaring at you, for not coming into the hospital and not doing your job. Little did you know, it was mostly Yoongi who ended up taking most of your shifts causing him to sport a dark bags underneath his eyes.

If you haven't been through so much, you would probably cry somewhere in the corner at the thought of everyone hating you. But you don't. However, one particular person bothers your mind more often than it should. Deciding you're over with the cold shoulder he's been giving you, you ignore everyone's stares once you walk into the break room. The chatter quiets down as soon as they notice you. Without doubt, they were talking about you behind your back but you could care less about that.

Although, one pair of particular set of eyes catches your attention in the corner of the room, munching on that distasteful sandwich. If he weren't so stubborn, declining your lunch and attempt of feeding him with a home-cooked meal, he could have eat much better food now. It was just another sign of Yoongi's friendship fading away.

Their lunch break ends as most of them just go back to work, making you stare at the floor with a frown settled on your face. Do they hate you so much?

As if Namjoon could hear your thoughts, you met his soft smile but he doesn't say anything as he walks away. You watch Yoongi tossing the plastic package into the bin as he starts to clean the mess on the table, completely ignoring you.

With a sigh, you walk up to him feeling almost awkward that you're practically standing right next to him and he doesn't even spare you a glance. Once he's done he turns around but you don't allow him to walk away, standing right in front of him with a raised brow.

“Can we talk?” you ask softly, praying he's just going to drop this act full of ignorance.

When his eyes meet yours, for the first time in weeks from such a close proximity, you hate how fast your heart starts to hummer against your ribcage. Those dark orbs glaring at you seems to soften at the pleading look you give him, and you feel some kind of weird hope before he shutters it in a second.

“I gotta work.” he murmurs, shoulder slightly bumping into yours as he tries to make a way towards the door.

You don't move, watching his back as he leaves out of the room, with a pain in your chest.

You're done.

You're done sitting around, trying to catch Yoongi's attention who somehow always manages to avoid you before you can even open your mouth.

When you see him walking through the hallway, completely oblivious to your focused gaze, staring at him as if he was your prey, you won't let him get away. Not anymore. Before he can react, or even properly meet your eyes, you're pulling him into the room which happens to be janitor's closet. It's small, but it'll do.

His stutters of confusion are ignored, as you flick the light open and stare at him.

“What the hell?” he asks, confused that you just grabbed him and pulled him into the janitor's closet.

“We need to talk.” you tell him with a persistent tone, brows furrowed in concentration.

“What? Now? You can't just pull me here--” he looks around, glancing around before he continues. “I've a lot of work to do.”

It's just another attempt of avoiding you, which makes you want to loose your mind by this man. Before he can reach towards the door, dangerously stepping closer to you, your mind works on its own and you lock it. The doorknob digs into your lower back but you don't care, you're just trying to make him stay and talk. With your back pressed against the door, he looks at you in confusion before he sighs. It's clear he has no intentions talking to you, simply staring at you with a raised brow. The same look of ignorance he's been giving you for weeks.

“What's your problem? Why are you so distant and avoiding me all of a sudden?”

He chuckles bitterly, shaking his head at you before he looks down with a cold glare. “My problem? My problem is that I've been covering your shifts, saving your ass every time you haven't had the decency to come to work and do your actual job.”

Okay, you didn't expect him to be so vocal and straight forward. His tone is cold and bitter, surprising you which is evident on your face before you frown in hurt.

“No,” he deadpans, “don't look at me like that. I'm not a bad guy in this. I'm fucking exhausted, overworking myself because of--” he stops himself, and you almost push him to finish his sentence but you just dryly gulp.

“My daughter kept getting sick, and I had to be at home with her, there's nothing I could do. Her babysitter wouldn't look after her if she's sick and she couldn't go to kindergarten either. And you know what? If I got a call from her babysitter or her kindergarten saying she's sick again, I'll drop everything and go and take care of my daughter. So hate me all you want, but I'm a mother before I'm a nurse.”

The frustration has been built inside of you for so long, that you finally snap at the one person who made your shifts always more fun and bright. He seems to be caught off guard by the new information, slowly processing it as he widens his eyes.

“You've a daughter?” he breathes out.

“Yes.” you hold yourself back from exclaiming loudly.

“You've never told me that.” he murmurs, almost expression of hurt crossing his soft features.

It's not like you kept Em as a secret, but before you could talk about your private life in more depth and how her father cowardly left you before she was even born, you barely got enough time to go back to work and talk to him. You're surprised you haven't got fired yet. You can't get fired, you've got a family you need to support and Em relies on you.

“I was going to.” you admit, looking down at your feet with a puzzled look.

Who knows what would've happened if you just told him sooner. Would he be more acceptable? Isn't he saying it right now because he's trying to put a blame on you?

You almost jump when he cups your face, holding up your head so he can stare right into your eyes with the same look you've. They're filled with apology that spark in his dark orbs, slowly caressing your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, “I'm sorry for being so hard on you. I thought you just don't care about this job, or us.” he admits shamefully.

“It's okay.” you assure him with a soft voice, but he shakes his head in response.

“I was an asshole to you, I'm so sorry,” he says right back, still holding your face as his eyes drops down to your lips, eyeing your face. “I really want to kiss you.”

Your heart jumps, not that uncomfortable way whenever he would straight avoid you or glare at you. It's different this time and you react almost immediately.

“Then kiss me.”

Expect him to do it slow, he surprises you with his lips right on your own, not wasting a second as he starts kissing you. He deepens it, a touch of his lips full of emotions and regret and it's almost unbelievable how you can feel it just from the single kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as he hungrily kisses you, too stubborn to pull away for some oxygen. It's needy and you moan into his lips when he squeezes your ass in his palms. But you still need to pull away, lips attaching from one another but your foreheads stay leaned against each other as you both breathe heavily.

“Let me take you out.” he whispers, thumb tracing your cheekbone as he admires your make-up free face.

“A date?” you sound surprised, wondering if you've heard him right.

Is it too soon to jump with joy?

“Of course, I've been meaning to ask you since that time I saw you with that little boy, stitching him up.” he admits, causing you to giggle in shock.

“Really?”

He delivers a soft peck onto your nose, biting into his lower lip. “Uhm, you're an amazing woman. I wanna get to know you, and your daughter.”

He seems to be nervous, patiently waiting for your response but he doesn't move away from you, still wrapped in your embrace even though your frame is smaller.

He's the first man who doesn't run away knowing you've a daughter, but not just that. Yoongi is the first man who managed to make your heart flutter with the simplest acts. It's too soon to talk about him fixing your broken heart or him being the love of your life, but time with him seems nice. The thought of spending it outside of the hospital, trying to get to know him as something more makes you want to yell in excitement.

For now, you hold back your happiness and smile at him.

“I'd be more than happy to get to know you as well.” you admit, enough for him to envelope you even in a tighter hug that makes you squeak in surprise again, but you squeeze him back.

“Stop it,” you chuckle, sitting up from your bed as you watch your boyfriend trying to find his clothes that are scattered all around your room.

You thought sex would help him relax and it did, for twenty minutes that you were sucking him off and then bouncing on his cock. But now that you both reached your high, he's back to his quiet self with tensed muscles. As much as he tries to hide his nervousness and fear, he's doing an awful job with it and it's nothing than amusing to you.

“You're about to meet a four year old, not a monster that's gonna eat your head.” you joke, meeting his glare in response silently telling you he's not in the mood for joking.

“What if she doesn't like me?” he asks, setting on the edge of your bed completely naked, forgetting to find his clothes.

“She will. I told her about you so much, she's excited to meet you.” you assure him, slowly crawling to him as you hug him closer to you.

Both of your bodies are coated with sweat, and you could use a shower, but you can't let this go. He's been tensed from the moment you made plans on introducing Em to him. Of course, he wants to meet her. He was the one who kept being persistent, asking about her all the time and show him the pictures of her on your phone. The truth is, you were waiting for him to naturally set what's the right time to meet your daughter. You've been dating for the past two months, barely making any plans outside of the hospital since you've a child at home.

Your babysitter, which happens to be your neighbor, was kind enough to look after her in late nights while you went on a couple of dates with Yoongi. It's been tearing your heart apart knowing you've your little girl at home, but you still wanted to spend some time with Yoongi. It feels like the right time for them to meet.

“Now come on, let's shower before we have to pick her up,” you nudge him, kissing his cheek before you stand up. “If we're quick enough, we might have a round two.” you suggest, causing him to stand up abruptly, ushering you into your bathroom while you both start to laugh at his eagerness.  

When it's the right time to pick up your daughter, Yoongi decides to stay in the car while he tries to occupy himself by playing some games on his phone. His knee bounces even when you open the door to put Em into her car seat. She notices the stranger in your car right away, her words slowly fading away as she went off about her day.

Yoongi slowly turns around, his scared eyes meeting hers as he tries his best to muster a proper smile. You've never seen him being so nervous. This must be more important to him than it's to you. You know Em is going to love him, that's why you're not worried about it too much.

“Em, this is Yoongi. You remember him? I was telling you about him.” you tell her, putting on her seat belt as she slowly nods.

“Yoongs?” she asks, her eyes looking up at you as you nod with a smile.

When you make sure everything is secured, you go and sit in the driver's seat while Yoongi looks at you. “Yoongs?” he asks confusingly.

“Yeah, she made you a nickname.” you shrug, causing him to slowly nod and for the first time, you see one honest smile lightening up his face.

“Hey, Em, I brought you something.” Yoongi says, gaining her attention right away which causes him to chuckle.

“You did?” she asks, her eyes widening as he pulls out a pony plushie, the very one she has been begging you to buy her for a few weeks now. “Pony! Yes!” she starts to bounce in her car seat, already reaching for the toy that Yoongi gladly gives her.

“What do you say, Em?” you speak up, your eyes solely on the road, although you wish you could see their exchange better.

“Thank you, Yoongs! I love you!” she almost yells, the both of you erupting in laughter as your four year old daughter keeps happily squealing for the rest of the ride.

“See? She loves you.” you tell him quietly, a huge smile stretching on your lips as Yoongi joins you, looking back at Em to admire her and her happiness.

“So, he's just your friend, right?”

You hide your smile, slowly cutting the vegetable as you hear Em letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Yes, dad!” she whines for the hundredth time, your heart tingling at the sound of the name leaving her mouth.

It's been almost a year since Yoongi officially adopted her and became her father, filled that empty spot that her heart was craving for. She wanted to have a father for so long and now she has to put up with overprotective Yoongi almost every day.

“Okay, okay. I'll be here while the two of you play.” he reminds her, causing her to groan but she doesn't say anything in response, coloring her drawings in silence.

Yoongi walks up to you, hugging you from the back while his chin is propped on your shoulder.

“She's seven years old. Don't you think it's too soon to worry about her dating life?” you tease him, giggling when he slightly bites onto your shoulder.

“I don't want someone to break her small heart. Have you seen those heart eyes whenever she talks about him? That is not just friend.” he informs you, causing you to laugh at him as he groans in annoyance at you.

You put all the vegetables into the pot and turns the stove on, as you turn to him. He takes your hand, twisting the wedding ring in his hold as he smiles down at it.

“I love you.” he tells you, your heart warming once again as if it's the first time he said it.

“I love you.” you tell him, kissing him on his small and plump lips.

You turn around, glancing at your daughter that stares at you with disgust on her face.

“See? You don't have to worry about her dating anytime soon.” you point out, causing him to roll his eyes at you before he's kissing you again, this time accompanied with your daughter's fake coughing in the background.

