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avis-writeshq · 2 months

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hi! could i request track one with spencer reid where reader gets drunk and needy for spencer 😭 but he denies (cuz yk shes drunk) and just takes care of him please? thank you!

off my face — spencer reid

summary: “i’m off my face in love with you.” in which reader gets drunk and spencer has to nurse her back to health. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: rated 16+ for allusions to smut, reader gets drunk, reader wears lipstick and a dress, mentions of throwing up [not in detail], spencer being sickeningly perfect, lots of pet names, inspired by that one video of matthew. you know which one i’m talking about. a/n: i er… got carried away because i love this trope 😔 i am in fact obsessed wc: 1.23k

It’s too loud. Granted, it’s a club; it’s supposed to be loud. Spencer cringes a little as the music somehow manages to get even louder and he sips at his coke. He has your purse in his lap and he’s also manning your drink like a guard dog; moving himself to the furthest seat in the booth that is away from the crowd. Your inevitable return is a lot sooner than he expected, and he watches with amusement as you slide into the booth and curl into his side, reaching for your drink.

“Have fun?” Spencer asks with a soft laugh, one arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the top of you head.

“Mm,” you hum in affirmation, eagerly sipping at the sugary concoction in front of you. “Would’ve been funner with you, baby.”

He laughs louder at that, rolling his eyes teasingly and squeezing at the flesh of your waist. “You know it wouldn’t have been.”

“Bet you’d be real sexy with all that sweat dripping off you,” you coo, your voice sickeningly sweet as your fingers move to toy with the buttons of his shirt.

Your fingers are wet with the condensation from the chilled glass of your cocktail and they brush against the sensitive skin of his collarbone. A shudder runs down his spine at the contact, and his cheeks grow hot. His hand finds your wrist and he holds it firmly, but not enough to hurt.

“Don’t,” he says, half jokingly half seriously as he moves his head to track your gaze. “How much have you had to drink, angel?”

You ignore the question, moving your fingers upward to brush against a blooming purple mark near his collar. A pout rests on your lips as you gesture to it, a frown forming on your face. “Who gave this to you?”

He bristles, moving the flap of his collar to cover the bruise. “You did. This morning.”

“Oh yeah!” The smile returns to your face awfully fast and a giggle bubbles up from your throat. “You love me.”

“I do,” he agrees, kissing your head again.

Your expression is all too gleeful as you move your head just at the right time so that he lips would meet yours. He pulls away after a brief moment, about to say something else, when you effectively cut him off by pressing a wet kiss to his cheek.

“Angel– sweetheart, you’re very drunk,” he says gently, prying your needy fingers away and holding them firmly in his hand.

“Nuh uh,” you deny, leaning forward again and kissing his neck right where you left a mark earlier that morning.

He jolts at the contact, pulling away as pink rises to his cheeks. “We’re not doing this while you’re drunk, honey.”

You blatantly ignore him, maneuvering yourself so that you’s practically half on his lap with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. He doesn’t mind the attention, per se. He just feels incredibly guilty about enjoying it when you’re loopy from all the cocktails you have had. You’re pressing kisses against his cheeks while your hands play with the collar of his shirt, tugging at the purple tie you chose earlier that day and there are lipstick stains all over his skin. He’s well aware of it; bright red with a sticky residue and he will forever not understand how you can wear it all the time.

His tie has come undone entirely and you pull at his shirt to kiss dangerously close to his collarbone.

“Okay–” he’s flushing scarlet and he doesn’t dare meet the eyes of anyone in the team. “Okay, baby, that’s enough. Let’s get you home.”

“Ooh,” you giggle, wiggling your eyebrows with insinuation.

“You need sleep.” He says it sternly, although you don’t seem to grasp the concept.

“What kind of sleep?” You ask, winking.

He shakes his head, amused and exasperated, as he rebuttons his shirt and reties his tie. “The REM kind. Come on, angel. Say good night to your friends.”

You giggle tiredly, waving goodbye to your friends. Penelope looks absolutely hammered, wiggling her eyebrows at you with an expression full of insinuation. Emily is smirking in your direction, swirling her martini around before taking a sip. JJ looks equally elated, snickering softly as she holds onto Will’s arm.

Spencer ushers you gently into his car, leaning over the console to open the glove box on your side and brandishing a packet of micellar water wipes. He takes out two for himself before passing the rest of them to you.

