#floral head piece

[tiaramania]

TIARA ALERT-ISH: Princess Madeleine of Sweden wore the Bernadotte Rose Brooch in her hair for a concert celebrating King Carl XVI Gustaf's Golden Jubilee at the Drottningholm Palace Theatre in Stockholm, Sweden on 14 September 2023.

[mundanemiseries]

          A young man sat on the staircase by 104, idly sketching the people who walked by. In his particular situation there wasn’t much else to do anyway. No one to speak to and the game was over for the week so nothing to do either.

          So the best course of action was people watching and drawing.

         Humming to himself as he drew a fellow reaper passing by, he thought about grabbing their attention for a moment before deciding against it. Wasn’t much of a point in doing so anyway. In the other’s eyes there was no familiarity between the two so it’d probably be odd to say anything.

                    No matter, at this point it didn’t bother him too much.

          He tore off a page and tossed it aside, the image on the paper beginning to fade as soon as it hit the floor.

          Brushing himself off, he got to his feet heading off somewhere else to draw. Maybe he could find some wall to graffiti.

                    As the reaper walked away, the now blank page, began fading away, all traces of his presence vanishing as he left.

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Napping with König

My blog is 18+ Minors DNI.

This is just another Fluffy piece.

Napping with the behemoth of a man that is Colonel König is one of the few things that truly calm you down after a long, stressful week.

“That’s it, Biene, rest your little head on my chest,” he coos as he wraps his strong arms around you. You’re face down on his front, legs straddling his hips as you tangle your fingertips in his hair.

He needs a haircut.

“What did you just call me Kö?” You grumble sleepily as you burrow your nose into his t-shirt. He smells like Old Spice and your floral fabric softener. You inhale the familiar scent as you feel your body slowly loosening, relaxing.  

“Biene,” he repeats as he chuckles softly, “It means bee,” he explains as he places a kiss to your head.

“At least it’s not Schnecke,” you huff, eliciting another amused chuckle from the large man beneath you.

"I'm sorry that German isn’t as flowery and pretty as Spanish or Italian,” he says and you can hear the pout in his voice. He’s teasing you but you play along.

“No sense of humour, calling your partner a snail, such boring people,” you say with a smile as you feel the tension leaving your shoulders.

“Hey, Austrians have a sense of humour,” he chides you gently as he rubs his hands up and down your back, warm and soothing. You groan softly as he digs his fingertips into your tense shoulder blades.

“Yeah? Prove it,” You slur as you feel sleep pulling at the edge of your mind, the low rumbling of König’s voice lulling you off to sleep already.

“What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

“Dunno,” you grumble.

“A gummy bear,” he whispers, like it’s the best kept secret.

You have to purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing, it’s silly and not deserving of an actual reaction. But it makes your stomach flutter, your affection for this man knows no bounds.

“Boo,” you groan into his chest.

“How do you throw a party in space?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh.

“You planet.”

“Stop,” you groan, your smile making your cheeks hurt as he squeezes you tight.

“What kind of car does an egg drive?”

“Kö, stop,” you giggle as you feel his own body shake with silent laughter.

“A Yolkswagen.”

“You’re terrible,” you hiss as you lean up and give him your best angry glare.

“But it made you feel better, no?” He counters, his ice-blue eyes glittering with amusement as he meets your gaze.

“It did, thank you,” you shakes you head as you flop back down onto his chest, “Now let me sleep.”

“As you wish, Biene.”

“Just resting my eyes” (Napping with Ghost) Napping with Captain John Price Napping with Gaz Napping with Soap CoD Masterlist

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon has one favorite piece of clothing you wear and of course when he's having a rough day, you just have to wear it for him.

Simon was all stress and tension, tight shoulders, furrowed brows, and pursed lips. He had just come back from deployment and had not fully decompressed yet, having a harder time of it this go around. Usually a day was all it took to get him to slough off the burdens of his job, yet this was day two and he was still not feeling himself. You wanted to do something to help him release all that pent up emotion, and you knew just how to do it.

Something that he just couldn't resist.

At the front of your closet you found it, his current favorite piece of clothing you owned: a flirty little floral number that he had bought last time he was in. The moment he saw that dress on you after having spotted it sitting on that rack in the store, the way it hugged your curves like it was made specifically for your body, he knew you could not go home without it.

The fabric was soft, cut incredibly short, and low cut enough in the front that it left barely anything to the imagination... exactly what you needed it to do.

You slipped it on, the only thing you slipped on, and headed back out to the living room where he sat in the oversized cushioned seat idly messing around with his hands as some show played in the background on the TV.

As you casually stepped into the room, his eyes fixated on you as you walked closer towards him, a little extra sway in your hips as you moved.

Squatting down to your knees before him with your hands splayed across his thighs for leverage, you kept his gaze locked within your own as you pushed open his legs a bit more so you could crawl between them and into his lap. You arched your back as you moved up until you were able to wrap your arms around his shoulders, your breasts pressing against his chest.

"Hi," you smiled playfully. With gentle fingertips you combed your fingernails through his scalp at the back of his head while you rocked your lower half lazily back and forth between his legs to keep your knees from getting stiff.

Those brown eyes began to sparkle back to life.just as they always did whenever you were around. "Hi back," he smirked; it was clear that you were up to something, though he didn't know what yet. "And just what do ya think you're doin', luv?"

You shook your head back and forth. "Nothing," you said, feigning innocence by diverting your eyes coyly before looking back. "Just thought I'd look nice for you is all."

You had peaked his interest and he raised a strong brow as his hands found your hips. "Is that why you have this thing on?" he asked, pulling at the fabric of your dress. "Cause you've got my attention; you know how much I fuckin' love that little thing."

"Exactly why I put it on," you smiled. "Maybe I'm trying to take all your attention, make you forget all your cares."

That one line made his cold heart skip a beat; you were always doing little things like that to please him and fucking hell did he enjoy it. Simon's hand captured your chin in its grasp suddenly and he firmly pulled your face into his so that he could press a kiss to your soft, moist, inviting lips. It was instaneous the way he melted into you, his shoulders relaxing the moment your lips met, as if everything else in the room had desolved except for you and him.

"God, you are a pretty fuckin' thing, aren't you, sweetheart?" he breathed against your mouth. "Always remindin' me how fuckin' lucky I am."

He released your chin and moved down to your back where his fingertips drug across the length of your spine down all the way to your ass and back again is slow rotations.

"Mmmm..." you hummed into his sculpted shoulder as you rested your head there while he touched you.

Shit like that made the ice he built around his heart to keep him sane during missions melt. "You like that, yeah?" he asked with a smirk as his rough hands traveled down lower until he got to the curve of your ass where he cupped it in both of his hands.