Indeed, love works in a weird way.

#networkbangtan #bts smut #bts fluff #bts au #bts drabble #yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #yoongi scenario #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #personasintro

[jeontaehui]

Could you do a taehee reaction to taeyong overworking him self and getting ill? 😍, i really love your taehee imagines 😊😊🥰

seul i wish taeyong is having the rest he needs and DESERVES. he’s done so well for us, i’m glad he’s really getting a break of some sort :( and i miss him very much that’s why i’m going to write this, but i know there are some people who get triggered by these things easily so if you do, do not read under the cut.

HELLO, It’s SM ENTERTAINMENT. We’d like to ask for your understanding. Member TAEYONG’s waist injury has relapsed, and will not be partaking in any schedules, including the “Beyond LIVE NCT RESONANCE ‘Global Wave’”. We ask for your deep understanding as we focus on TAEYONG’s treatment for a quick recovery. Thank you.

taeyong had been in bed almost the whole day, only coming out of its comforts to get a glass of water, go to the bathroom, or to eat, then he retreats to the confinements of his room to watch the compilation of cute animal videos that have been hanging around his recommended on youtube for days now.

he knew that the members were practicing for the live concert tomorrow, and he can’t help but let his mind drift off to how they could be doing right at this moment, but he also understands that the faster he recovers, the shorter the time would be for him before he comes back. for now, taeyong eases his mind onto that thought.

knock. knock. knock. “come in,” taeyong calls, a bit confused that no one had sent him a message saying they were coming over. he expects it to be doyoung or johnny, but instead taehee’s head pops in, her eyebrows raised adorably as they met eyes. a wide smile grows on taeyong’s lips, “what are you doing here?”

taehee lets herself in before closing the door and is met with the cold by the room’s air conditioning, at least it was warmer compared to the outside. “i came to visit you of course,” she mumbles, a playful tint to her voice as she states what should have been the obvious. “are you guys done practicing?,” taeyong asks. he watches her take his computer chair and push it towards the bed, turning it to him before sitting comfortably and using her padding coat as a blanket. “yeah, they let us go early.”

taeyong checks the time on his phone and sees that it was nearing midnight, “ahh.... how was it?”

“it was alright,” she replies, and taeyong senses the tiredness in her voice. taehee combs her fingers through her ash brown locks and bites the inside of her cheek. she didn’t want to say, “it could’ve been better if you were there,” knowing that it might put more pressure on their leader, and instead she gives him a small smile, “it went better than expected.”

taeyong chuckles, “expected how?”

“put twenty-two energetic, humorous boys in one room. you tell me what to expect,” taehee laughs softly. “but we did our best, as always.”

taeyong agrees with her, he’s well aware of how good their team is when it comes to performing – the humor some of the guys pull is just a bonus, something to help them get through practice hours without dropping dead to the floor.

“did you eat already?,” taehee’s the one asking this time. “i just ate leftovers. those were enough for me anyways,” taeyong notices the skeptical look she gives him, but it quickly disappears once she stands up. “i got you a yogurt smoothie before coming here. i’m going to get it,” and she leaves the room.

when taehee comes back, taeyong lets out a small cheer of glee at the smoothie that was in her hand. she hands it over to taeyong who thanks her before taking a sip of the cold drink. taeyong notices she didn’t have one herself and pouts slightly, “where’s yours?”

“i’m already kind of full,” taehee gives him a dismissive wave of the hand, going back to her seat on his chair. “do you want to at least try mine?,” she politely shakes her head ‘no’ and gestures for him to drink up. eyeing her, taeyong takes a hesitant sip before placing it inside one of the shelves that were beside his bed. 

“it’s your birthday tomorrow!,” taeyong exclaims, and taehee had to draw her attention away from the other things taeyong kept on his racks to see the excited grin that was plastered on the older member’s face. the corner of taehee’s lips tug into a smile, suddenly, she isn’t feeling tired anymore. “yeah, i actually almost forgot about it,” her voice trails off at the end, her brows furrowing when she recalls the date today. “oh yeah, it is tomorrow!”

“you’re turning 22, right?”

“i am,” she lifts her head high to beam at him, before narrowing her eyes into playful slits, “you forgot, didn’t you?”

“i didn’t!,” taeyong shakes his head. “it’s your birthday, i already got your present a week ago.”

“but i said no presents!,” taeyong shakes his head again, but this time more stubbornly, “you already got me a christmas gift!”

“your birthday is different from christmas, 애기,” he tells her, chuckling at how cute taehee looks with her mouth flattened into a straight line, dimples peeking out from her cheeks. “it’s no use to tell me not to get you one anymore.”

taehee bites her lip, “okay, fine. whatever.” taeyong giggles at her behavior, it was these kinds of things that brought him back to the time when they were still trainees; to when taehee was slowly getting comfortable enough to joke around and tease them too, though this doesn’t take him away from noticing the slight pout that was on her face.

“why?,” taeyong asks, dragging out the word to remind her of the lightness of their conversation. “i just said i got you a present,” he reaches for his smoothie and takes a quick sip, “you should be happy.” he takes another one.

taehee hums, “thank you.” 

silence passes by them while taehee lets taeyong drink up to half of the container, thinking she should get that flavor more often since he seemed to enjoy it. 

“does it hurt?,” taeyong stops in his actions as taehee pulls her coat closer. “does what hurt?”

“your hip, or your back, or your neck. does it hurt?”

taeyong slowly puts the cup back to its original place before stretching his arms in front of him. 

“a little. it doesn’t hurt as much as it was before,” taehee doesn’t know the extent of his injuries, only aware of the body pains he felt during practices or after performing on stage, but she nods anyways. “that’s good, right?”

“yeah,” taeyong tries to be convincing, he knows taehee worries more than she lets out to be. “i’m getting rest.”

“it happens,” she looks into his eyes, and even if there wasn’t much light, taeyong clearly sees how they held care and worry at the same time. “it can happen to us,” she continues, “don’t worry about anything and just focus on recovering.”

taeyong smiles gratefully at her, softly mumbling how he will before asking, “are you doing any of my parts?”

“yup,” she replied, swiveling in taeyong’s chair for a moment before planting her feet flat on the floor once again. “i’m doing your parts for ‘misfit’ and ‘baby don’t stop’.”

out of excitement, taeyong’s eyes widen a fraction, but the blue feeling of wanting to perform too gets to him. “woah... you’ll do great!”

taehee winces slightly, and shrugs. she knows no one can top taeyong’s performances except himself. he was born to be on stage, but he deserved some rest too after giving his all. “i’ll do my best.”

stillness hangs over them again, though it was less heavy than the first one. taehee pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, her foot tapping steady rhythms on the wooden floor. taeyong cuts through the silence, “do you want a hug before you go?”

taehee stops her fidgeting and brings her gaze to his, taeyong’s were soft and comforting, yet he was the one lying in bed with a hip injury, not her. she sighs through her nose, her shoulders slumping in surrender before she stands on her feet and brings herself into his arms. 

taeyong was warm. his clothes, his personality, his laugh, his aura were always warm no matter where they are or where they went. even if he was mad or disappointed, he was warm. that’s why deep down her chest, she had always loved his hugs. everything about him was warm. she buries her nose further into his chest and mumbles, “i love you.”

taeyong’s mouth twists in endearment. taehee was not one to show her sentiment towards the members, let alone say it, so these were one of her rare moments where she really means the phrase ‘i love you’ and not hiding behind some casual, flirty remark. “i love you too.” 

taehee tightens the hug before letting go, missing the warmth that was lee taeyong. she grabs her coat and pulls it on, “i’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“okay, goodnight!,” taeyong’s cheerful tone makes taehee’s eyes crinkle into crescents. she gives him a mock salute before twisiting the door open, “goodnight!”

#taeheeoffcam #s.yonghee #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #wayv #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct blurbs #nct scenarios #nct au #nct x reader #nct female member #nct female addition #kpop female addition #kpop female oc #taeyong imagines #also ty to anon for the compliment ily muah

[queenbirbs]

I was the son you always had | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: discussion of drug use, language, neglect

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Ethan confronts Louise. Post chapter 13. 

Notes: Title taken from the Bear’s Den song “Above the Clouds of Pompeii.” 

------

The years have not been kind to Louise Ramsey.

If that’s still her surname, of course, Ethan isn’t sure. It’s what he gave Marlene for the admission forms; she had the wherewithal, at least, to not even bat an eye at the name. He’s always liked Marlene, even if attempting to curb hospital gossip is like trying to put out a fire with an eyedropper. Having been fourteen hours since she was admitted, it’s no secret that Doctor Ramsey’s mom is the OD in room 532. 

It’s the same room he’s standing in front of, trying to gather his wits. The rest of the staff look on from behind their pillars and charts, as if the art of discretion is lost on them all. Ethan stamps down on the reflex to bark and snarl at them. It’ll only stoke the flames if he does. 

“You have to turn the knob to open it.”

That tight feeling in his chest eases up a fraction. He turns to see Sloane, propped up against the wall beside him. In a sea of a thousand curious faces, her expression of concern is a welcome sight. Resisting the urge to reach for her, he opts for a look of disappointment at the joke, or attempt thereof. She answers with that gentle smile of hers, the one where the left corner of her mouth crinkles up and her dimple appears. Her gaze drifts from his and over to the window; on the other side is Louise, the pallor of her face covered in a light sheen of sweat. The hands that used to hold his as they crossed the street tremble around the pages of whatever magazine she’s pretending to read. 

“I don’t know why I’m bothering. I already know why she’s here.”

“No, you think you know why,” Sloane says, and he hates it, but he knows she’s right. “The only way to know for certain is to talk to her.” 

“And what would that conversation sound like? Hi, I’m Doctor Ramsey, the son you left without a backwards glance when he was eleven years-old. How was the turkey sandwich you had for lunch?”   

She leans her temple against the wall, her eyes glazing over in that familiar way that tells him she’s deep in thought. After the eleven hours she’s been here, thick strands have come loose from her messy bun to settle against her neck. The urge to sweep them away, to settle his hand there and massage at the tight lines is a fierce one.  

“Treat her how you would a patient. Ask her about her pain management, about her next steps once she’s discharged. That will give you a feel for her attitude towards you, and towards herself in general. It’ll give you a foundation to start with.” 

Reaching out, Sloane squeezes his arm once, then twice, before letting her hand fall away. He misses the warmth of her immediately. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “Yes, thank you, that… helps. Truly.”

Before he can work up the nerve, she beats him to his next question.

“I’ll be in the office when you’re done, if you--”

“Yes.”

That smile winks at him again as she pushes off the wall and heads down the hallway. Ethan watches her for as long as he can, until the throng of staff swallows her up. Turning back to the door, he catches Louise watching him before her eyes dart back to her magazine. She hasn’t turned the page for quite some time, and he doubts the full-page cologne ad is somehow keeping her attention. Before he has to resort to a pep talk, he turns the knob and steps inside.

Louise looks up as he closes the door behind him.

“Oh. Hello.”

“Hello,” he greets through a throat stuffed full of cotton. “I’m Doctor Ramsey. I’m here to perform a check up and see how things are going.”

Her mouth opens and closes, her eyes growing wide beneath her bangs. 

“Well, okay, yeah, but -- I mean, I know you. I know who you are. You’re my son.”

The angry retort he prepared never comes, drowned out by the roaring pulse in his ears as he picks up her chart from the foot of the bed and reads through it. 