“For your makeup,” he explains, wiping the lipstick marks off his cheeks. “I’ll help you with your skincare when we get home, alright?”

You’re in love. It isn’t long before he’s helping you up the stairs of his apartment and sitting you gently on the couch. Your eyes are droopy and it seems like the sugar high from your cocktails is wearing off. Spencer runs his fingers through your hair gently while he holds a glass of cold water to your lips, urging you to drink. You only do it to appease him and once he’s satisfied with your water intake, he’s reaching for the zip of your dress.

“Someone’s needy,” you coo, giggling as he pulls it down to just below your ribcage. “Gonna rough me up?”

“No.” He answers it swiftly, and had you been sober your heart would have split in two. He continues, “I’m going to put you in something more comfortable and then you’re going to sleep.”

“Boring.”

“No, it’s not– it’s not boring,” he flounders, his cheeks growing hotter at your words. He can’t believe he’s arguing with a drunk person. “It’s not boring, baby, it’s safe. Alcohol is a neuro inhibitor. There’s a reason why you can’t drink and drive and it’s because the brain’s neural activity patterns are suppressed or blocked. That’s also the reason why you can’t ask a drunk person for consent; they don’t know or understand what’s going on around them.”

You’ve half fallen asleep at his explanation, the sleeves of your dress falling down your arms and a shiver runs down your spine. “So we’re not going to be partaking in passionate steamy love making?”

“No, we’re not,” he confirms, pulling your favourite pair of cotton pyjamas over your head. It’s a pale pink set with little bows prints all over it and a lacy collar. “Lift your hips for me, angel, I need to get the shorts on you.”

You comply, kicking the dress off into some forbidden corner of the room and Spencer takes this chance to slip the matching shorts onto your legs and up your thighs. The rest of the night is smooth sailing from there– he has successfully applied your skincare in such a way that you would be singing his praises. He has also managed to get you to drink another cup of water, and even though you’re going to wake up complaining about the fact you need to pee. He’d rather you complain about that instead of some raging headache.

Spencer climbs under the covers next to you, pulling you into his chest and kissing your shoulder. A soft snore leaves your lips and he can’t help but chuckle. Passed out, as expected.

“Good night, angel,” he murmurs into your ear, holding you tight. “See you in the morning.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

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scuderiahoney · 5 months

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In From The Rain

Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: none

The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.

Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.

The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.

“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.

“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”

He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.

“Can I help you find something?” You ask.

He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.

“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.

You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.

He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.

You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.

“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”

“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”

He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”

You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.

“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”

You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”

He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”

“Which direction do your windows face?”

“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”

You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.

“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”

“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”

He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.

“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”

Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”

He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.

“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”

He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.

“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”

He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”

You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.

“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.

“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”

“Me too,” he says.

He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.

…..

Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.

“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.

His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”

“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.

You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.

“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”

That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.

“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”

He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”

“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”

He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”

You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.

“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.

He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.

“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”

“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”

He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”

You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”

He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.

Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.

“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”

You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.

…..

He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.

Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.

The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.

“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”

You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

“I know,” you laugh.

He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.

You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”

“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”

She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.

“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”

You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.

“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.

You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”

…..

Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.

“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.

You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”

“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”

You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.

I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar

You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.

The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.

…..

The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.

“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.

You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”

His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.

…..

Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.

“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”

You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.

“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”

He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”

You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.

“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”

He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.

“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”

He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.

…..

Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.

“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”

“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.

“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”

You laugh. “No, it’s not.”

You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.

“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“

Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.

“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”

You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.

“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.

“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”

His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”

You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”

You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.

You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”

“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.

He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.

“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

…..

When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.

You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.

“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.

He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”

You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.

“There,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”

You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.

“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”

“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.

You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.

“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.

“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.

You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.

“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”

You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”

You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”

The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.

“I’ll know for next time,” he says.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth seep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.

“Thank you,” you say, softly.

“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”

He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.

He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”

Then he disappears into the storm.

…..

You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.

It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.

Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.

You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”

“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”

The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”

“How is he, anyways?” You ask.

Logan frowns. “He’s good.”

You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”

“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”

Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.

Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”

You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”

“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”

“His last name’s Piastri.”

“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”

He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.

“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”

You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.

…..

Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.

You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.

“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.

You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.

“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”

“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”

You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”

Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”

You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.