"Aren't wearing any panties?" he said with surprise as he cradled your bare bottom covered just slightly by the very edge of the dress hem before he slid his hand under the fabric to massage the bare skin. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

You chuckled as his touch sent shivers up your back. "Thought maybe you'd want to play with me, if you aren't busy that is," you said against the crook of his neck before your lips connected repeatedly with the flesh there as you held the side of his head against your palm. "Why don't you let me help you unwind?"

Jesus Christ how in the hell was he supposed to say no to that? His touch became more greedy and firm in response to your offer. "You keep sayin shit like that luv," he growled, "and I might just have to fuck you until my mind is empty and your legs are numb. Come on, come 'ere."

Offering his open hand, Simon pulled you up so that he could move you into his lap so you could sit on top of those full thick thighs. Your perky breasts sitting up high in the front of the dress hit his vision, immediately making his head woozy. "This, this right here is already making me forget every fuckin' thing."

It had been a hot minute since you had been showered in his unique brand of flattery and you couldn't help the warm, red flush that flood your cheeks at his words. You turned your head, embarrassed that even after all this time you'd been together he could still make you blush.

"Don't you look away now sweetheart; you just keep looking at me with those pretty eyes. Don't gotta be shy 'round me," he purred as he guided your head back, "not when I'm about to have that pretty little dress layin' on the ground. Or maybe... shit, I'll just fuck you in it."

Again you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. "Whatever you want," you said. "Use me."

Damn, you did always know the right words to say to make him come alive. "You are just too fuckin' good to me, luv," he sighed.

He was a lucky, lucky man indeed.

[astrophileous]

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

[futureman]

a matter of time

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, late boston qz era, joel's pov, smut, porn with a twist ending, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, slow/intimate sex, finger sucking, premature ejaculation, nostalgia, internal monologue, tess doesn't exist

word count: 2.4k

It's been a long time.

Joel's all but forgotten what it feels like when it's this gentle. There's almost a tenderness to it, even though he doesn't know much of anything about you at all. Not your name or how you ended up here in this hellhole of a safe haven.

Nothing but the sweet, tacky taste of your 20-year-old Lip Smacker gloss and the tang of sweat and something sweeter lingering on your skin. But he's learning.

And he likes this new knowledge. Even if he never gets the chance to use it again, he'll devour it hungrily because it's a worthy distraction from the monotony of life in a quarantine zone. Day in and day out, he returns to this shitty apartment with its peeling floral wallpaper and rotting mahogany furniture—memories of a distant past that aren't his own and, yet, sting just as viscerally.

Tonight, the space hums with a different energy. Highlighted by the soft rays of the setting sun, the room's only purpose is to serve as a backdrop to you, and that alone changes everything. Your beauty, your responsiveness, as he lays you across his moth-eaten duvet is reminiscent of a different time, and he'll happily accept that reminder.

It's one of the few pieces of nostalgia that doesn't ache or eat away at him the longer he lets it in. No, you feel good. You're warm against his fingertips, soft and pliant under the path his lips follow from the sticky smear across your cheek, past the breath hitching audibly in your bared throat, down to your soaked, coarse curls.

You want him. More than that, you want to take your time with him, and he's surprised at how much he wants that, too. Trapped within these walls, what else does he have but endless, empty time? And there's nothing he'd love more than to spend it taking care of you, just like you asked him to.

He hovers above you, refusing to part his lips from your body as he urges you up the bed to rest against his pillows. They're flattened and scratchy from years of use and abuse, but they smell like him, and you like it. He can tell. The moment your hair fans across them, rich and lively in contrast, you bury your face into the fabric to breathe him in, and your body's reaction is instantaneous.

Your back arches with a heavy sigh of contentment and your legs fall apart naturally, welcoming him closer, but he waits. Reverently, he slowly leans back onto his heels to appreciate the sight in front of him, and he can't help but feel grateful. You're already glistening for him, preening under his undivided attention as your delicate fingers trail up to your breast to tweak a nipple.

As your eyelashes flutter and a gasp escapes your parted lips, his hand quickly drops to squeeze his twitching cock over his boxers and he keens, nearly doubling over at the pleasure that overcomes him. A coy, knowing smile quirks at the corners of your mouth, and he decides he needs to taste you again. Now.

He lurches forward, and you let out a surprised squeal as he licks into your mouth and commits to memory the faint taste of artificial root beer and mint on your tongue. The familiar fight for dominance he's so used to after years of quick fucks and one-night stands isn't there, and, instead, you set a languid, passionate pace that makes his head spin. It's a slow, deep caress—wet and warm and all-encompassing—and it's everything he hopes fucking you will feel like.

He's so hard it hurts. God, when was the last time he was this fucking hard? He's leaking messily through his boxers, desperate to be touched and enveloped and claimed.

And how could he not be? He's kissing the perfect woman. A patient goddess who's leading his hands across every inch of bare skin, showing him exactly how you like to be stroked and gripped, sighing encouragingly when he heeds your lessons just right.

You're one hell of a teacher, and he thinks he might just be your favorite student. He separates from you with a lewd smack and a string of saliva keeps you connected for a fleeting second before you lean up to lick it off his bottom lip. Your eyes lock with his and they're dark, almost completely consumed by desire, and it's further encouragement to continue on to his next assignment.

This one might just send him over the edge. You guide his hand down to cup your wet heat and you're drenched, dribbling and smearing slick patterns onto his sheets that he'll probably trace with his tongue while he jerks off to the thought of you long after you're gone.

Bathed in the dwindling embers of twilight, your silhouette—the plush slope of your breasts and soft curve of your belly and thighs—is cast around the room in artful shapes and shadows, and he wishes you were a permanent fixture. That your visage covered these walls instead of false depictions of growth and life. It's a dangerous train of thought, but he's too lost in the haze of your warmth and wetness to think about anything else.

He needs to feel you. He needs to fuck you.

He barely even realizes he's already slipped inside you as if he's been there all along, stroking your walls with the rough tips of his middle and ring fingers and honing in on that hidden, spongy spot with such precision, you'd think he'd done it a million times before. Thick, cording veins strain against his forearms as he tenses with the effort of keeping his thrusts long and purposeful, and he watches, captivated, as your cunt sucks him in greedily and fruitlessly tries to hold him inside you.

Tight—fuck. You're so tight. He's bucking into his unoccupied hand, jerking himself off over his boxers, and he doesn't remember when he started, but he can't stop. It feels too good...you feel too good, and the steady, simultaneous rhythm he sets for both of you isn't nearly enough.