“Yes, I’m aware.” He brushes off her words and continues in a forced monotone. “We’ve got you on lofexidine to help reduce the detox symptoms. Even with the assistance, those symptoms will likely peak in the next day or two, depending on how heavy your usage is.”

“I know.” She toys with the magazine as she speaks. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” 

Ethan lifts his gaze from the chart and looks -- really looks -- at his mother for the first time in twenty-six years. The dark brown hair she used to tease with her can of Aqua Net, making the hallway outside the bathroom smell of chemicals, is now a sallow gray. The warm arms that would hug him tight are gaunt from malnutrition. The bright face that he remembers smiling down at him, or blowing raspberries against his cheek, or peeking around his door to call him down for breakfast is no more. Pockmarks mar her skin, more visible now without the thick coat of makeup. Deep grooves circle underneath her eyes and along the curve of her cheeks, carving at her skin. 

“When did the drug use start?” he asks.

“We were at the tail end of the nineties recession, but layoffs were still happening across the company. I was lucky to keep my job, but with a forty percent cut of staff, those duties had to be distributed elsewhere.” She heaves out a sigh, a weary chuckle following after. “Being the finance manager, I was elsewhere. My coworker, Brenda, she’s the one who got me started, going on and on about how it made her feel relaxed and on top of things. I grew up in the seventies, so I’d taken an occasional trip or two with LSD. It didn’t seem so bad just to try it out. At first, it was a line or two to get through the fourteen-hour work day. Then, after a few weeks, two lines became five. And then…” she drifts off, her hand dipping from side to side.  

“Not that working those long hours helped in any way. I never got to spend time with you -- that was your father.” It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone, the downward turn of her lips. “He got to play stay-at-home dad until you turned two. He got to hear your first words, watch you take your first steps. He’d tell me all about what I’d missed when I got home: how much fun you had at the park, how well you did in the spelling bee, how high you placed at the science fair. He got to be the parent, and I was just the moneymaker.” 

The dull roar in his ears changes to a shrill pitch, drowning out every sensible thought inside his head. The sob story was to be expected, but the jealous jabs at his dad are a step too far. How dare she walk back into his life and insult the man who raised him? She knew nothing about that first year. How Ethan would come home from school and spot the late notices on the kitchen table. How Ethan would creep down the hallway at night and see his dad sitting on her side of the bed, going through photographs and crying. How, three days before Christmas, the electric was shut off and his dad made the living room into their own campsite, complete with a roaring fire to cook beans on and flashlights to tell make-believe stories. 

“So you decided to skip out and miss twenty-five more years of my life?” he snaps.  

“Oh, Ethan,” she sighs, “it wasn’t like that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I had to--” she stops and drags in a breath. “I snapped, that day. I’d worked there for thirteen years, right out of high school. I got called into the boss’s office. I thought I was getting a promotion. Instead, I was reprimanded for not performing well enough. That if I didn’t shape up I’d find myself without a job at all.” Her fingers tremble with effort as she pushes her bangs aside, her glare set firmly on the tiled floor. “And then I came home -- early, because I was crying in the bathroom to avoid making a scene -- and your father… he stopped me in the kitchen. He told me that I was working myself too hard, and that I should try to take some time off to be with you two.”

She looks up at him then, sympathy for her misdeeds plainly written across her face. Ethan wonders if he’s still that good at reading his own mother, or if she’s that good of an actress.     

“Then you went to the store,” he finishes for her. “And you never came back.” 

“I went to the bank,” she corrects, as if, in the grand scheme of things, it matters. “I took out my money and got in the car and drove. I made it all the way to Richmond before a state trooper took note of my tags. After I made it clear that I’d left of my own volition, he let me go, and that was that.”

The flippant way she describes those harrowing days feels like a slap in the face. His next words are spoken through clenched teeth, as he attempts to reign in the anger that burns through him. 

“You could’ve… why didn’t you leave us a note? We both thought something terrible had happened. He never said anything in front of me, but I wasn’t stupid. I watched the news. I saw what happened to other moms who disappeared.” 

He remembers sitting in Mrs. Lemon’s living room, their next-door neighbor and his babysitter while his dad was out searching. He remembers the ticking of her crochet needles and the smell of the litter box that needed changing and the feel of the corduroy couch under his flannel pajama pants. He remembers Unsolved Mysteries playing on the box television in the corner, the host stepping out from behind a shadowy pillar to ask for his help solving a mystery. He remembers asking for a pen and paper to write to Mr. Stack and see if he could air his mom’s case.  

“I… like I said, Ethan, I just-- I snapped. I had to get out of there. Every day it felt like I was drowning, but then, seeing you, coming home to you, gave me enough air to breathe.” A wistful little smile appears, but soon falls away as she continues. “I made it all the way to Tampa and lived there for a few years with an old friend. After that, I moved around some, changed my name, tried to make something of myself.” She gives a hapless little shrug and reaches up to pull at the dry skin on her lip. “But I was hooked. Still am, I guess. And that always kept me from reaching out -- because I did think about it, Ethan. I did. 

“I tried rehab a few times, and the other moms -- their children wrote them letters and came for visiting hours. They talked about all the wonderful things they were going to do together once they stopped using.” Louise yanks at her lip again, cursing when her fingers come away flecked with blood. “But when I thought about writing to you, the thought of you seeing me like that stopped me. And the longer I stayed, the more I watched those families stop visiting and the letters stop coming. And it seemed… pointless.”        

Odd, he finds, that she refused to reach out over fears that he would abandon her. He wonders if she rehearsed her lines beforehand, or if she’s this good at ad-lib. The misty eyes and pitiful expression only serve to enhance the performance; she wears a mask, and her face grows to fit it. Buried underneath all that disappointment and resentment, though, is the what if. What if she’s telling the truth? She could have easily been another dejected workaholic that fell victim to her vices and sacrificed her relationships in the process. As a physician, Ethan knows how tight of a hold addiction can have on a person. 

“It’s different,” Sloane had said in the on-call room, those bright eyes of hers shadowed with experience, “when it’s not an article or a case study, but your own parent -- someone you’re meant to rely on.”

But he can’t -- won’t, even -- play devil’s advocate, not now. Not with the mother who walked right out of his life and never looked back. 

Wandering over to the window, Ethan watches his city move below him; people and cars and buses and trucks going and going while he wastes time here. 

“For four days, I didn’t believe Dad.” Unwilling to turn back to Louise, he searches for city hall as he speaks, finding an odd comfort in the ugly, familiar structure. “I thought he was lying when he said you left. He told me you were okay, but that you decided you needed some space from him. I think that early on… we-- he thought you would come back. Then four days became a month, then three, then school started, and when I had friends over I had to explain how it was only Dad now and that you’d left. That no, we hadn’t heard from you, but no, we didn’t think you were dead.”

Though, in his weakest hours, during that first year of her being gone, Ethan had thought about it. Would that look of pity be easier to handle if the concept of choice was taken out of the equation? If cancer or a car accident had taken her away, would that be more palatable for his friends to understand, rather than her choosing to abandon him? He could’ve been the kid making lame dead mom jokes, instead of the kid hiding his tears and fumbling his way through an explanation on why he didn’t need to make a Mother’s Day card this year, Miss Riddleberger. 

“You can imagine my surprise,” he says, “when Dad told me you were back in town and wanting to reconnect.” 

“Because I -- I do want to, Ethan,” she pleads, her voice cracking over his name. “I’ve spent all these years wondering about you. But look at you! You’ve done so well for yourself. Your father, he told me about how well you did in college, that you graduated the top of your class at medical school.”

“That was nice of him.” The reply is sour in his mouth, bitter and painful. “Did he also tell you that when I was thirteen, I fell off my bike and broke my arm and, despite everything, I cried for you? Or when everyone else was getting graduation photos with their parents, Dad had to stop another family to get our picture taken?” 

Louise’s breath hitches artfully; he imagines that she’s clutching a hand over her heart, the picture of a distraught mother. 

“No, he… didn’t tell me about any of that.” 

“No,” he agrees with a humorless chuckle, “no, I don’t imagine he would have. I imagine he also didn’t mention that I saw you leaving your motel.”

She makes a noise of interest at that. “Then,” Ethan continues as he finally turns back to face her, “my friend was in a nearby market and watched you shoplift. Oh, but before that, she overheard your interesting phone conversation.” 

Louise studies him for a long moment and he feels eleven years-old again, sitting on that corduroy couch, hoping and hoping and hoping his mom would come home safe. Some small part of him wants to be wrong about her. But Sloane has taught him time and again that gut feelings can’t be brushed aside. 

“That call had nothing to do with you,” Louise tells him. 

Crossing his arms across his chest, Ethan settles his shoulder against the window. 

“I’ve been a physician for almost a decade now, which means I’ve gotten rather good at knowing when patients are lying to me.” He holds up a hand to stall her immediate protest. “I also know that standing here and arguing with you is a waste of my time. There’s someone out there who I care about a great deal, who I treated horribly earlier because of you, yet here I am. So, here is my offer: once your three days are finished here, I’ll help you secure a spot with a rehab facility. One of the country’s best is right outside the city and I know the director there. Once you’re in recovery, you can decide what you want to do with your life.” 

“I don’t think I can afford--”

“All expenses during your stay will be paid for by me.”

“Oh.” Her eyes grow wide and her lower lip trembles. “That’s-- thank you, Ethan, that’s--”

“Let me be clear about this, though,” he interrupts, straightening to his full height and pinning her down with his gaze. “This is the only financial help I will give you. This isn’t an act of forgiveness. I still don’t trust you, and right now, I’m not sure I ever will. But you--” he clenches his teeth against the sudden wave of emotion that batters at him, “--you’re still my mother.” 

From his coat pocket, he pulls out a thick, crinkled envelope. Crossing the room, he hands it to her; she pops the tape and slides the card out. It’s been twenty-six years, but he can still remember the glittery flowers on the front, the curly font of whatever silly poem he read aloud to his dad in the card aisle when choosing it.

“You held onto this for all these years?” she asks, tears spilling out onto her pale cheeks. As she opens the card, the dried husk of a flower falls out and onto her blankets; a daisy, her favorite. He remembers sneaking onto Mr. Taylor’s lawn to steal it.  

“You left before I could give it to you.” 

It’s the last thing he has of hers. Something settles deep inside his sternum at the notion that he’s free of it. “Do you agree to the terms I’ve set?” he asks after a moment. 

Louise looks up from the card and smiles at him. 

“Yes.”

------

“You didn’t have to come with me.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” 

This late in the evening, with most of the patients fed and medicated, the only sounds are the low murmur of televisions and steady beeps of monitors; the white noise of second shift. 

“Did you manage to get any sleep?” Ethan asks, unable to stop the quick once-over he gives her. 

“I took a nap on the couch. When I woke up, someone had covered me with a blanket. It was sweet.” 

Sloane side-eyes him, that little smile making its appearance for the third time today. He wonders when he’ll stop keeping track of something so silly. 

“That was very kind of them to do,” he says.

“It was.” 

They make it to room 532 and Ethan stops to shift the tray of food in his hands. Sloane lets out a grumble about men and opens the door for him. He’s forced to a halt right inside the doorway when Sloane stops and flashes him a concerned glance over her shoulder. 

“Wait, where’s your mom?” she asks.

“What?” 