“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”

Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”

Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”

“Of course,” he says.

Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.

Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”

You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.

He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”

You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.

You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.

You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.

“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”

“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”

He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.

He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”

You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.

“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”

You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.

You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”

“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“

You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”

He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”

Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”

Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.

“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”

“Pickup line?”

“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”

You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.

“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.

He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”

You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.

You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”

He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”

“It’s raining,” you remind him.

“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”

You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”

Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”

He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.

The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.

He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”

You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”

Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.

…..

Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.

“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.

Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.

“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”

You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.

“I believe it, too,” you tell him.

When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.

a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #formula one oneshot #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #honeywrites #op81 #if you’ve made it this far in the tags somehow hi

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milkchuu · 9 months

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having flushed overnight, i had the most restful sleep in years

i will now be flushing every two months or so

#loablr #affirmyourreality #delusional girl #lucky girl syndrome #manifestation #manifesting #affirmations #i am #loa #subliminal maker #subliminals #sublimunal flush

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arieslexa · 1 year

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Plasebo etkisi

Nedir:Temelde bir eşya,nesne kısacası aklınıza gelebilecek herşeyi kullanarak tezahürlerinizi elde etmektir.Örneğin bir ağrı kesiyiciyi yiyorsunuz ve o ağrı kesicinin sizi iyileştiriceğini niyet ediyorsunuz ve ağrı ortadan kalkıyor. Bunu aklınıza gelebilecek herşey için yapabilirsiniz.

bununla ilgili bir başarı hikayesi:

Bu etkiyi sivilce sorunlarım için kullandım. Bu benim için çok basitti. Su şişemi plasebo olarak kullandım. Ne zaman su içsem veya şişeye dokunsam, zaten berrak bir cildim olduğunu, Hiperpigmentasyonum ( Ten renginde eşitsizliğe yol açan koyu lekeler ) olmadığını vb. Onayladım., bu etkiyi 3 gün kullandıktan sonra SADECE 3 gün tüm sivilcelerim, Hiperpigmentasyonlarım tamamen kayboldu. Tam olarak 3 gün içinde sonuç alacağınızı söylemiyorum, ne kadar ısrar ettiğinize göre insanlardan insanlara farklılık gösteriyor. Nanosaniyede bile sonuç alabilirsiniz bunu aklınızda bulundurun! 🤭

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bokutosbiceps · 5 months

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jell-o shots

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar law/vinsmoke sanji x afab!reader | slight smut/fluff | ~900 words

warnings: suggestive/18+ themes, mild cursing ?

a/n: i was listening to one of my fav podcasts (the basement yard) n they were talking about how some girls use the way that guys do jell-o shots to gauge if they're good @ eating pussy. so i ran w it 😁 also def a modern au ,, thinkin bout doin more of these 🤭

18+ MDNI | under the cut for length

you can't tear your eyes away from the man across the granite kitchen island. the way his tongue shoves into the sticky jell-o, laps at the sides of the cup, and swirls around the bottom to clean up any leftover sugary alcohol has you feeling dizzy and squeezing your thighs together. as if he couldn't get any more irresistible.

maybe it was the fact that you'd already thrown back a couple of drinks. or maybe it was the fact that you'd just imagined your boyfriend’s tongue doing that to you instead. but you were feeling particularly brave, particularly needy.

he sees you watching, and you can tell that he's wondering why you're staring at him so intently. his eyes call you over, and you take a few shaky steps around the island to sidle up next to your man.

you smooth your hands over his shoulders, your nails digging into his deltoids for stability as you lean in and whisper “can you eat pussy like that?”

eustass kid bursts out laughing. it's a hearty, wry laugh that has you pushing out your bottom lip and furrowing your brow at him.

“why the hell are you laughing?” you whine, pouting at him.

kid glances at you out of the corner of his eye, picking up another jell-o shot and repeating his ritual. he enjoys the feeling of your hold on his bicep tightening, and how you subconsciously press yourself further into him.

he lets his eyes travel further down to where he can see you rubbing your thighs together, and he feels a familiar hunger starting to burn in the pit of his abdomen.

once the cup is left pristinely crystal clean, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear and he huffs out another laugh.

“i wanna see you get on your knees and beg, doll.”

monkey d luffy blinks at you, a small smile stretching across his lips as he realizes what you had whispered to him.