Faster. Harder. Still so goddamn tight. He'll never be able to stretch you out enough to take him, and he's starting to worry he'll cum before he even gets the chance to try. His cock throbs violently against his palm, and he bites back a groan at the vision beneath him. Christ, how did you get here?

You can't possibly be real. Your thighs are quaking on either side of his waist and your pussy clenches dangerously hard around his scissoring fingers. There's a thin sheen of sweat matting the wispy hairs around your temples and pooling everywhere your body connects with the mattress, your searingly hot skin an addictive, sticky trap he willingly and faithfully succumbed to.

And those sounds.

You need his cock. Fucking hell, you need it. Greedy, patient, needy fucking woman. He can hear it in your soft pants and hitched breaths. You're quiet and subtle in your pleasure, so unlike any other woman he's ever been with, but when you whimper—fuck. Fuck.

He's going to give it to you. Right now, after taking the time to map and explore and discover, he's going to use his newfound knowledge to hollow you out, then fill you up until you're overflowing with him.

He slows to a stop and pulls his glistening fingers from your cunt, and there's that faint, perfect sound again. A stuttered, broken whimper that lilts with each knuckle that catches on your entrance. He sucks his ring finger into his mouth and adds your taste to his list of all-time favorites, right alongside your Barq's root beer-flavored lip gloss.

Then, he offers you his middle finger, and he swears he can feel your lips sealing tightly around his cock as you wrap them around it. You work your mouth up and down, bobbing your head eagerly like he's about to blow his load down your throat, and—

He's going to fucking cum.

With his finger still nestled between your lips, he wrenches his boxers down his thighs and lines himself up with your entrance, ignoring how close he's suddenly teetering on the edge. His balls are already taut between his legs and it worsens as he inches in his aching, neglected tip.

"S'time, beautiful," he grits out, still tender in his touch as he splays his hand across your waist to stroke your heated skin. "You ready for me?"

You nod quickly, humming your affirmation around him, and he gives you another shallow inch. He was right. No amount of preparation was going to ease the stretch. You're gripping him so hard, it almost hurts, and the thought of how tight you'll be when you cum—he feels delirious with it.

Yes. Yes. Squeeze him. Let him feel you wringing him fucking dry. Let him pump you so full of his release, you'll be dripping him for days, an intimate, lingering reminder of this night. You have no fucking idea how long he's been waiting for this, for you. He doesn't even know your name, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all that matters is this.

This deep-seated, unspoken connection. It's been a long time. And, right now, his time is up.

He slides home in one long, deep thrust, the tip of his cock tenderly nudging your cervix, and your body struggles to accept him. He lights up every nerve ending like a live wire, drags against every sensitive pressure point in perfect succession, and your walls begin to mold around him as if they recognize the sensation. Like your body's remembering him.

Sharp nails dig into his side and drag from his shoulder down to his ass, urging him closer. You're trembling beneath him, your breasts thrumming with sharp, rapid breaths akin to a hummingbird as he fucks you further up the bed, one slow thrust at a time. You're fluttering around him, a delicate spasm and, then, an indicative clench, and it forces a sob from his chest that he barely recognizes.

That's it, beautiful. It's right there. C’mon, give it to me.

He doesn't speak it aloud. He hasn't coaxed or rushed you with his words this entire night and he's not about to start now. He knows, for some inexplicable reason, that he doesn't have to.

But you do. It's barely a whisper—a single, hushed syllable that trembles and passes your lips like a plea. A prayer only he can answer.

"Joel."

Christ. He knows you.

Christ, he's cumming.

His vision whites out, and he's only vaguely aware of his tightening grip on your hips and the long, drawn-out groan that tapers into something devastatingly familiar. Your name.

Now, it's his turn to pray. He repeats it like a mantra, breathing it into your lungs as his lips crash onto yours. It's almost as if he's afraid he'll forget it again if he stops, but your body's response quickly convinces him otherwise.

You bear down on him harder, driven closer and closer to your peak each time he calls out to you, for you. You're molten hot around him, searing each letter into his skin with every pulsing clench of your cunt, and he does the same, thick spurts coating your walls.

He can't help himself. He stays deep—he knows he shouldn't, knows how dangerous the consequences could be, but he needs to—and your ankles digging painfully into his back to hold him in place wordlessly tell him you need it, too.

So good, you're so good. You're perfect. You're his. You're—

Gushing, squeezing, finally moaning for him. You’re cumming.

With it, your orgasm brings every memory of you flooding back at once. Late summer afternoons spent in bed while Sarah visited her grandma. Champagne-flavored kisses on New Year's Eve, soundtracked by Dick Clark and cheers from the crowd in Times Square filtering through the plasma TV in his living room.

He loved you. He loved this. He should've known the moment he kissed you, the moment he saw you, but he's been surviving for so long. He can't remember the last time he lived.

Your limbs surround him, pulling his entire weight down to rest on top of you, and you continue to swivel your hips into his pelvis, riding out your high as his name falls breathily from your lips. He works you through it, frantically blinking away the sudden blur that engulfs his vision so he doesn't miss out on another moment with you. Not ever again.

He's...he's crying. He didn't even know he was capable of that anymore. Sensitivity starts to set in, in more ways than one, but he doesn't want to leave the heat of your embrace. He thinks he might break at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and seeping into the undeserving fabric of his co-opted sheets, far away from where it belongs.

But, then, your lips meet his tanned, weathered cheek—a stark contrast to the young man he was when he was yours—and you kiss away his tears. He feels more fragile than he has in decades, and that's surprisingly okay. Because you're here to protect him, now.

Trailing from the apple of his cheek to his lips, up to the years of tension creasing his forehead, back down to kiss him tenderly, you establish a comforting repetition. He chases you every time you part, but, after a while, he's struck with a realization. What you've been trying to convey with your actions all night.

You always return to him. So, maybe this was just a matter of time. A slow smile spreads across that beautiful face he hadn't allowed himself to think about since the outbreak, and you huff out an affectionate laugh, your fingertips curiously running across his back and tracing raised lines and jagged shapes you've never felt before.

"Hi, Joel," you murmur fondly, still close enough for the tacky remains of your gloss to catch his bottom lip, and his tongue darts out to taste you.

It's real—it's too vivid not to be real. His eyes dart between yours, and he can still see everything your future together was supposed to hold. He still sees forever.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and disuse, and something unidentifiable that sounds a lot like hope.

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Not since you.

thanks for reading!

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[verstappen-cult]

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, LESTAPPEN.

PAIRING. max verstappen x female reader x charles leclerc.