Nudging her forward, Ethan steps into the room. He takes in the freshly-made bed, the chemical smell of a hospital-grade disinfectant, and, most alarming: the lack of his mother or her things. Turning on his heel, he beelines to the nurse’s station and slams the tray down onto the counter. The plate cover pops off, sending potatoes and green beans into the floor. Kendra glares at him from her seat behind the computer.   

“What crawled up your--”

“Room 532 -- where’s the patient?” he growls.

With a huff, she moves to the keyboard and pecks at the keys. Ethan watches the realization spread across her face and hates seeing her anger turn to pity. He’d rather have the former. 

“Says here patient discharged herself around four.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Kendra replies in a cool tone, then doubles down when he scoffs. “Really, I am. But you’re not listed as the primary attending, and shift change happened right about then. It fell through the cracks.”

Something wet slides across his hand. Ethan looks down to see apple juice dripping over the side of the tray and into the floor. Awareness of the mess he’s made shakes him out of the haze of outrage.

“No, I’m the one who--” he clears his throat and tries again, “--I’m sorry, Kendra. There’s no excuse for my outburst. I’ll get this cleaned up.”   

“I can page for a janitor,” she offers.

Ethan shakes his head and crouches down, scooping up the cold food with his hand and dumping it back onto the tray. Before he can stand and start to locate the closest cleaning cart, familiar orange sneakers appear beside him. Sloane crouches beside him and hands him a roll of paper towels, spraying down the counter and floor as he tears off a few sheets. They pile the used towels onto the tray, now covered in a mountain of food scraps and trash. If Ethan were a metaphorical man, he would consider it an allegory for the day he’s had.

Kendra waves them off when they move to pick up the tray. 

“I’ll have one of the dietary aides pick it up on their way through.”

“Thank you,” Ethan murmurs. 

A nudge at his side pulls him from the slippery slope of his thoughts. Sloane tips her head down the corridor, the invitation hidden away in the lift of her brow. He answers with a nod and follows her towards the elevator. 

------

Ethan drops down onto the couch, unable to quiet the weary sigh that escapes him. Jenner hops up to join him, knocking her big head against his shoulder as she snuggles close. He wraps his arm around her and rubs the white patch on her chest; Jenner settles her nose against his chin and lets out a chorus of happy grunts. 

Circling the couch, Sloane takes her spot beside him and hands him a tumbler. 

“How are you feeling?” 

It doesn’t escape his notice that she completely skipped over asking him if he wanted to talk in the first place. The response to that would have been an emphatic no. His throat feels full of all the vague answers he could give instead, of all the ways he could brush aside her question. He thinks about sitting on Mrs. Lemon’s corduroy couch that first awful, terrible night; remembers Mrs. Lemon asked if he was okay; remembers how he boxed up all those new, scary feelings and lied. 

A great, shuddering breath escapes him.

“What’s wrong with me?” he rasps. 

“Oh, Ethan--”

“I’m serious, Sloane,” he interrupts, clenching his fist tight around the glass. “There has to be some explanation, right? Because that’s-- that’s twice now she’s left without even bothering to say goodbye. And she didn’t-- she never even said she was sorry, for any of it.”

He’s unaware of his own tears until he tastes the salt of them on his tongue. His chest aches from the uneven breaths he takes, his lungs burning from the effort. Jenner whines and licks at his jaw, sensing his distress. 

“Why didn’t she stay?” he chokes out, unsure of which time he’s referring to. 

Sloane slides her hand under his and takes his glass. Placing it on the coffee table, she turns back to him and wraps her arms around him, guiding him back into the cushions. He settles his head on her shoulder, where she runs soothing fingers through his hair. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you. I could list your accomplishments until I’m blue in the face, but I know all that doesn’t mean shit to you right now, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll remind you that you’re loyal and honest and hardworking and, despite the losses you’ve experienced and despite the ways you try to hide it, you care more about helping people than anyone else I know.” She kisses the crown of his head and hums. “Well, besides me, of course.”

Her intended effect works; despite it all, he feels a laugh slip through his aching throat -- it’s feeble, but it’s there. 

“She’s the one missing out on knowing you,” Sloane assures. “We can’t choose who our parents are. You and I happened to get stuck with the short end of the stick when it comes to our mothers.”

Ethan knows the gist of her issues with her own mother; knows she left Sloane and her little brother at their grandparents when she was nine. 

“Tell me,” he requests, to which she hesitates. “I want to know. This isn’t some tactic to… I’m not trying to avoid my own troubles, I promise.”

Her fingers resume their movement as she heaves out a sigh. 

“Most of the time, it was me and Milo by ourselves, waiting for my mom to come home from work or from the club. She would come in and pass out on the couch. I knew how mad she would get the next morning if she stayed there, though, so I’d wake her up and guide her to her bedroom, make sure she took her contacts out and took some ibuprofen. On the weekend, she would have her friends over and they would fill our little apartment. But it was exciting, being around so many people, watching all of them, talking to them, fetching beer or cigarettes for them when they were too drunk to stand. Sure, sometimes they would get violent, or steal, or fight, and I would hide Milo with me under my bed until the cops left. But she threatened to drive down to Indiana and leave us in a cornfield if we got her in trouble, and I believed her. 

“Then Milo started school and cut himself on some playground equipment. He has hemophilia, so the blood wouldn’t clot, and they called her to come pick him up. When she called back to tell the school nurse to ‘staple the fucking wound shut,’ the school called CPS. The morning after that first state visit, my mom packed us a trash bag each and loaded us up in the car. She told us we were going on vacation to see Gramma and Grandpa. When we got to Virginia, she kissed us on the cheek and told us she’d be back in a week. I never saw her again.”

Ethan reaches up for her hand and holds it in his, warming her fingers that have since turned cold. He can feel the small hitch in her breath as she clears her throat to continue.   

“Thankfully, Milo doesn’t remember much. But he was the one who sought her out when he got old enough. He tracked her down when he was in college, found her and her new family. She lives in Corpus Christi; she’s the wife of a lieutenant. They have two kids, a boy and a girl, both in high school. After she dumped us off, she started a new life for herself.”

“Did your brother reach out to her?”

The humorless chuckle tells him all he needs to know. He lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. 

“She told him he was mistaken. Milo sent her a photo as proof. She countered with an offer for hush money.” Ethan can’t see from his position, but by her tone, he knows she’s rolling her eyes. “Some things never change, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“Me too.” Sloane squeezes him tighter to her for a beat. “But I’m telling you my little sob story only because it makes me more appreciative of the people in my life who care about me. At first, that was my grandparents, who never once made me and Milo feel like a burden, who loved us unconditionally. Then, my friends at school, and my friends in college, and my friends now. And you have Naveen, you have me -- you even have your ‘boys,’” she teases. “But you also have your dad, who’s proud of you even when you burn pancakes. Just know that you can feel angry and hurt at her, but her walking away doesn’t diminish the love others have for you.”

Ethan closes his eyes at her reassurances, drinking them in. Unable to work up a response, he lets go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist and pull her impossibly closer. His heartbeat slows at the soft circles she rubs along his back, sinking easily, readily into his embrace. 

“I don’t burn pancakes,” he says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“What?”

“My dad, he said that?” 

“Oh, my god.” Sloane barks out a laugh; he enjoys the sound of its return. “Out of all that, you would focus on that?”

“Since it was a testament against my cooking ability, yes.”

“I don’t think he meant literally. More like metaphorical.”

“Metaphorical pancakes?”

“No, you’re-- oh my god you’re the worst.” 

“I thought I was amazing and caring and thoughtful?”

“You are, but you’re also the worst.”

He moves out of her embrace and up to meet her gaze. Her kiss is a gentle one, a brush of her mouth on his. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I think I know just the thing.” 

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

I barely googled AMA discharges or protocol for those, but I know that since she is his mom, Ethan would not be allowed to be her actual doctor. 

“He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it” is a line from George Orwell’s Shooting An Elephant, changed slightly for this fic. 

#open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #Kaila writes things #f: I was the son you always had #okay second time's a charm right?

[florbexter]

omg Tragedies come in three and Dong Shik thriller author thingie!!!!!!

Tragedies come in Three

it's a Cutie Pie fic about how Kuea breaks the engagement a lot earlier and while he has a broken heart thinks Lian is totally okay with this, spoiler: Lian is not :D - it's angsty I guess

Excerpt:

“I want us to have a shot at true love, too,” he said, and his smile was lopsided when he looked back at his mother. “The kind between my grandfathers, the kind between you and dad.”

She smiled at him kindly.

“And you don’t think that with time…?”

He wanted to say: “Don’t you see that he was forced into this engagement? That your kindness is like a rope around his soul that gets tighter and tighter the more you speak about it? That his honour and loyalty to grandfather and our family is the only thing that binds him to me? That he never seeks me out, that I am not more than an afterthought after he paid respect to our elders. That he looks at me and maybe thinks fondly of me and our shared childhood, but in the end, I will always be a living proof of the debt he thinks he owes us.”

“If we are meant to be then we don’t need an arranged marriage, right?”, he said instead.

And that had been the first tragedy. The knowledge that he wasn’t loved by Lian. Not in the way he loved him. Not nearly the same. Kuea felt a bit embarrassed about how long he had searched for the love in Lian’s eyes and how long he had talked himself into believing that Lian felt the same affection. How he had misinterpreted every sign.

-_-_-_-

Dong Shik Thriller author thingie

A Psychopath Diary fic in which Dong Shik is a thriller novelist but writes a non-fiction book about the murder of In Woo's father and In Woo is intrigued by the guy who defends him because everyone else thinks In Woo murdered his father.

Excerpt:

It was easy to find Yook Dong Shik. It didn’t surprise In Woo that he was so easy to find, with money no one was out of his reach, but he had thought he would have to drive to some reclusive mountain resort or a village far away from civilization. Weren’t those the places a famous author wrote his bestselling novels at?

Definitely not at the front desk of a Crime Escape Room – 15% off on Monday – apparently as the only employee working there.

In Woo’s shoes on the tiles announced his arrival and the mob of hair, barely visible behind the counter, raised and a face hidden behind even more hair and a thick pair of glasses looked at him. It resembled the pictures In Woo had found of Yook Dong Shik and the plaque on his sweater confirmed his identity.

“Hello!” Yook Dong Shik stood up and the smile he displayed was full of dimples, white teeth, and crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He looked younger than 34, In Woo thought.

tag game

#florbexter writes #ask #florbexter answers

[wri0thesley]

soft and maybe semi-nsfw (if you're comfortable with it) scenario of risotto caring for his pregnant s/o please?

accidentally made this angsty, sorry anon!!!!

pregnancy mentions, afab reader, fem pronouns (’mother’), angst at the end. NSFW. 

It’s not exactly that Risotto wasn’t caring before you were pregnant - more that your pregnancy has unlocked a primal part of him that physically needs to protect. He’s always been attentive and loving and kind (apologising to you after yet another mission that’s had him gone too long) - but with your stomach swelled and your hand resting on the bump and the morning sickness roiling your stomach, Risotto is almost fierce in his protectiveness.

You reach up on tiptoes to get something from on top of the fridge and all nearly seven foot of your boyfriend is behind you, grabbing it easily, hand on the small of your back as if he’s chiding you. You mention, off-handedly, that you’re craving garlic bread - before you can blink, Risotto is standing up, grabbing his scarf. 

“Where are you going?” You ask him, playfully tugging at one end of the scarf from your place of honour propped up upon mountains of pillows, sandwiched on the couch with everything you could ever need, a queen residing over the court of yours and Risotto’s living room. 