“you mean can i eat you out? yeah! you wanna?” luffy chirps, picking up another jell-o shot and practically vacuuming out the sugary alcohol in one go. you watch, feeling like your legs are going to give out.

luffy grabs your waist with his arm to help prop you up against him. he's still grinning at you, eyes searching yours for any affirmation of what he had asked.

he pinches your side playfully and presses a kiss to your clavicle, then rests his head on top of yours, happy to be enjoying the party with you. but now there's something else he'd rather be enjoying, and he's still waiting for your answer.

so you nod, a movement so slight you’re worried that luffy wouldn't notice. but then luffy’s scooping you into his arms and running upstairs with you cradled to his chest, searching for any open bedroom or bathroom he can use to indulge in his favorite meal.

roronoa zoro straightens up slightly, pushing his nose into the air and looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his lips are set in a firm frown as he studies you for a bit, and then they’re stretching into a sly smirk.

he doesn't say anything, just backs you into the counter behind you and grips your waist with both of his hands. he leans in closer to you, pressing his cheek against yours. you can feel his thigh pressing against the seam of where your own thighs are clenched together, prying them apart.

you shudder at the way zoro’s hot breath is wafting across your neck, and you about explode when he presses a warm, wet kiss to the nape of your neck. he rests his face in the crook of your neck and you can feel his lips smile against your skin.

“you wanna find out?”

trafalgar d water law scoffs at you, wrinkling his nose and setting the empty cup down on the island.

“are you drunk?” he asks lowly, noticing how you're gripping so tightly onto his arm. you squeeze your thighs together once again when you feel his warm breath fan across your face and his hazy, grey eyes bore into yours.

“no.” you purse your lips, pressing yourself further into him. “i just…need you right now.” you give him a pointed look, feeling your cheeks heat up as you glance back down at the cup. he follows your gaze and snorts a chuckle out through his nose.

how could he resist you when you were so cute, being so desperate for him?

“come with me.” law rubs the small of your back and allows you to lean on him as he guides you through the party and upstairs. “let me take care of you.”

vinsmoke sanji is flabbergasted. the empty cup falls from his fingers and onto the counter. he's staring at you, wide eyed and blushing.

you shift uncomfortably under his stare, wondering if maybe you'd made a mistake, come on too strong perhaps. but your train of thought is quickly derailed when sanji grabs your hands and presses them to his chest.

“you mean it, princess?” sanji asks you, his eyes shining. his pupils are practically heart shaped as he beams at you, hands trembling as they held yours against his palpitating heart.

“mhm. right now.” you say softly, giving him a coy smile. you blink, and suddenly you're in sanji’s arms and he’s making a beeline for the nearest bedroom. sanji’s on a mission to serve you like the princess you are, party be damned.

taglist: @usoppsstar | @luffysprincess | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup | @kingofthe-egirls

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #kid x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #sanji x reader

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anantaru · 4 months

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What would be genshin men(of ur choice) reactions when you leave them hard and desperate?

Also love ur work💗

including. wriothesley, ayato

cw. you leave them hard and desperate, lots of teasing, dry humping, needy & dom genshin men, fem! reader

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

from your yielding touches to the pliant bends of your hand palming wriothesley's bulge, he finds himself leaning back into the pillows with one arm lazily concealing his flushed expression. the room felt hot and sticky too, and with each never-ending squeeze of your palm stroking his clothed cock, he throbs in your hand.

for some reason, watching wriothesley slowly falling apart because of you was surely addictive, consuming as it had no grounds being that attractive, that desirable— in fact, his pants were still on, only his belt had been unbuckled to somehow soften the harshness of his shaft straining against the rough material.

"fuck— you always know how to get me real good," wriothesley huffs out with a messy grin, mumbling the unspoken words of love in every moan as his breath hitches and falls into his words.

you lean your face into his neck to smear a couple wet kisses on the skin, "’just need you baby, can't take it like that forever,"

your warmth on his neck was setting his loins on fire, and your eyes following his every twitch and turn was purely mesmerizing as wriothesley began to hump your palm, repeatedly bottoming into your hand as you nibble on his jaw— the lewdest, most desperate faces manifesting on your boyfriends handsome features, "i want you s-so badly," he groans, barely, before you slope your lips from his jaw to the shell of his ear.