SUMMARY — It's the day after the race in Las Vegas and Max and Charles wake up with a huge headache, two rings in their fingers and no idea of what happened the night before.

GWEN'S MESSAGE. this was requested by @piastrification! i'm so sorry it took me so long, but i had so much fun writing it! and i hope you like it. as always comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Max wakes up with an awful headache and very thirsty. He tries to adjust his vision to the sunlight but every time he tries to open his eyes, there’s a shooting pain in his temple. 

He groans, rolling around in bed. Next to him is Charles still sleeping on his belly, messy hair and something like confetti around him. 

Max can’t remember anything from last night. Well, he remembers going out with Charles, Lando, Daniel and Pierre and then a lot of shots and dancing and people shouting their names and then… nothing. 

“Fuck this.” He whispers and gets out of bed very slowly, feeling dizzy. 

He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and have a big glass of water before he passes out from dehydration. 

Max is filling a second glass when he sees it; a silver ring around his left ring finger. 

He does not wear rings. 

“Max?” Charles calls his name and Max walks back into the room with his heart hammering in his ears. 

“Did you give me this ring last night?” He asks even before Charles has time to properly wake up. 

“Uh?” The Monégasque says, sitting on the bed and looking confused at the hand Max has up in the air, showing him the piece of jewelry. “No?” Charles rubs his face with his left hand but stops halfway when he feels something on his ring finger. “What the fuck?” 

There is a silver ring, just like the one Max has, on his finger.

And that is not one of his rings because this has three little diamonds encrusted in it. 

“Max,” Charles breathes, a shiver running down his spine as he looks at his boyfriend. “What happened last night?

They look at each other with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through their heads. 

“I remember leaving the club with the boys and then everything goes black.” Charles gets out of bed to look for his phone because there must be something in there, but all he finds are five missed calls from Pierre and a lot, a lot, of messages from you on the group chat. 

“What’s wrong?” Max asks as he walks away to fill a glass of water for Charles. 

“Y/N is here,” He answers, showing him the phone and thanking him for the water with a kiss on the cheek. “She’s downstairs waiting for us with Lando.”

Max groans, falling back onto the bed. 

“I feel like we did something really stupid last night.”

“Shut up, we didn’t do anything.” Charles busies himself with looking for clothes in his suitcase, so he doesn’t have to think about last night. 

They should forget about last night. Last night didn’t happen. 

By the time they made it to the lobby, Max and Charles had agreed that they needed to talk to Lando before talking to you about the shit show that was last night. 

They may not know exactly what happened, but by the matching rings they know it’s nothing good.

However, they forget about it when they see you standing next to Lando wearing the most beautiful floral dress and your perfect smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Max says, taking off his sunglasses for a second to give you a peck on the lips. Then, he’s putting them back on. 

“How’s the hangover?” You tease them, feeling Charles' body tensing next to you. And you really want to laugh because you know exactly what happened thanks to Lando and a very detailed story. “What did you do last night?”

“Nothing,” Charles is quick to answer, looking at Lando and silently begging him to do something. But Lando just laughs. “Lando, can we talk for a second?”

“What do you need to talk to him about?” 

“Oh, just about something Dani asked us to do before he left last night.” Max lies and if it weren’t because you’re in a good mood and know why they are lying, you would feel angry. 

“Oh, but Dani’s right there.” You point behind his backs and they immediately turn around to find the Australian man talking on the phone. When he sees them, a big smile spreads over his face, giving thumbs up before going back to his conversation. 

“Now, why are you lying to me?” You bite your lip, trying to keep up with the show. “Did you do something I should know about?”

And then, they say at the same time:

“I swear we didn’t do anything, we went to sleep early!”

“We don’t remember what we did last night, okay?!”

Lando bursts out laughing, even bending down as he tries to breathe properly, which draws the attention of a few people around that slowly start to recognize them.

“Well, I guess I’m not needed here since you keep lying to my face.” You pretend to be hurt and it's not easy when all you want to do is laugh in their faces.

Max and Charles start talking over each other, trying to make you understand what is actually happening. 

“And then we woke up this morning with these!” Charles takes Max hand in his, showing their rings. “I swear to god we don’t know what happened.”

“We were so drunk.” Max looks at his feet, feeling embarrassed. He never drinks that much, but apparently last night was a special occasion. 

“Oh, but I know.”

They look at you, expectantly, surprised, confused, a mix of emotions on their faces. 

You take out your phone, looking for something before turning the device around so they are able to see the screen. 

“You got married.”

There on the screen is a picture of Max and Charles with an Elvis impersonator between them, holding his left hands up in the air showing their rings while Charles is holding up his phone with a picture of you, a drunken smile on both of their faces. 

You slide your finger to the left, and a video starts playing. 

You can hear Lando laughing while recording. “What are you doing?” He asks, walking closer to Charles who is looking down at the picture of you on his phone. 

“Baby, we got married!” He exclaims as Max wraps an arm around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “She doesn’t answer. Why isn’t she answering… Are you mad, baby?”

Dani appears on the video, laughing his ass off as he takes the phone away. 

“You’re not on facetime, you idiot. It's a picture.” Pierre says from somewhere next to Lando, probably.

“Say hi to Y/N!” 

“Hi baby!” Charles really likes to call you baby when he’s drunk. 

“We got married!” Max says a little too loud, but doesn’t care and kisses Charles cheek. “Look, we have your ring right here.” He shows a silver ring similar to the one they have, the difference is that the diamond in the middle is slightly bigger. “Congratulations!”

The video ends with all of them laughing. 

There’s a minute of silence before Charles speaks. 

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“What!?” Max looks mortified. 

“Well, everyone knows that weddings in Las Vegas aren’t actually weddings.” Everyone looks at him at a loss of words, but he just keeps going. “We aren’t actually married.”

“Charles,” Lando laughs a little more. He’s definitely having the time of his life. “weddings in Vegas are very real. You are married.”

“No we’re not!” 

Max sighs, placing a hand on his boyfriend — husband’s shoulder. “Charlie, we are.” 

Charles gaps, immediately looking at you. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t know!” 

You can’t help it anymore, so you laugh. 

“Oh my god, you should see your faces!”

Max and Charles look at each other, and then at you. They don’t have a clue about what is happening anymore. Not since last night. 

“You’re not… mad?” 

“Well,” You wipe the tears from your eyes, shoving your phone back in your purse. “I was at first, now i just find it hilarious.” 

“I’m so sorry, schat.” Max runs his hand through his hair, looking sheepishly at you with a pout on his pretty lips. 

“It is your fault!” Charles says out of nowhere, pointing a finger in Lando’s face. “Why didn’t you stop us?”