“To get you some,” he says, unblinking. “Unless you’d rather me call and get someone to deliver it?”

It’s little things like that. How you sneakily see him reading parenting and pregnancy books in the middle of the night when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You’ve seen him talking, in a low, anxious voice to waving Metallica blobs that have sprung up on his hand, whispering about how he’s afraid he’s going to do a bad job taking care of your child--

“You’ll do wonderfully,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back between the straps of his harness. “Now take that off and come cuddle with me. I’m lonely.”

He dutifully does. He holds you against him, ensuring your stomach is protected, one hand hot and certain as it rests on the protubing bump. When he feels the baby kick, you feel his mouth against your head crack into a wide smile.  Even without seeing it, you recognise how it changes the shape of Risotto’s face, and you can imagine every bit of him bursting with warmth. Brown skin dimpling, faint lines at the crinkle of his eyes, white teeth and full lips--

“You’re going to be the most wonderful mother,” he tells you. 

He gets excited picking out baby clothes - you’d both opted not for anything you deemed so foolish as a ‘gender test’. 

“It won’t make any difference to how the baby wants to dress,” Risotto says, shrugging, and you know he’s thinking of all the strange fashion choices of his team. “I’m not going to say that pink is for girls and blue is for boys.”

“You want to dress our baby in black leather,” you tell him slyly, kissing the corner of his mouth. He has the decency to look briefly abashed. 

“Well,” he says, “if I can find it, and it’s comfortable . . .”

(He still gets excited about tiny shoes and socks in the baby aisle of any clothing boutique. He had to be talked down from a bassinet that was all yellow ribbon and lacy ruffles; you’d never expected Risotto to fall for anything so twee, but it seems that his impending fatherhood has unlocked something in him that’s hitherto been unknown to you. You’ve known that Risotto lacks taste - as much as you love him in black and white striped trousers, the Beetlejuice look is hardly fashion forward - but you didn’t know that Risotto would lack taste in quite that way.)

On nights where your legs ache too much and your head is splitting and you wonder why you’re putting your body through this much stress, Risotto is there to comfort you. Those hot fingers dance along your body, alternately massaging the aches and drawing little whimpers and sighs from you when he dips between your thighs. 

You hadn’t thought you’d want sex this much whilst pregnant - then again, with Risotto as your lover, how could you not? The bump does not prove a hindrance - Risotto reads about positions, and assures you (when you flush and try and remind him of your condition) that orgasm will probably chase the pains away--

Your boyfriend has never been stingy about being the one giving the pleasure, but in your glowing, sweaty, round with child state - he’s even more frenzied. He dips his head between your legs and works you open with his tongue like a man possessed. Hands cup and tease your swollen breasts, his mouth dropping kisses along your heated skin. Those clever fingers work magic between your thighs until your own fingers are clenched in the sheets and you’re soaking wet with more than sweat. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to you, moon-drenched, and you believe him. You do not feel it - in your elasticated waist sweatpants and raggedy old t-shirts and hair swept out of your face with rubber bands, with swollen ankles and hobbling like you’re eighty years older than you are - but still, Risotto says it. 

He says it into your hair, he says it mouth pressed against your thighs, he says it when you wake up sleep-tousled and grumpy and when you’re cocooned with pillows and blankets. He says “I love you”, too - usually mixed in with his declarations about your beauty. He says “I’ll keep you both safe.” 

You believe him. His eyes are dark, ink and blood, his mouth an insistent line and his touches against you just as certain. 

There is only one thing he says that does not fill you with certainty and adoration. It comes more and more often these days, as you watch him pack black backpacks. As he comes home with worry etched across his forehead. As he tells you, sighing, that his team has lost two members and then tells you he doesn’t want to worry you with talk about it. It is not intended to make you worry - it’s intended, you’re sure, to do the exact opposite. But you know what Risotto is. What he does,

The only whisper that is hard to believe is thus; 

“I’ll be back soon.” 

#angst for ts #writing #not sfw text #pregnancy for ts #risotto nero #afab reader #fem pronouns #Anonymous

[need-a-fugue]

Little Bird

Summary: A nice leisurely morning in your husband’s arms is exactly what you need right now. But feeling warm and safe can cause secrets and doubts to spill so easily…

Author’s note: For the Flex Your Muscles Writing Challenge from @captain-rogers-beard​ (6/18). This prompt sparked a little something-something… I’ve been struggling on piecing together a story I’ve been working on for a bit, and this scene just tumbled right out thanks to one lovely, little word… Leisurely.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: all pretty tame, just some sweetness and angst

Word count: 2K

Mornings had been rough lately, streams of light from the rising sun peeking through the window long before your tired body is ready to greet the day, the brilliant orange hues setting your stomach to clench and roil in bitter anticipation. Most days, you roll out of bed with a slow groan, hoping to make it to the bathroom before the full force of nausea hits, only to end up racing in a flourish the moment you leave the small air conditioned bedroom, the Wakandan heat prickling your senses to make this sickness that much more unbearable.

A typical morning meant violently emptying your stomach into the toilet down the hall, your husband at your back – only half awake himself – holding your hair and trailing a gentle, cooling touch down the back of your neck with his blissfully cold vibranium fingertips.

But today, for the first time in weeks, the swiftly rising sun seemed to herald little more than a slow and languid wakening, you and Bucky both stirring and stretching and shifting, leisurely curling round one another, just as you had before this new phase of life began.

For an hour or more, you’d been – gratefully, blessedly – slipping in and out of that splendid sort of sleep that only early mornings can bestow… the kind that had been eluding you for so damn long now. Bucky feels it too, the serene pull of respite that you both know is about to become increasingly rare, a new disruption to your life lingering on the horizon.

But today, there’s no disruption at all. No rush to rise – I’ll take care of the goats later, he whispers into your ear before sliding his way down the sheets – and no sickness churning within.

Today is… easy.

The smallest, softest sigh slips past your lips as you shift your hips beneath him. “You’re spending an awful lot of time down there,” you mutter, voice slow and deep with near sleep.

Bucky tugs you closer, right hand splayed over your hip, thumb tracing delicately along the tender flesh of your abdomen, and he looks up, propping his chin on your middle as he aims those dazzling blue eyes your way. “Never heard you complain about me hanging out down here before,” he intones lightly, wiggling his eyebrows before lowering his lips to your stomach.

“Stop it,” you laugh, squirming beneath him, sliding far enough down the bed that the back of your head flops off of the pillow entirely. “Tickles,” comes out in a barely there murmur as your fingers move down to thread idly through his thick, wavy hair.

He turns his head, laying his cheek once again atop your still-flat abdomen, staring up at you in a way that could only be described as utterly adoring. “I love you,” he announces, exhaling the words just as easily as if they were air.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, a single brow following it in an incredulous raise. “Are you sure it’s me that you love? Because I don’t feel like you’re really paying much attention to me at all.”

His face twists, forehead crinkling. “She is you,” he says plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a small groan, hips twisting a bit again before his hands settle you back into the sheets, holding you in place.

“Stop distracting me,” he tells you, tone chiding, but eyes gleaming as he presses himself closer, head angling a bit at your center. “I’m trying to listen to my baby girl.”

“Yeah, sure,” you sigh out dramatically. “I’ll bet she’s talking up a storm. She’s the size of a freakin’ kumquat.”

“I don't even know what that is,” he murmurs, completely unfazed.

You give him a playful shove, the heat from his body starting to get to you, sheets sticking to your naked thighs. “It’s a fruit. And much like your baby girl,” you mutter with a harrumph, “it doesn’t speak.”

He rolls his eyes and lets out an almost irritated sigh. “I’m listening to her move,” he tells you, an air of absolute duh coating the statement.

You give his hair a short tug. “You are not.”

“Am too,” he argues, raising a brow – but never moving his ear from your center. “Super hearing, remember?”

Now you’re the one to roll your eyes, shifting again, eager to move, annoyance at being held prisoner in your own bed beginning to swell. “It’s probably just her heartbeat.”

He raises his head and gives you a disappointed look. “I know what her heartbeat sounds like,” he says blandly before lowering himself back down. “Thrums like crazy. Like you when you try to run.”

Another light shove. “What do you mean try to run? Is that a crack about my perfectly acceptable human speed? Because I will have you know – ”

“You used to run cross-country,” he interrupts blithely. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

A slight frown tugs at your lips, your stare focusing on the ceiling above for a long, silent moment before you pull yourself up onto your elbows. Looking down at him – so content and relaxed as he rests with his head against your middle – you almost scowl at his ease, your brows tugging tightly together. “You can really hear her move?”

The widest, brightest smile flashes – along with a light laugh as he takes note of the concern belying your crumpled countenance. “Yeah. Does that freak you out?”

“Kinda,” slips out, almost a whisper, as you nervously pull your bottom lip in between your teeth. He issues another short chuckle, and you flop back to the bed. “Reminds me of Alien,” you say, throwing your forearm dramatically over your eyes. “Like I don’t have enough nightmares already.”

Bucky pulls away from your belly and slowly sidles up alongside you, his right hand raking up beneath your loose T-shirt and along your ribs as he goes. “Oh?” he murmurs into your neck, both arms wrapping around your torso as he snuggles in close. A chaste but lingering kiss is pressed to your warm skin, the slightest hint of vanilla – a taste, a smell – hitting his senses, enduring on his lips as he pulls away. “Why you having nightmares, baby?”

“I’m… stressed,” you tell him weakly, still hiding beneath your arm.

He pulls back a bit and lets out a languid sigh, reaches out and tenderly runs the pad of his flesh thumb over your dramatically pouting bottom lip. “Don’t want that,” he says with a frown of his own.

You shake your head and huff out a breath, finally pull your arm away and turn onto your side to gaze somberly at him. Your left hand falls to his cheek, heavily stubbled, the beard coming and going seemingly on a whim. Though you know the truth, his ongoing scheme to alternately annoy you with whiskered kisses and then delight you with long-awaited clean-shaven snuggles an ill-kept secret at best. You stroke your thumb down the length of his face, bringing it to rest in the divot of his chin. Your eyes fall down to stare briefly at the oh-so-familiar dimple, a soft sigh of a declaration tumbling out of you. “I hope she gets this.”

He shifts beside you, drawing your eyes back up to his, to see them narrow with concern. “Why are you stressed, baby?” he asks simply. As though there might actually be a simple response.

You shrug, gaze falling into the small space between you. Outside, the sun has fully risen, the sounds of chirping birds and naying goats filtering in through the half-open window. One of the cats jumps onto the bed, begins rubbing around your ankles, purring thickly.

Bucky gives you a tiny jostle with his vibranium hand, cupped low around your hip. “What have you been dreaming about?” he tries instead.

Another shrug, though this time you swallow thickly and tick your eyes up to meet his. “They’re just… they’ve been… I don’t know… weird. Not nightmares, really. Just… I don’t know.”

“Okay,” he issues out with a curious lilt. “What happens in them?”

You lick your lips, eyes darting away briefly, crease deepening in your forehead as you think. Think of what to say. Of how to explain. “Sometimes… I see her,” you murmur finally, the words sounding uncertain, almost iniquitous, even to your own ears. “As a baby. As a little girl.” You shift uncomfortably, letting out a small, agitated groan. And he tightens his hold on you, brings his flesh hand up to stroke soothing lines down your back.

“You see her?” he asks, a bit hesitant. “Our baby?”