"ahh, that was fun!"

you giggle apathetically, "gotta go now baby, see you later," and stop your movements, stilling your hand before pulling it off his groin and by that point, wriothesley could barely breathe evenly nor keep his eyes open for a longer period of time, although now he looks at you in disbelief as you move from the bed towards the drawer to grab your stuff.

"huh, fuck— w-what?" he hisses, the pain in his groin aching,

"babe? wait, babe."

you sigh innocently and lick your lips, "yes?"

wriothesley can tell now, finally, understand what this was all about and no, he wasn't mad or anything, not at all, despite his pulsing cock still being hard and erected, he found himself plotting his revenge already.

the man smirks, and it sends a sudden shiver down your spine as he moves from the bed towards your pretty frame, silently cradling your cheek in his palm and stroking the flesh with his thumb,

"going to get you back for that one thousand times worse, you understand?"

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱

"you like playing with fire, i see," ayato murmurs softly as you grind your clothed pussy against his throbbing member— his arms tightly enclosing your waist as you're comfortably settled on his lap, slowly watching the strings of his strong, powerful demeanor trail apart.

"y-yes," you whine, "i need you so badly, please," pseudo innocently pretending to be at his full mercy as you sob into his neck, your hips gradually picking up on pace as ayato moves you back and forth his straining erection,

he smiles with a firm nod of approval, "do you think you can handle more of this?" ayato asks, pursing his lips together when you roll into him particularly hard— and it felt so good when you angled your pussy into him in that candid way, evidently noticing it inflict something deep on his frame as his eyes roll into the back of his skull.

"of course," you mewl out, drool escaping past your lips, "i can go as long as you want, baby, pinky promise," your words and affirmations catch his muscles within a tremble.

jocularly, the man smirks, squeezing the fat of your ass before making it jiggle underneath his large palms, "i am delighted you feel that way, sweetheart,"

ayato shudders as the tips of your fingers scratch down on his scalp when you push his gaze towards your own, your plump lips ghosting over his jaw as it makes his cock throb.

the yashiro commissioner was so mindless now, piece by piece succumbing to the strapping pleasure as he breathes deep into his chest, his shuddering hands clawing into the flesh of your hips to keep you steady on his shaft.

by now, you can evidently tell his thudding groin has made an entire mess of his boxers, his pre cum smeared everywhere, it's just so filthy and delicious at the same time— in essence, to turn such a commanding, powerful man into something like this was fueling your ego to a much surpassing extent.

you will probably never get over this.

"archons, ayato, you're so nasty, baby," you coo at him, before smiling, "but that's fine, you see, i'll just finish this up later, okay?" you swiftly swathe away his arms and push yourself off his lap as the man shudders from the sudden loss of your heat on his cock.

"hold on, wait," ayato gawks at you, his jaw practically on the floor as he cups his groin and pushes down to maneuver away the sticking garment from his cock, hissing out— and you're hearing how desperate and needy your boyfriend was by just how filthy he reacted to rubbing his own shaft, almost unable to stop,

"w-what's the meaning of this?"

"you see, i am late for work," you claim and put on your jacket— and in obvious truth, you weren't late at all and ayato knew that as well, he wasn't stupid, you were probably going to arrive there a lot earlier now,

"not this again," ayato sighs, "how did you make me fall for this a second time?" he swipes his tongue against his lips as he realizes that you managed to use him like a marionette, and you adore being his puppet master, just yearned to amuse yourself with those cunning charms on him.

"but i'll see you later?" you ask without airs, eyeing the exit before ayato grabs a hold of your wrist, daintily moving you back on his lap.

"easy now," he whispers before tapping his lips once, twice, with his pointer finger, reminding you that you had forgotten to give him a goodbye kiss.

he grumbles, "you can't just go like that, without properly saying goodbye," the man continues, sassy nuances in his tone, "you will definitely see me later, love,"

your legs writhe a little from the situation he had you in— and seeing your boyfriend like this, despite his facial expression still being bathed in bliss, he never let go off his dominance that it was almost enough for you to give in.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x reader #ayato x reader #wriothesley smut #ayato smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #wriothesley x you #ayato x you #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles

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eyelessfaces · 11 months

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coming home

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel comes back home from a long day and wakes you up by sticking his dick inside of you<3

warnings: smut, porn without plot literally, unprotected piv sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia (prior consent established), sleepy sex

tags: f!reader, fluff

word count: 2k

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The idea had come to his mind way long before he created the portal that would bring him back home.