Lando raises his hands in surrender. “I tried!” 

“You should’ve tried harder!”

“Max promised to let me win if I let you get married!” 

“Max!” Charles says, offended. 

“I won’t do that.”

You shake your head, patting Max’s cheek lightly, condescendingly. “You will if you want me to forgive you.”

[sluttywoozi]

Babydoll | csc x f!chubby!reader

Seungcheol takes you lingerie shopping, forgetting that he'll love every single thing just because it's on you.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~5.0k | Pairing: csc x f!chubby!reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: lingerie fetish (mainly when it’s on you), semipublic sex, petnames, rich!cheol, sugar daddy vibes but they’re in love, cheol knows his lingerie, possessive cheol, praise, descriptions of reader’s body, thigh riding, biting, mirror sex, piv sex, creampie, panty stuffing

Reader Notes: chubby, shy but not insecure, has breasts and a vagina

“Right here, baby,” Seungcheol nods his head to the right, opening the door to the boutique and waiting for you to walk in ahead of him, ignoring the cursive ‘closed’ sign hanging on the inside. 

The interior is modern, understated, with mannequins of different sizes modeling various pieces of lingerie, a few sticking out to Seungcheol as immediate try-ons. The director appears from a door near the back, smiling kindly when she takes notice of you and Seungcheol and gracefully making her way to the front of the store. 

“Mr. Choi, I hope everything is to your liking. Please feel free to give me a call if you require assistance with anything,” she says, nodding and smiling at both him and you before slipping out of the front door. 

Seungcheol follows after a beat, turning the lock and drawing the curtains hung on both sides of the gallery window. 

“Cheol, what’s going on?” You ask him, standing where he left you, now cloaked in soft ambient lighting. 

“We, my love, are going lingerie shopping,” he grins suggestively, returning to your side and taking your hand in both of his. “I know you get shy, so I made some arrangements. Nobody else will be coming in, not while we’re here.” 

You seem stunned for a moment, but this isn’t the first time Seungcheol has emptied a building for you and it won’t be the last, so eventually, you just smile back and draw him in by the lapel for a kiss. 

He presses his lips to yours, releasing your hand so he can grip your fleshy hips and pull you in closer. He loves how you feel in his grasp, loves the thickness of you, the sturdiness, though no matter how sturdy you may be, he still touches you with nothing but the most tender of hands. He feels lucky, blessed, to get to know you in this way, and treating you like the ethereal being you are is all he wants to do. 

Well, that and clothe you in fabrics that are just as soft as you. 

Silk, lace, chiffon, he wants to see you in them all, and as he pulls away, he lets his eyes traverse the boutique, imagining you in every single piece. 

“Let’s start with this one,” he murmurs, reaching out to rub the cream satin on the mannequin between his fingers, already imagining the warmth of your body under it. 

Together, you make your way around the store, Seungcheol holding every negligee and babydoll and romper you pick together over his arm. It feels like he’s got most of the inventory by the time you decide to try things on, and he can only follow when you lead him to the changing rooms. 

He chose this boutique for a very specific reason - the pedestal and floor-to-ceiling trifold mirror that occupy each dressing room. There’s an armchair and a dressing screen placed in the largest, per his request, and after hanging up every piece in the corner where you can reach them, he takes his seat. 

The screen is translucent, with gold floral piping and shiny gossamer fabric stretched over each panel, your body just barely visible behind it as you get undressed. His heart skips a beat when you carefully drape your clothes over the top of the screen, and it starts to race as you change into your first set. 

Seungcheol fucking loves you in lingerie. He loves the way it outlines his favorite parts of you, the way it lovingly caresses your body just like his hands do, the way you automatically feel sexy and a little playful in it. You in lingerie is the most beautiful form of torment for him, and it’s a torment he’ll be lucky to endure for the rest of his life. 

“Ready?” You call out from behind the screen, and he clears his throat before responding, “‘m always ready for you, baby.”

Then you appear from behind the screen and step up onto the pedestal, and instantly, he knows he was lying. 

You’ve chosen a lilac romper first, with unlined lace on the top that clings to your luscious breasts and waist and tiny shorts on the bottom that graze the tops of your thick thighs. You smooth your hands along your body, lifting the hem of the shorts and letting them flutter down, your lips quirking in a small smile. 

It’s adorable that your first instinct was to show him rather than look in the mirror, but he wants to see the back as much as he wants you to see the front.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he instructs gently, leaning back in the chair and letting his legs spread. 

You carefully rotate on the pedestal, and Seungcheol wishes he could see your face as you take in your own beauty but he’s just as happy to let his eyes rove over your body from this new angle. 

The delicate lace dips with the rolls on your back and follows the gentle curve of your spine, and the chiffon of the shorts isn’t long enough to cover all of you, the crease where your ass meets your thighs visible just below the hem. He wants to bite you there, wants to leave imprints of himself all over you, wants to sink his teeth into your precious flesh and never let go. 

He'll be content with the diamond ring he put on your finger six months ago instead.

“Do you like it?” You ask softly, still facing away from him with a slight undercurrent of nervousness in your voice. 

He furrows his brows, wondering how you could still be nervous after three years of him looking at you like you’re an angel. But he’ll never not reassure you, so all he says is, “I love it, baby, you look fucking gorgeous.”

You spin and hop down from the pedestal, taking a few steps toward him and bracing yourself on his knees before leaning down for a kiss. He grins fondly and pouts for you, fighting to keep his hands to himself as the position pushes your perfect tits together. If he breaks now, there’s no way you’ll get through the rest of the lingerie, and he wants to make sure everything fits you perfectly before he calls the director back to package them all up. 

“Next,” you whisper into his mouth before pulling away and darting behind the dressing screen. 

He takes in a deep breath and rubs his hands up and down his thighs, trying to dispel the urge to follow you and take more than a peek. Maybe he was a bit overconfident in thinking he’d make it through all of the lingerie… 

A few different pieces should be enough for you to know your size, right?

Right, he nods to himself, barely sure that he can withstand this self-inflicted siege for two more outfits. 

He becomes even less sure when he hears you huffing and puffing behind the screen, presumably wriggling into something tight and form-fitting and fuck, does he love your form, especially when it’s outlined by mesh and lace and-

“Cheollie, can you help me with this one?” 

His eyes squeeze closed, just for a few seconds, before he gathers all of his remaining strength, stands, and ambles over to the corner. He does his best not to look at your body as he steps around the screen, knowing that if he sees you in an undone state, it’ll be enough to undo him. 