You nod into him, ducking your face and burying it in the crook of his neck. “It’s never anything… bad. Never really anything at all. I’m rocking her at night. Or… I’m watching her color at a table. Or…” Your voice fades off into nothing, other words… other dreams sitting low in your throat, clamoring to rise as you effortfully swallow them back down.

“Sounds nice,” he offers simply, the heat from his breath – from his body, so close – setting your nerve endings aflame.

You shake your head, still choking on the truth. A deep tremble builds within your chest, spills out to quake Bucky’s gripping arms. “It doesn’t feel nice.” Your tired eyes blink shut, a barrage of simple, serene images playing on the backs of your lids. Simple, yet… “It’s like… there’s nothing wrong… nothing I can see. But…” You pull back just a bit, open hooded eyes to stare helplessly up at him. “It all feels… wrong.”

He’s silent for a long moment as he watches you closely, thinks on what to say. A single thumb begins to stroke along your shoulder blade, his hand beneath your shirt feeling sticky and hot, and… unwelcome. You twitch awkwardly, his thumb stilling as a soft sigh spills from his chest. “Just nerves,” he mutters then, no intonation of a question, but a lack of surety all the same. Another sigh falls as he tucks you in close, peeling his sweaty hand from your skin and instead draping his arm heavily over your hip. “I’m scared too,” he breathes into your hair, laying a lingering kiss to your crown. “Scared I’ll screw something up. Scared I might… hurt her.”

You shift in his grasp, head shaking fluidly back and forth. “You wouldn’t. You won’t.”

He rests his chin in your hair, reaches up to begin again the slow, soft stroke up and down your spine. “It’ll be okay, baby,” he whispers, the oft-repeated words laying out promises even he knows are brittle and frail. “It’ll all be okay.”

The anxious worry – the tattered fear – that sloughs off of him, sounding in his voice, pulsating through his fingertips, is enough to make you wish you hadn’t said a word. You shake your head again, an attempt to rid your mind of the building thoughts… the budding what ifs that these odd and portending dreams had been causing to ripple through your subconscious mind for so many days… nights.

But now it’s morning, so different from the night, when all your doubts come out to play. Sleep. Lazy, languid, sunrise sleep feeling like a warm and welcoming breeze blowing across your still-trembling body. The promise of sleep – light and airy and dreamless – seems but a breath away as you lay here… you and your baby both laying here in Bucky’s arms. Safe, if only for today.

“What does she sound like?” you ask, voice light, an almost forced optimism rushing through it.

A crooked smile blooms across his face as he presses another soft kiss into your hair. “Sounds like… a little flutter.”

“Hm,” you breathe out, eyes drifting shut, nothing but a tranquil, faded image of the partially open window playing on your lids. “Like a little bird?”

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, tugging you close as your breathing begins to deepen, body growing heavy in his grip. “Just like a little bird.”

#bucky barnes x reader #flex your writing muscles challenge #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #writing challenge

[springalwayscomes]

WAP

Plot: Christmas this year seems to be the gloomiest ever... until your boyfriend decides he wants to make you smile, and trust me when I say he would do anything for it.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship

Wordcount: 1.3k

Content Warning: Stripping, sexual tension

Author’s Note: I hope this will make you smile, I can actually picture Hobi doing something like this ㅋㅋ

Another huff escapes your lips as you stare at the empty table. This year Christamas feels so sad, seeing your house all empty and cold makes you squeeze yourself more in your jumper. You were supposed to spend this day with the rest of the boys, have fun like every other year and enjoy each other’s company, like everyone else. However, Corona Virus had different plans for the world, so you just ended up staying at home with your boyfriend. It’s weird to not be in each other’s presence at this time of the year, you miss the warm feeling of family, laughing until you cry - or until you pee yourself, it only happened once, you swear -.

The fact that your boyfriend is locked in your bedroom from at least thirty minutes makes you deprime even more as you blandly sweep the floor, you don’t need all this time alone right now. It’s just going to make you feel more sad, so you decide to go upstairs to see what he’s been up to. It’s weird for Hobi to be so silent, he usually likes to play music out loud when he’s at home and in your bedroom alone. The fact that he’s been so silent for thirty minutes and that he’s like this on Christmas Day makes you worry just a little bit as you knock at the door of your bedroom.

The snort that comes at the sound from inside makes you furrow your eyebrows.

«Hobi? ‘You okay?» you ask. You wait for him to answer, but silence is the only thing you receive, so you decide to swing the door open-

«Oh my God!»

You can’t believe what you’re looking at. Your boyfriend standing just a few feet away from you dressed head to toe as an elf, eyes already on you and trying to hold back a laughter. Useless to say, holding back a laughter for Hoseok is as impossible as for a human to fly, and when he bursts out you do the same. You hold your belly with your hands as he gets closer and closer, laughing for who the hell knows what. He’s not the type to feel uncomfortable dressed like this - even though it’s the first time he does something like this on Christmas -, and the look on his face as he laughs is one of those that doesn’t reveal any kind of informations.

«What-» you cut yourself off when he places his hands on your shoulders, shutting his mouth as a desperate attempt to stop laughing, face red and eyes glossy. He looks at you from up, guiding you fully into the room, every step seems to be insecure as his mind wanders who knows where.

«Sit here» he’s still chuckling as he lightly pushes you onto the bed making you sit on the edge of the mattress. You take in the full sight in front of you only now: green shirt with incredibly big red buttons, shorts as the same color of the buttons and a thick brown belt that looks like it’s made of plastic, the pointed elf shoes seem to be three times bigger than his feet and the hat on his head makes him look so cute that you’d die only to squeeze his cheeks.

Hobi wards off, stepping towards your nightstand in his big shoes until he reaches the Bluetooth speaker. He grabs his phone from the pocket of the shorts and a second later WAP is filling the air of your bedroom and make your hair stand on edge. He’s obsessed with this song, the way he would often try to rap naughty words in English always makes you laugh.

Hoseok turns around, slowly and desperately trying not to burst out in a laughter, it makes you giggle once again as he steps back to you.

«You said you were sad,» his voice is on the edge, it shakes as he tries not to laugh with you «so I thought...»

«Thought what?» you ask, finally gaining back your seriousness. His cheeks lift up, two beautiful dimples gracing his face as he thinks of what to say. The thought he did all of this just to make you smile already makes you happy, he wouldn’t need to do anything else. Seeing him being so cute in this elf custom already cured your quarantine depression and you’re sure will make you smile until the day you’re done breathing.

«Just watch, okay?»

And like that, he starts dancing. His body starts moving and you loose control of yourself, totally filled with laughter and joy as you watch him move his hips in a sexual manner. Long gone is the gloomy feeling of being in an empty house at Christmas, now the room feels way to small to contain you two as he desperately tries to maintain a stern expression, still swinging his hips and raising his brows quickly enough to make you laugh even louder. Hoseok gets closer and closer, the disguise he’s wearing makes it all even funnier, in fact if it wasn’t for it you would probably be staring at his muscles flex under the clothes.

«Hobi» you call out, holding your stomach in your hands still laughing like an idiot. Your boyfriend doesn’t answer, he just gets closer again as he keeps dancing, this time bringing his hands to the edge of the green shirt. Your mouth falls open as you watch him slowly - very slowly - lifting it up and revealing his abs, twitching as his hips keep moving. It’s a weird combo seeing him dress like this and moving so sensually, but you don’t complain.

«Are you stripping for me?» you giggle as he raises his shirt more and more, eyes focused on you and big smile on his face threatening to burst into a laughter.

«Isn’t it obvious?» he stops his movements, surrendering to the laughter that has been threatening him for all this time. The way his eyes crinkle and his white teeth show on full display lights up a new loving sentiment in your chest, the fondness you feel for him reaching its peak as you hear him laugh out loud, the best sound you’ve ever heard.

«I need to be serious» he mumbles between laughters, his tone screaming nothing but happiness. You shake your head as he starts dancing again, finally removing the green shirt with a quick and skilled movement that makes you both laugh and stare. His abs keep twitching as he swings his hips and you can feel his gaze on you as you raise yours, his dark amused eyes looking at you as he smiles widely.

«I’m happy,» you let out «I’m happy»

Hobi licks his lips, bringing his hands to the waste-bend of the shorts.

«Happy is not enough» he’s doing all he can not to burst out laughing again, his hands slowly pushing the shorts lower and lower until they reach his thighs and eventually fall to the ground.

«Oh God» you don’t know anymore what to do, and you can’t deny that your cheeks are starting to burn. His movements are so freaking sensual that you already feel you panties getting wet but the situation only makes you laugh.

«Please, just come here»

«I want to make you laugh more» he responds, his full cheeks reddening as he shakes his head to himself at what he’s doing. A second later his pointed shoes are long forgotten on the ground and when you get up from your spot on the bed Hobi feels the need to hug you tighter than ever.

«You always make me laugh»

You stop in front of him, WAP still playing in the background as your eyes meet him once again. Hoseok is hopeless, shameless when it comes to you, and the fact that he knows it only makes it more dangerous to him. He doesn’t care if the next time he will have to dress as a clown and strip to make you smile, he’d do it without even thinking about it twice.

«I just want to see you happy» he glares at you, fondness shining in his big sparkling eyes. And you can’t hold back anymore, immediately placing your lips on his, where they belong. Tongues searching each others and breaths soon becoming too short.

«You’re really obsessed with this song»

you murmur. Hobi’s laugh makes you laugh too, just like always. He’s your sun.

Life Goes On Project Masterlist

#jhope fanfic #jhope ff #jhope fluff #jhope smut #jhope humor #j hope x reader #jhope christmas #bts christmas masterlist #bts christmas project #bts x reader #bts christmas #bts ot7 #bts ot7 one shot #jung hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok x reader #hoseok christmas #hoseok christmas fic #jhope chrismtas fanfic #hoseok christmas fanfic #bts drabbles #bts drabbles masterlist #hoseok x reader smut #hoseok x y/n #jhope x y/n #jhope x you #jhope drabble #bts one shot

[joshuas]

love at first bite

♫ pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader

♫ genre: Fluff, slice-of-life, non idol! au, high-key crack, not a vampire au!

♫ word count: 630

♫ prompt: “Do you believe in love at first sight?” 

♫ warnings: Nil of note! If you really despise puns, I’d recommend not reading! 

♫ a/n: Happy Jinyoung Day! This is honestly the most chaotic fanfic I’ve written (on little sleep, as well), so enjoy, I guess!

To be short, you were in a rush. You had continuously shut your alarm off, using the excuse that you had a long night. Of course, that was perfectly reasonable until you realised you had ten minutes to get dressed for your blind date with a mutual friend of yours - Jinyoung.

Silently cursing your friend, Lina, for deciding that an early-morning date would be best - you brushed your teeth, threw some clothes on, and rushed out into the warm spring weather.

You were mentally preparing yourself to apologise as you entered the cafe when a voice snapped you out of your reverie,

“Y/N?”

You whipped around, eyes landing on the location of the voice. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans that outlined his athletic build, he was looking up at you behind the dark frames of his reading glasses, with a book in hand - Jinyoung. 

“The photos really didn’t do him enough justice.” You muttered, as you nervously approached the table he was seated at.

Freshly made coffee mixed with the subtle vanilla fragrance of the fluffy pancakes drizzled with hot maple syrup hit at your senses as you glanced down at the breakfast assortment in front of you.

“I didn’t really know what you wanted, so I kind of guessed, based on what Lina’s told me of you. You can’t go wrong with pancakes, right?”