In fact, the thought had stuck and hadn’t left his mind since the day that you talked about it, but tonight just happened to seem like the right moment.

He desperately, so desperately needed to blow off some steam, to think about something else than the fact that the future of every universe was relying on him.

He slowly pushed your shared bedroom door open, trying his best not to make a sound so you wouldn’t wake up from your deep sleep.

He quietly joined the bed, tiptoeing around, carefully avoiding the squeaky area of the floorboards before his suit disappeared from his body, leaving him bare.

You were laying on your side, the thin sheet brought up to your shoulders, the slight chill of the night forming goosebumps over your exposed skin.

Miguel slides under the sheets, the mattress dipping under his weight, and presses his body flush against yours, his chest facing your back.

He is so warm compared to you, his hand sliding under your shirt and resting over your bare stomach, rubbing his thumb over your cold skin as he nuzzles the back of your head, leaving kisses at the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

Your scent soothes him, he finally feels like he's home, the tension weighing on him finally feels a bit lighter.

Slowly, his hand slides up under your shirt to cup your breast, his thumb tracing back and forth over your hard nipple perked from the cold, eliciting a soft sigh from you and making you stir in your sleep.

Your reaction makes him chuckle softly, still careful not to wake you up. He keeps on toying with you, caressing over your nub as he kisses under your ear, his broad hand then trailing down your stomach, burying into your underwear to cup your mound.

His breath catches in his throat when he realizes how ready you already are for him; his fingertips barely graze against your slit and feel the wetness pooling there, the thin material of your underwear all soaked.

He can feel his erection twitch against the back of your leg when he realizes how aroused you already are, a surprise for him that thought that he would have to tease you and work you up a bit to get you wet and ready to take him.

It's a blessing that you're making it easier for him, it comforts him in the fact that he's allowed to do this; even though you have thoroughly talked about this before and established prior consent and rules, Miguel always feared that you might not be in the mood when the moment comes or that he could scare you; hurting you was the very last thing he wanted, and he knew he would feel extremely guilty if all of this ended up going wrong.

It is with affirmed confidence that he slides your ruined underwear down your ass, a part of him wanting to make his claw go through it so he could tear it off to get it out of the way for good.

He makes sure the piece of cloth reaches your knees before he presses himself closer to you, the contact against the bare cheek of your ass already driving him crazy.

He takes his shaft in hand, pumping it slowly, smearing the trail of precum drooling from the head along the length before directing the tip towards your entrance. He doesn’t even want to tease you, to try to get a reaction out of you before he goes in; he needs to be inside of you, he needs to fuck the stress out of him, he needs to feel you constricted around him.

Miguel slowly, so slowly and carefully pushes into your heat, inch by inch. His forehead presses against your shoulder as he gradually eases himself inside you, the delicious first contact against your velvety walls making him bite hard on his bottom lip, accompanied by a muffled grunt escaping from his gritted teeth when a small whimper leaves your mouth, your hand clutching the bedsheet in your sleep.

It is always a stretch when you take him, the size of him always requiring him to go slow for you to take him fully.

He has to press his mouth against your skin to prevent any sound from coming out of his mouth as he pushes deeper into you, progressively easing himself in, stretching you out little by little.

You sleepily hum at the sweet feeling of the gradual intrusion, softly squirming in place, a wrecked moan leaving Miguel's mouth when you shift in your sleep and unexpectedly impale yourself further onto his length, his cock now filling you to the hilt.

He wraps an arm around your waist as he whispers profanities under his breath, his face burying into your neck, breathing you in as he starts to grind into you, small thrusts to make sure you're accommodating to his size.

He's holding you tight, his arm firmly wrapped around your sleeping figure, his mouth falling agape at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole; it's all he needed right now, to be home with you, to hold you tight and to be buried deep inside of you.

His thrusts are slow, languid and gentle at first, letting you get used to the stretch, until he starts to grow needier, hungrier, the way your cunt flutters around him only spurring him to grow bolder.

His grip around your waist loosens up, his hand shifting to rest against your hip when he pulls almost all the way out, only leaving the tip inside before pushing into you until his hips are flush against your ass, the soft stroke against your walls making him mutter curses in his mother language.