“I just can’t get the middle,” you turn your head slightly to speak to him, and he thumbs your cheek with an understanding noise, unable to manage words when he finally sees what you’ve got partially on. 

He can’t see the front, but because of the clasps, he can tell it’s a bustier. The white mesh molds to every curve and the blue piping highlights your waist and hips, drawing his eye toward the matching underwear, which, truly, are little more than ribbons joined together in a T-shape. 

He doesn’t let his gaze linger on the plump curve of your ass, brings it back up to the task at hand and manages to fasten the middle hook-and-eye closures even with his fingers trembling in desire and restraint. 

Usually when he’s finished doing something up for you, whether it’s the clasp of a necklace or the zipper of a dress, he squeezes your waist to let you know. Now, that’s not a smart move because once he starts touching you, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop. 

So he murmurs a low, “Done, baby,” and returns to his seat. You don’t come out immediately and he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t mind having this extra time to collect himself. 

Then you prance out in fucking thigh high stockings snapped into the garters attached to the bustier and he feels his mind go entirely blank. There’s no inner monologue, no loud swearing, no gushing compliments, just the image of you in a blue floral embroidered set with matching hosiery and the most minuscule panties he’s ever fucking seen. 

Your skin shines against the colors of the lingerie and the shape of the set embraces every hill and valley of your body, the dip of your waist and the beloved pudge of your belly and the fullness of your thighs and your breasts…

Your breasts in the balconette style bra have him salivating, have him aching to bury his head in the softness and just breathe you in, feel you pressed up against his cheeks, keeping him warm, keeping him safe. 

“Speechless?” You tease lightly, spinning on the stockinged pads of your feet to face the mirror. 

He can’t even respond to your little gibe, his thoughts riotous, wild with need. Your lush ass is all but bare, your flesh pushing against the tautness of the garters, his fingers itching to pull them just to watch the fat of your ass and thighs ripple as they snap back onto your skin. He feels like he could vibrate out of this chair, his self-control wavering in the wake of your divinity. 

He watches your smile slowly fade in the mirror, the heat in his blood spreading into yours, making you squirm on the pedestal until he gathers enough of his brain cells to say, “C’mere, darling.”

It’s not smart, making you come closer, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out any more than he can stop his hands from rising to grip your hips as soon as you get to him. You’re warm between his palms, cushy even with the mesh containing you, and it’s almost like he operates on autopilot as he drags the sides of your panties out from under the bustier and hikes them up. 

He pulls until you gasp, and he wants to look at your face but he can’t take his eyes off of the way your plush pussy is parted by the scrap of lacy fabric, the lips of your cunt popping out of the sides just like he wanted. Now, all the pressure is on your clit, and it’s easy to set his hands on your hips and pull you down, down, down until you sit on one of his thighs. 

Finally, he looks at you, his gaze lovingly traveling up your body, lingering on the swift rise and fall of your tits before at long last reaching your face. Your lips are parted, still shiny with your favorite gloss, and your brows are furrowed over hazy eyes, your lashes fluttering when he drags you forward and pushes you back. 

“Want you to cum like this,” he mutters, knowing you’re close enough to hear him and waiting for the protest he’s sure will follow. 

“Seungcheol! This is- we can’t- not here!” You sputter, pressing your hands to his chest as if you could hold him at bay. 

“And why is that?” He asks gently, grinding you back and forth again, watching as you start to lose your resolve. 

“Because this is someone’s store, it’s not… it’s not right,” your voice is breathy, quiet, your objection feeble. 

“You’re not wrong, honey, this is someone’s store. It’s our store, I bought it last week,” he says in between kisses to the tops of your breasts, smiling when he feels your chest heat up under his mouth. 

“You- you…” 

“Yeah, baby, I knew I’d want to fuck you here, and I knew you wouldn’t let me if it belonged to someone else, so I bought it and put your name on the lease.” 

You’re silent for a few ticks, and then he feels you grind into his thigh of your own volition. 

“Carry on,” you sigh, draping your arms around his neck in obvious assent. 

He grins and leans back, sliding further down in the chair so you have more room to move and gripping your hips tighter to guide you into going just a bit quicker. He flexes the muscle of his thigh, smirking when you tilt your head back and let out a tiny whimper. His smirk falls when you brace one hand at the top of his leg, dangerously close to his thickening cock, and lean forward into your thrusts to put more pressure on your clit. 

He loves to watch you take your pleasure like this, loves to feel your arousal dampen the material of his dress pants, loves to hear your little sounds as they escape your parted lips. He loves you, more than he ever thought possible, and he loves to make you cum almost as much. 

That’s why he shifts his grip to your ass, digs his fingers in deep, and pulls at your flesh to move you harder, faster against his leg. He knows time is passing but it doesn’t feel like it when he has you on top of him like this, all of his focus on you and the way you look and sound and feel. 

He can tell you’re getting close when your eyelids fall shut and your noises start to blend together, so he does what he knows will help send you over the edge - he talks to you. 

“My baby is so fucking pretty, huh? All dressed up just for me, just for your fiance. I can’t wait to marry you, make you my pretty fuckin’ wife. You’re already mine, I know that, but I want everyone else to know it too, know that I’m the only one who gets to touch you, love you, make you cum. And you are gonna cum for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

“Y-yeah, Cheollie, ‘m gonna cum for you,” you breathe out, your thighs clenching around his as you start to bounce. He helps lift you so you don’t strain your knees too much, loving the weight of you in his hands, in his lap. 

“And then you’re gonna put on one last thing, that pink babydoll dress, and I’m gonna fuck you in it, so don’t bother with the panties,” he says roughly, his voice low and greedy. 

You can only whine in response, your hips stuttering and your body tensing as you tumble over the edge. He doesn’t know where to look, his eyes darting between your juddering thighs and your heaving breasts and your sweet, sweet face, every perfect part of you reflecting the pleasure rushing through your system. 

When your orgasm has run its course, you wilt into him, dropping forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. He gives your ass one last loving squeeze before his hands migrate up to your back, rubbing soft circles and luxuriating in the feeling of your mesh encased curves. 

“You’re gonna have to help me peel all this off,” you mumble into his suit jacket, making him chuckle and bring one hand up to pet your hair. “With pleasure, honey.” 

You sit up after a few more minutes of snuggling, a grimace overtaking your face when you look down and see the wet patch you left on his thigh. These pants are dry-clean only but he doesn’t give a fuck, will proudly hand them over knowing that the stain is from you, his beautiful, responsive fiancee. 

“Got one more in you?” He asks gently, cupping your cheek and drawing you into a kiss before you have a chance to answer, hoping that he can sway you toward a yes. Humming, you drag your nails through the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver before you pull away to giggle lethargically and clarify, “Orgasms or wardrobe changes?” 