“I- do you believe in love at first sight?” you gaped at the mouth-watering selection of food as you sat down. 

“As sad as I am to realise that you’re talking about the food, I’ll take this as a victory that I guessed correctly?” He grinned, his eyes crinkling.

Snapping out of your awe, you shifted your focus to Jinyoung. 

You sighed in adoration, this man is literally the most adorable and perfect human being on the planet.

“You did, thank you. I’m really sorry I was late. “ You apologised profusely.

 “I’m assuming you’re not a morning person?” He chuckled, his dimples making you internally swoon.

“Not usually... it’s just, I had a late night after binge reading this one book.”

“Understandable. I haven’t been able to put mine down all morning. Maybe we should plan to have our second date later in the day. Perhaps at a bookstore?” He suggested.

Your eyes widened, “You want to go on a second date?”

“Why not?” He leaned back against his chair, muscles flexing.

Okay. OKAY. No big deal, but you just scored another date with literally the most thoughtful (and handsome) guy EVER.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, your stomach grumbled as you remembered the food in front of you.

“Seeing as you’re hungry, let’s eat. Then, you can tell me more about that book.” He chuckled, pushing the plate of pancakes towards you.

___________

“Ugh, I’m so full. I feel like I’m in food heaven.”

“They say the best way to a person’s heart is to buy them food.” He sighed.

“You know, instead of love at first sight, I’d say it was more love at first bite.” You winked, wiggling your eyebrows at Jinyoung as he gave you the most disdainful stare in the world (y’all know what I’m talking about). 

There was a long pause, as you scrambled to explain your joke,

“You know. Because I said it regarding the food initially, and—“

“—You really know how to make someone’s heart skip a beet.” He remarked sarcastically, as he got up from the table.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his sudden contribution, “Oh my god. We’re mint to be!” You laughed as he rolled his eyes, trying not to smile, as the both of you exited the café.

Little did Jinyoung know that he’d continue to “suffer” through such punishments for many years to come.

- I’m so sorry you were put through this esfnsefknfkdmd

i do not own this gif! credit to gif owner...

✿ masterlist

#got7creators #park jinyoung #got7 drabbles #got7 x reader #got7 jinyoung #got7 #got7 imagines #kpop imagines #got7 fluff #jinyoung fiction #jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung romance #jinyoung x reader #jinyoung au #got7 romance #got7 fanfic #kpop romance #kpop fluff

[thestyleswritings]

Sweet Tooth

"So, why is it you're here?" You ask the brunette casually after taking a breath. Trying to play it cool by leaning back in your seat, nearly tipping yourself off of it. Luckily for you, the boy seems to have good reflexes, catching your arm before you could embarrass yourself further.

"Careful there, love. You'll hurt yourself." He says in a raspy baritone voice, steadying you before continuing, "I'm here because I've got a sweet tooth that can sometimes get me into trouble."

Or - The one where you meet Harry at the dentist’s office and things get sticky.

(4.3K) 

Warnings: Language, Smut

"You know you have to go to the dentist eventually, right?" Your friend Maggie chastises, fully aware of how truly dental-phobic you are and have always been.

 "I understand... But what if I just floss really well? Do I still have to go? Surely it cancels out." You try to negotiate with her, even though you know you'll just end up in the chair either way.

 "You're ridiculous, you know. Your appointment is at 4 and you'll be there whether you like it or not." Maggie rolls her eyes at you, turning her attention back to the flatscreen adorning the wall in her living room.

 "Think of it this way," she starts, sipping the iced coffee she had all but forgotten about, "the hygienist might be really hot."

 "Yeah, the 50-year-old woman that cleans my teeth is a dime." You snort, gathering your coat and bag before standing.

 "Anyways, I'd better be off. Wouldn't want to be late to my execution." You say over your shoulder, already halfway to the door. You only hear a scoff, but you assume if you turned to face your friend, you would've seen her roll her eyes at your dramatic tendencies.

—

 The train ride to the dentist's office did not take nearly as long as you'd hoped it would, leaving you with 30 minutes to spare before 4 came around. You saw this as either an opportunity to go window shopping very quickly or to sit in the waiting room to try and get comfortable with the atmosphere. You knew it was a bit ridiculous to be afraid to go to the dentist alone at the age of 21, but it was a legitimate fear for you! You'd been knicked as a child one too many times and it stuck with you ever since.

 By the time you decided to go upstairs, the waiting room was full of children, adults and elderly people. You didn't even know where to start looking for a seat. Your eyes scanned for a seat that wasn't directly next to someone, especially not the mum with vomit on the shoulder of her shirt, but alas there was no such luck. The only seat that semi appealed to you was directly next to a young man with messy brown hair - probably not far off your age - and he was so handsome, it made you nervous. He wore tan corduroy pants that were almost reminiscent of bellbottoms, a baby blue and white pinstriped button-up with the sleeves about a quarter of the way rolled up beneath a navy coloured cotton sweater vest that had what appeared to be sheep laced on the torso. The coat you assumed he wore here was shoved between himself and the armrest, one long sleeve perched on the chair aside him. He wore glasses low on the bridge of his nose, legs crossed and brows furrowed as he read, idle hand resting atop one of his black Vans. You squinted to see the cover of the book, seeing that it was Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, one of your favourites. You wonder if it's also one of his, or if he's a first-time reader, but the thought is fleeting; your subconscious prying cut off by movement from the subject.

 He could probably feel your gaze on his figure, causing his eyes to snap up from the book perched in his lap to lock directly with your own. It's almost like he could feel how uncomfortable you were, standing off to the side next to the coat rack and magazine table. Almost like he couldn't help himself from asking you to sit down wordlessly by moving his long dark coat from drooping onto the seat beside his very own, then faintly nodding to it.

 You could feel your throat swell as you walked to him, praying to any god willing to listen that you wouldn't trip on your own feet or snag your knee on the coffee table. You were notorious for being a bit clumsy. You noticed, as you got closer, the intensity of his stare. The green of his eyes nearly causing your breath to catch at the back of your throat.

 Taking a seat, you move your canvas bag to your lap before slightly facing him. You didn't know the proper etiquette for things like this. Should you have just ignored him after you sat, or do you carry on with a conversation? You raise your gaze once again to look him in the eyes, and unlike moments earlier, he had already been looking at you. Your bottom lip gets caught beneath your upper front teeth, biting the soft flesh to keep in a gasp. He was truly a specimen up close, and you wanted nothing more at that moment than the ability to freeze time, just to get a longer look at him without being caught.

"So, why is it you're here?" You ask the brunette casually after taking a breath. Trying to play it cool by leaning back in your seat, nearly tipping yourself off of it. Luckily for you, the boy seems to have good reflexes, catching your arm before you could embarrass yourself further.

 "Careful there, love. You'll hurt yourself." He says in a raspy baritone voice, steadying you before continuing, "I'm here because I've got a sweet tooth that can sometimes get me into trouble."

 He must know how that sounded.

 "I'm uh, I'm just here for a cleaning and some x-rays." You wince at the words that pass your lips, cringing at the thought that soon someone would come and call your name, leading you into that room which has a smell you nary forget.

 The boy laughs, clearly both hearing and seeing your distaste at the thought. You forego being annoyed at his mocking and leap straight to intrigue. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the faint scrunch of his nose, the way his head tilted just the slightest bit backwards. It all pulled you in and refused to let you go.

 "Tha's not too bad, y'know. I have to get one of my teeth drilled into." He says like it's just a minor inconvenience. You can practically feel the blood drain from your face. Drill!? Like a fucking construction site!?

 He laughs again, this time shaking his hair away from his eyes afterwards. "I have a cavity. I told you, the sweet tooth gets me into trouble." He tells you, and you could swear he winked.

 "I thought you were using a pun as a pickup line." You say before you can stop yourself, preparing yourself for him to look back at you like you were some delusional weirdo.

 "It might've had a dual purpose, yeah." He smirks, a deep dimple making itself known on the side of his face. As if he could become more attractive. It almost makes you want to roll your eyes.

 "Alright. So, the book. You enjoying it? It's one of my favourites." You tell him, gesturing towards the book, now closed.

 "Weird way to phrase it. The book is kinda dark, wouldn't you say?" He counters, resting his elbow on his knee before placing his palm on his face. Fully engaging you in conversation now.

 "Hell yeah. But it's so beautifully written and so gripping. Is this your first read?" You wonder aloud.

 "I keep it on rotation. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion and Marie Kondo's The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up seem to wind up in that rotation too. Sometimes I throw in Love Is A Mixtape from Rob Sheffield if I'm feeling particularly mushy. You?" He tugs his lip in thought, awaiting your reply.

 "I love Marie Kondo. She's the only reason I keep my apartment tidy. I love basically any book, but I keep It's Kind of A Funny Story on my bedside table at all times. I'm drawing a blank right now, but my bookshelf gets proper attention, I swear." You laugh, triggering his own to bubble up from his throat.

 "So wha's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, and you nearly don't tell him. The sound of the nickname falling from his lips is too tempting to ignore.

 "Mhm... You first." You challenge, squinting as if daring him to inquire again before answering you.

 "M'Harry. Friends call me H. You can call me when I get outta here at 5:30 to have coffee at my place." He smiles. You'd usually get up and sit somewhere else, with the puke stained mum for instance, but your legs won't allow it. And why should they? What's the problem with entertaining this pretty, pretty man?

 "I preferred the sweet tooth comment, personally, but I won't prosecute you for that stinker." Playfully tutting before actually telling him your name. He says it under his breath as if testing the way it felt on his tongue before smiling again.

 “Well, I wasn’t joking, I’d actually like to have you over for coffee if you’d like. I promise I’m not a weird pervert. I can even tell my roommate to come home early if it makes you feel better.” Harry fumbled with his words, further endearing you. You snort a laugh at his phrasing before nodding your head.

“You don’t have to call your roommate, I’m sure you’re not a murderer. Anyway, my friend has my location on so she’ll know exactly where to send the cops in the event I turn up missing.” You gest, nudging his forearm with your elbow.

—

 You didn't know how you'd ended up in this situation. In the hour and a half it took for Harry's appointment to be completed, you walked around aimlessly talking to Maggie- or frantically shouting if you asked Maggie- about what steps to take from here. You had actually been so caught up in this whole "date" ordeal that the teeth cleaning breezed by. She snorted a laugh at your obvious hesitation, knowing this wasn't very "you". You weren't usually the type to even accept compliments, but here you were, ready to risk it all for a man you'd met a mere 120 minutes ago.

 "But what if he's a player? What do I do then?" You'd asked, answered yet again with a snort.    "You fuck him and forget it. It happens all the time. It's just a bit of good fun." Maggie reassured you. To her, a casual 6 o'clock shag was nothing out of the ordinary.    Pacing around Fifth Avenue, you awaited a text. A simple "hey" to set your anxieties through the roof. Anything. You just wanted to be out of your misery already.    It wasn't like you'd never done this before, or even that you'd only done it a handful of times, but something about the prospect of hooking up with a boy from your dentist's office felt strange. Did people meet their soul mates this way, or was this really an odd thing? Don't people usually meet in clubs and bars? There's hardly anything sexy about having your teeth scraped and drilled into. Maybe you could spin an innuendo out of that if you tried. The moment your phone buzzed, you couldn't help the squeal that passed your lips.