He repeats his movements over and over again, going a bit faster each time, bucking into you at a steady rhythm and your body reacts at once; you writhe in your sleep, soft sounds and small moans leaving your mouth as Miguel whispers words of praise into your ear though they're most likely unheard and therefore useless; he can't help himself, not when you're taking him so well, not when you feel the way you feel around him.

His hand grabs at the inside of your thigh to hold it up, offering him a new angle allowing him to go deeper, the snapping sounds of skin on skin resonating inside the dark bedroom as he gradually pounds deeper and faster into you.

Your small and drowsy sounds slowly start to grow more affirmed and more present; Miguel is far too gone to register that fact, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and he doesn't notice your breath faltering, growing faster and sharper, until–

"Fuck, Miguel" your voice is gravely with sleep, a bit rough, his hips involuntarily snapping sharply against your rear when he realizes that you're awake, the sudden movement eliciting a choked sound from you.

A raspy groan resonates against your shoulder, his warm breath and the hot feeling of his chest pressed flush against your back greatly contrasting with the freezing temperature that was hanging in the atmosphere when you went to bed.

His hand leaves your thigh to cup your jaw, angling your face towards him so he can capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, making him hum in contentment at the familiar taste and feeling of your tongue against his while your hand buries and fists into his hair.

"Feels okay?" he asks as he pulls away from your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek, his red eyes boring into yours as his hips continue snapping up into you, sharp thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs.

"Better than okay" you reassure him, another choked moan leaving your mouth and making you tug hard on his hair when he unexpectedly hits just the right spot deep inside of you. "F-Fuck" you hiss through your teeth, your hand shifting from his hair to grasp his wrist as his hand rests over your neck, not applying any pressure there. "Right there" you mutter out of breath, your grip tightening around his wrist.

"I know baby, I know" he kisses your cheek, biting down on his lip as he watches how you squirm under him. "Look at you" he whispers into your ear, his voice dropping to an octave. "Thought about this all day long" he sighs as he rams into your sweet spot repeatedly while you whimper his name over and over again, your face burying into the pillow, his burying into your neck again.

His rhythm doesn't falter, doesn't slow down as his movements repeat themselves; you wonder how he still has all that energy left when you know the kind of days he’s used to – not one minute to settle down, not one second to breathe even – but you're way too far gone to really think about it in depth; not when it feels that good.

"Miguel– I'm close" the words struggle to come out of your mouth because by the time you say them out loud you're almost already there – you can feel the searing feeling starting to build inside your lower stomach, all of your nerves endings setting on fire, and finally you snap; it comes in waves and it washes out over you, the blinding feeling taking over your whole body; you can hear Miguel talking but you can’t figure out what he’s saying, you can only feel the floaty feeling being prolonged as he continues to grind into you with the same pace.

Miguel grunts loudly, relishing in the feeling of your walls clenching and contracting around him, your orgasm squeezing him tight and drawing a choked sound out of him.

His hips stutter and press as deep inside of you as possible as he throbs and spills himself into you, rope after rope of his warm spent filling you to the brim, a mess of spanish profanities whimpered into the shell of your ear.

He remains inside of you until you both come back to your senses, nuzzling the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, the back of his hand wiping away the thin layer of sweat having built over his forehead. He lets out a soft sigh as he slowly eases his softening cock out of you, his hand guiding your face towards his again so he could slot his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

"Rough day?" you ask once you pull away, only the faint light of the streetlamp outside your window allowing you to see the side of his face hovering over you, conveniently hiding the small cut over his cheek at the opposite side. You know his heightened senses allow him to see you as clear as daylight, and you know that unlike you, he can see every littlest expression over your face.

"Yeah. Rough day. I'm glad I'm home" he declares with a coy smile, the tip of his fingers pushing the hair out of your face.

You smile back at him before pulling him down into a kiss again, and you smile against his lips when he softly hums into your mouth.

"Was that okay?" he asks, still remaining close to your face, his nose brushing against yours.

"What? Waking up with you inside of me? Does it look like I didn't enjoy it?" you ask rhetorically, which earns a small chuckle from him.

He lays back down onto the mattress with a small grunt, humming in contentment when you turn to him so you can wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head against his chest as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

"Maybe I'll be the one to wake you up next time" you teasingly coo looking up at him, biting back a smile when you see the way his eyebrows rise.

"I better fall asleep soon then" he grins, his expression softening but getting cockier.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement, feeling your eyes getting heavy with sleep.

—

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