“Both,” he laughs easily. “Orgasms, if I can only pick one.” 

“I think I can muster enough energy for both in this instance,” you offer pragmatically, standing on shaky legs and shuffling off his thigh. 

He misses the warmth and weight of you immediately, but knows you getting up is a requirement if he wants to make good on his earlier promise. You turn and he unlatches the clasps along your spine, dragging his hands down your body and unsnapping the backs of your garters so you don’t have to twist around to reach them. He steals one more indulgent squeeze of your hips before rotating you back to face him and taking care of the front garters too. 

His fingers hook in the sides of your ruined panties and start to pull them down, his knuckles dragging along your soft skin until they fall on their own. Used to this by now, you step out of the panties and watch as he picks them up, carefully folds them, and places them in his breast pocket, leaving the fabric peeking out as if they’re a pocket square. 

With a kiss to his cheek, you disappear behind the screen again. He takes the opportunity to undo his pants and pull them down just far enough to release his cock, sighing at the relief of being unconstrained. He can hear you rifling through hangers to find the outfit he requested, and has to press a palm to his throbbing dick as he imagines you in it. 

Still, he’s unprepared for the impact you have on him when you shyly step out and up onto the pedestal clothed in pink lace so delicate and sheer, he can see every part of you. Your heavy breasts fill the soft, unlined cups, your nipples taut and peaked beneath the lace, making his fingers tingle with the desire to pinch, twist, pull. 

He forces his eyes to keep moving, to take in the rest of you. His gaze latches onto your stomach next, the way the dress grazes over the robust curve of it enough to make him wish his hands could do the same. 

He wants to leave your pussy for last but finds his gaze drawn between your legs, to the cushion of your pubic mound and the creases where it meets your thighs, those creases being some of his absolute favorite places to kiss. You’re just always so warm, and you smell so good, and feel even better. 

He’s cum there before, watched it pool and drip down the inside of your thigh, gathered it up with his fingers and fed it to you with rapturous eyes, and fuck if he doesn’t want to do it again. 

But he thinks he wants to cum inside you more, wants to fill you up and know you’ve got part of him within you, even if it’s only until he gets you home and into the bath. And then perhaps into more lingerie. 

First, he gets to fuck you, and he’s already got his plan for that in mind. 

“Come sit, honey,” Seungcheol pats his thighs in invitation, his eyes locked on the way your thighs rub together when you step down and walk to him. You take hold of his shoulders, lifting a leg to climb on top of him, and he stops you with his hands on your hips, his fingers clenching enough to ruffle the lace. 

“Not like that. Turn around, I want you to see,” he murmurs, waiting for you to rotate between his palms to pull you closer, your hands bracing on the armrests of the chair for balance as you start to bend. “Need me to stretch you out first, sweetheart?” 

“No,” you gasp out and shake your head, continuing, “I’m wet enough, I just wanna feel you.” 

So he grasps the base of his cock, holds it up for you, and starts tugging you down with the hand still on your hip, watching as your pussy slowly envelopes the head. His eyelids start to droop at the perfect pressure of you but he fights to keep them open, even as your walls cling to the thickness of him. He can feel you consciously relaxing your muscles, opening yourself up to accept him, and he thanks you with a kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze on the hip. 

Once he’s halfway inside, you take in a deep breath and sink the rest of the way down, until his pelvis is flush to your ass and he’s fully seated inside of you. Your pussy flutters around him, still trying to adjust to the width of his cock, every ripple of your muscles around him stealing just a bit more of his self-control. 

He knows you’re ready when you wriggle a bit in his lap to get more comfortable, and that’s when he grips your thigh and pulls it to rest on the other side of his knee, doing the same with your other leg until you’re spread out for him. He looks over your shoulder into the mirror, his eyes traveling along your tits, your stomach, your thighs, before landing on your pussy. The lacy pink fabric of your dress covers you but he can just barely see your cunt peeking through, and he murmurs, mainly to himself, “Nothing better than my baby in a babydoll.” 

Then he wraps his arms around you, one hand clutching your breast and the other bunching up the dress so he can see you clearly, and holds you in place as he draws his hips back as much as he can and fucks up into you. He doesn’t have a lot of room to really thrust but you like it deep and dirty, like when he grinds into you and makes you feel it, and more than that, you like being on display for him as he does it. 

You definitely are now, like this, with your legs held apart by his and his hand holding your lingerie up so you can both see the strain of your entrance around his thick cock, a sheen gathering on his balls when he pushes your wetness out with a deep grind of his hips. He’s obsessed with the picture you make, like something out of an obscene Renaissance painting, one he’d pay millions for if it meant you could see yourself through his eyes.

You’re his own personal Venus, a goddess of the highest order, and he’ll worship you in this life, the next, and in any that follow. 

His brand of worshiping just happens to include dressing you up like a doll and fucking you like you’re his only vice, which isn’t far from the truth. Seungcheol has everything a man could wish for - money, property, respect, authority - and he’d give it all up if he was forced to choose between maintaining that lifestyle and keeping you. 

Because what’s the point of any of it if he doesn’t have love? Someone with whom to share the wealth? He’s played the lonely millionaire before and that’s not a role he wants to reprise, not when he knows the incandescent happiness of coming home to you. 

And of cumming inside of you, that avaricious voice in his head whispers, chasing away his sentimental thoughts and replacing them with raw desire. Every nerve ending feels like a live wire, amplifying the impossible bliss of your wet pussy around his cock and your flawless body in his arms. 

He’s still grinding into you but he can tell you need more, so he hikes you up higher against his chest and plants his feet, giving him enough room to start pounding into you. He’s lost his view but that just lets him cut to the feeling, focus on your sounds and scent and searing hot cunt. He sucks open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your shoulder, digging his teeth into the nape of your neck, unable to stifle the urge to consume you, to devour you whole.  

You raise your hand and reach behind you, sinking your fingers into his hair to pull him closer, your nails scratching along his scalp and sending zips of electric pleasure down his spine. With every thrust, he can feel that knot starting to tie itself, feel it cinching tighter and tighter as your walls ripple around him, but he’ll be damned if he lets himself cum before you. 

“Baby, hold this up for me,” he says roughly into your back, waiting for your free hand to grip the dress and take over so he can shift his fingers down between your legs. “Keep watching.”

You cry out as soon as his fingertips graze your clit, your pussy swallowing around him, drawing him in even deeper when he starts to swirl circles around the bundle of nerves. You’re slick and swollen beneath his fingers, and if he wasn’t so desperate to feel you cum on his cock, he’d make you cum on his tongue instead. 