H 127 W4th Street, Apartment 3F

—

 You'd only gone over for a coffee and a chat, honestly. So how you ended up with Harry's lips attached to your neck, you hadn't the fuzziest clue. If you were being honest, it was more on you than him.

 "So you've got a sweet tooth." You say, smirking from behind the brim of the mug as you watched him take a sip from his own.    "Ah, the rumours are true." He tuts, taking a sip of the black coffee.

 "But your coffee is black, and you didn't put any sugar in it." You point out, deadpan.

 "Doesn't mean I'm not naughty sometimes." He's talking about the sugar, you know he is. But his eyes are telling you he wants to go further into the discussion. Taunting, almost.

 "Prove it."

 So that's how you'd ended up here, really. With your fists scrunching up his baggy striped shirt, both of your breath becoming shallower and shallower as your lips smacked together. He had taken off the vest before you'd arrived, you noticed in your slight haze. His kisses trailed from your lips to your cheek, from your cheek to your jaw, then your neck. Each touch of his wet lips leaving a lingering buzz to your skin. He pulled away from your neck momentarily, breathing heavily before biting onto his own bottom lip.

 "You wanna...?" Harry trailed off, chest rising and falling noticeably, lips shining under his dim room light. You saw his eyes flick towards a door to the left of you both. You could feel your heart drop to your stomach, or rather, beneath your bellybutton. You know the feeling well. At that moment, you decide to throw caution to the wind. Who's to say this wasn't the time to sew your wild oats, so to speak?

 "You asking if I want a shag?" You smirk back at him. He really wasn't as scary as he seemed at first. He actually seemed to be your equal; nervously navigating life with a bit of sarcasm and a dash of wit.

 "You're mad. But yes." Harry laughs in bemusement. Perhaps he had pegged you for shier than you appeared now. Not that he'd complain.

 The two of you stand, Harry quickly grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles before pulling you towards the closed door.

 "I er- obviously wasn't expecting a bird over after the doctors visit, so my rooms in shambles at the moment, sorry." He admits sheepishly. You just raised one shoulder in a shrug in response, giggling at the way his cheeks dusted rosy pink and the way he pronounced the word obviously. Obvioushry.

 Stepping inside, you see that he was massively overexaggerating. There were a few fun coloured tops on the ground in a heap, accompanied by another small pile of trousers and jeans. Clearly, he'd meant to do the washing up when he came home, but not everything always goes according to plan. You certainly didn't expect this either.

 Your thoughts are instantly placed aside as you felt two strong hands on either of your hips and the steady stream of breath upon your neck, soft lips dragging along the surface there. You roll your head to the side to grant him more of a canvas to paint his wet kisses, subtly pushing your behind into him. The groan that vibrates your skin tells you that he felt it. More gracefully than you'd ever be able to manage, your top is removed from your body by the man behind you in a flash.

 "Le's get comfortable, yeah? You'll be here a while." The gruff tone of his voice so near to your ear excites you, sending a shiver down the column of your spine. As you sit on his bed, you raise your gaze to observe him. A tall, gangly thing, but somehow solid and muscular simultaneously. His nimble fingers are quick to undo the buttons of the shirt adorning his torso, revealing intricate artwork penned on his skin. From where you sat, you could see two birds, a butterfly and a birdcage. You wondered what moved him to get these particular pieces.  

"You'll have to excuse me if 'm a bit rubbish, it's been ages," Harry laughs pathetically, capturing his bottom lip once again beneath his endearingly large front teeth. You don't even get a moment to react as he lunges forth, cementing your lips together in a harsh kiss that does little to undo the ball of tension you've felt building since you'd arrived. You feel the weight of his groin pressed against your own, slowly rocking back and forth, side to side. The pressure is delicious and you can't remember the last time you'd felt this exhilarated thanks to another person.

 His lips detach from your own again, opting to kiss your exposed chest instead, grabbing the cup of your bra before looking to you with pleading eyes. Begging to see you in nothing but his embrace. The granting nod of your head is slight, but he notices. He pulls the cup down with no trouble, laying the thick of his tongue against your areola, lapping it around the area like he was trying to lick up all the frosting from a cupcake.

 You felt dizzy as he began to suck on it, a moan being ripped from the pit of your chest. The noise seemed to spur Harry on, biting down softly before kissing down from your chest to your midsection, only stopping to peer up at you. Making sure you were still all in and just as eager as he was. The rational part of your brain knew where he was trailing his kisses. You knew he fully intended to put his mouth to good use, but it didn't stop your mind from the nervous thoughts it was producing.

 "You want me to prove I've got a sweet tooth, angel? I'll prove it to ya," Harry says, breath shallow in pure excitement. If the situation weren't so filthy, you'd think it wholesome. A kiss is pressed to your upper thigh, causing your muscles to clench and your breathing to halt. You could feel each breath that passed through his nostrils, washing over the delicate plush skin it hit.

 Harry took not a second to prepare for you, instead just peeling the pink lace from your behind and tossing them to the corner of his room. He stopped your legs from closing, taking a moment to peer between your legs where you were no doubt dripping for him. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't so eager, but from the way his nostrils flare and his eyes darken, you can tell he may not mind it.

 "Looks sweet, y'know," he breathes, warm breath now coating you in the most sinfully delightful way. You look down at him fast enough to catch his tongue leave his mouth to find your centre, immediately causing your body to tense. He started slowly at first, giving you a deep kiss between your legs before beginning to stroke his tongue against your clit in quick succession. It was mind-blowing, how quickly you felt yourself unravel. Your eyes wanted to clench shut desperately, but your mind wouldn't allow it. You couldn't possibly tear your eyes from the sight of the lower half of Harry's face pressed flat against your aching cunt, licking sucking and nibbling to his heart's content. His strong hands gripping your hips in an attempt to steady your rocking body. Your moans picked up with his rhythm, hand sneaking down to grasp his long locks between your fingers.

 "Harry, ungh, I'm gonna, uh! Fuck," you cried, tried warning him of your imminent end, but your voice just wouldn't allow it. You could faintly feel Harry moving the mattress with his quick ruts to the bed in search of some form of release, groaning and moaning against your sensitive skin.

 "C'mon then, lovie. Tastes so good, want more," He coaxes, voice deeper than it had been when he'd spoken earlier. He shook his tongue against you, releasing one of his hands from your hip to slide a finger into you, curving once he'd buried it as far as you'd permit. He removed it before twirling it back in, swivelling it in a circular motion and repeating. The combination of his wicked tongue, finger and moans had you coming to your end and had Harry lapping it up like a dog in heat.

 "God! Harry," You moaned loudly, holding tighter onto his hair. You knew you ought to ease up a bit, but he continued driving his finger in and out of you, nearly making you lose your mind. He was groaning against you, tongue never letting up until you'd finally had enough, pulling your legs together and pushing his head away.

 "Told ya I have a sweet tooth. I reckon I'll have you over at least once a week, if you'll let me." He smirks cheekily from the end of the bed, swiping the back of his hand across his chin to rid himself of your slick. For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. Instead of speaking, you reach down to grab at his shoulder, weakly attempting to pull him up the bed. He chuckles at your feeble try, accommodating you by dragging himself up to your face, kissing your nose gingerly.

 "Please Harry, I-" You didn't want to seem desperate, but at the moment, you felt terribly empty and you wanted him to just get on with it. You could feel the heavy length of him sat right on your clit, the corduroy material of his pants giving a certain friction that was fulfilling, but not entirely.

 "M' mouth wasn't enough, pet? Want more? Want me to stuff ya full?" He murmurs the filthy words against your skin, nipping at it every once in a while. You nod so vigorously he's afraid your head will fall to the ground. With another deep chuckle, he places a soft kiss to the crown of your head as he reaches to his bedside table for a condom.

 "Sure about this? I can just wank off if you don't wanna," Harry reassures her, fidgeting with the foil packaging. You can't help but press a firm kiss to the beauty mark by his lip, giggling at his words.

 "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't make me beg for it." You plead, fully aware that you'd beg in a heartbeat if it meant you could see this pretty boy in such a vulnerable state. He didn't have to know that, though.

 He nodded before unwrapping the plastic sheath, unravelling it on himself before giving himself a few purposeful tugs. The tension of his bicep and the soft grunts causing you to ache for him. He guides himself down to where he knows you're ready to take him, locking eyes with yours once more before shoving his hips forward. He didn't stop until he was bottomed out, heavy balls resting atop your behind. The initial push had you both reeling; clenched eyes and furrowed brows as you both adjusted to the new feeling. You'd never been with anyone bigger, and he could've sworn he'd never felt such a warm, wet, inviting cunt in his life. He could've blown his load right then.

  "God, princess. You've got the tightest little pussy, haven't you?" He was egging you on, wanting you to become more vocal. Dying to hear the strain in your voice, fully fucked out. You whimper in reply, jutting your hips up into his to get him to move. Your motion caught him off guard, causing the muscles in his stomach to become taught as he groaned.

 "Gotta warn a lad if you're gonna move, lovie. Nearly nutted off." Harry breathed a laugh before pulling his hips back halfway, slowly inching himself back in. You'd never felt such pleasure from such minimal movement, but the way he was digging into you had you breathless in no time.

 "Good, so so good," you panted out, gripping his shoulders tightly as if you'd float away otherwise. Both of your bodies were working together like a well-manufactured machine, pushing and pulling in the best ways.

 "Yeah? You like it slow, then? Like it when you can feel me here?" Harry boasted, pressing his large palm on your tummy just below your belly button. The next thrust he delivered made you scream out involuntarily, backing up towards the top of the bed. You hadn't expected to feel him brush against the palm of his own hand, but the added pressure set you off, rolling your eyes backwards and crying out in pure bliss.

 "Fuck, keep sayin' my name, lovie. Neighbours'll hear me giving you a proper fucking shag," He groaned, picking up the pace minutely, holding onto your hip with his free hand. "Don't run from it, darlin, take me. Fucking feel me," you could tell he was losing himself, slowly beginning to babble incoherently. You felt a surge of arousal at the fact you had this stranger in such a state.

 "Harry, I'm gonna fucking come again," you moaned loudly, upon his request but mainly because you really couldn't help yourself. Your moans were becoming higher pitched and more frequent, and you could tell it was feeding Harry's ego very well, fueling his own end.

 "Yeah? G'na come for me again? G'na let me feel it?" He grunted, bottoming out and swivelling his pelvis atop your own, pubis rubbing against your already overstimulated clit. That, in combination with his gruff voice and the sweat dripping off his own body onto yours, finished you off, clenching your core down onto his stiff prick deep within you, throwing your head back in defeat. You let the overwhelming pleasure course through your veins, bucking your hips blindly into his and mutter his name repeatedly.

 Seeing your beautiful face screwed up in pleasure whilst you whined and moaned that he was so good really did Harry in. In fact, a particularly filthy cry of his name is what did it for Harry, spewing all the spunk he was worth into the latex. His body folded, narrowly missing your body as he collapsed onto his Queen sized mattress, a sweaty and exhausted mess.

It took the pair of you a couple of minutes to catch your breath before either of you spoke. You thought he may never say anything, but as he lifted his head from your breasts to make eye contact with you, you smirked.

 "Think I can convince you to stay the night?" He asked dreamily, a glint in his eye. And really, how could you refuse?

--

This is my first published work, so please be kind to her!! I worked on it for quite a while, so feedback is always appreciated!

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles AU #Harry Styles Smut #Harry Styles Fic #HS #1DFF #1D FanFic #masterlist #mobile masterlist