He can save that for after the bath, he tells himself, devoting all of his attention to working you up to that edge and pushing you over. It won’t be long now, not with the way you’re squirming in his hold, your legs twitching on either side of his and your pussy leaking enough that he can feel your arousal dripping down his balls. 

He’ll never get enough of the way you respond to him, of how sensitive you are to his every move, of how you cradle him with both your body and your heart, and he’ll definitely never get enough of how it feels to have you break around him. 

He can feel it happening now, sense the wave as it overtakes you, pulling you under and spinning you out as he bullies his way through your trembling walls to fuck you through it, to elongate your euphoria as much as he can. When you melt against his chest, he knows it’s over, and that’s when he finally gives himself permission to lower you fully onto his cock, root deep inside of you, and let it all go. 

He can’t hold in the grunts and groans of pleasure, your name scattered through swears as he falls to pieces, his only anchor to this earth being your luxurious weight in his lap. His cum flows out in bursts, filling you to the brim, and he forces his eyes open just in time to watch in the mirror as a ring of white forms where he’s plugging you up. 

His cock starts to soften as he catches his breath and untenses his muscles, loosening his hold on you and petting at your flesh where he may have been gripping too tight. You sigh contentedly as he hugs you to him and murmurs, “So fuckin’ perfect, baby. Love you so goddamn much.” 

“Love you too, Cheollie. I’m glad you bought this place, the walk of shame would be beyond embarrassing if it wasn’t ours,” you mumble, exhaustion clear in your voice. 

He chuckles into your neck, presses a kiss to the curve where it meets your shoulder, and asks, “Ready for me to pull out?” 

You nod and he matches your pout in the mirror as he lifts your legs one at a time to rest in between his, massaging your inner thighs and hoping you won’t be too sore from having them spread so far apart for so long. You stand and bend on shaky knees so he can withdraw from you, and he’s quick to pull the panties from his breast pocket and start to push them inside, blocking his cum from flowing out. 

You’re used to this too so you just hum and arch your back, waiting patiently as he works the fabric in and takes a few seconds to indulge in the living art that is your plump pussy stuffed with panties. He pulls out a handkerchief from one of the pockets lining the inside of his suit and cleans you up gently, giving you a loving tap on the ass when he’s finished. 

You let him choose what you’ll wear out of the store, his eyes naturally gravitating to a white lace set that makes him think of your upcoming wedding. You can do it yourself but he latches the hook and eye closures on the bra for you anyway, kneeling in front of you to pull up the panties and leaning forward to bite the side and snap it back against your skin, just because he can. 

You giggle and pet his head in response, and he can’t help but look up at you with constellations in his eyes, his gaze full of stars that spell out his adoration for you, his devotion. 

He lets you finish getting dressed as he bags up some of the pieces, leaving the rest at the counter to be delivered to the house and waiting at the door for you. When you appear, you look perfectly put together, almost like he didn’t have his way with you at all. 

Then he grasps the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss and feels the indentations of his teeth, and nothing could stop the satisfied smile from stretching his lips. 

Seungcheol loves lingerie shopping with you. 

AN: inspired by this ask and @bbychocolat immediately saying lingerie shopping when i said i was going to write chubby!reader x cheol

Outfit 1 | Outfit 2 | Outfit 3

thank you for reading! pls reblog and lmk your thoughts 💖

My Masterlist

[tojisprettywife]

{note: been feeling :/ . craving a hug from toji, yk the drill as usual. not proof read, written on a whim. closest piece to my heart, i’d say. been thinking of this for a long time, had to pen it down. in this house, we talk abt soft toji only.}

warnings: ??!? none. husband! toji x wife! reader, mentions of megumi as reader!’s biological baby. suggestiveness? 0.01% (mention of lingerie) fluff? yeah fluff.

toji puts on a facade all the damn time. he tries to be standoffish, nonchalant, chill about you. can he? infront you and megumi he can. but when he’s alone? when he goes on missions? he does. inexplicably. he steals your floral panties and bra shoves them in his bag, when he leaves for missions. you keep wondering where does your lingerie keep disappearing once in a while, just to see that it’s inside his duffel bag when he comes home. late at nights, when he’s far away from you both, he finds himself on the roof top of tall buildings, watching the city line he sighs and takes his wallet out; when he flips it open, he sees the picture of you and megumi he always keeps. unbeknownst to him, he lit up a cigarette, takes a drag, slowly the gray smoke dissipates into the cold air. “ah, shit.” he mumbles to himself. “she’d make a fuss, if she gets to know” he whispers, looking at your picture on his wallet. “miss you, mama” he says barely above a whisper, rubbing his thumb over your face, his eyes softening. he puts out the cig, and sighs, looking over the skyline. there’s a small knot of anxiety in his stomach, if he does the job well, gets a huge sum of money and gets home otherwise… he shakes his head to get rid of such thoughts that cloud his mind. his calmness is one of the strong forts, yet this is shaken up a bit, now that he has you and megumi. he doesn’t mind that, bc he’s no longer alone, no longer returns to a cold empty apartment. he returns to a home filled with warmth, with soft laughter, he returns home to love, to you. for him safest place on earth would be your arms. he longs to go home, he longs to nuzzle his face into your hair when he hugs you, he longs to hear your heartbeats lull him to sleep. he’s sucker for you, and just thinks it’s not visible to others, how can someone not notice that big beefy man, adores you with his whole heart. his eyes soften, the way he looks at you, tells more than enough and you know. he loves you, ardently.

[wintersera]

forever mine || alpha!karina x omega!reader

notes: AGAIN sorry for the delay anon but here’s the request!! fun fact i wrote this while listening to the super mario galaxy ost 😭

cw: OMEGAVERSE, alpha karina, omega reader (obvs), maybe rina is a little possessive, use of toys, biting, scratching, g!p rina, creampie, breeding kink

wc 2.2k

your alpha girlfriend was so sweet and caring, the best alpha you could ever wish for. unlike other alphas, she was never too aggressive with you, rather, she was too careful with you- biologically she should’ve been treating you like you were her toy for breeding, but i guess not. nonetheless she was still a great alpha girlfriend.

—

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK

first of september- the first ever day since you’ve forgotten to buy your heat suppressants since you started dating jimin. your stomach drops as your pheromones begin to waft around your workplace filled with pure blooded alphas.

shit shit shit i’m dead, oh i’m screwed what do i do? ohhh god what do i do?

it was sorta stupid. yeah- an undercover omega in a job filled to the brim with hardworking alphas. you were doing a great job of convincing everyone that you were just a simple beta. that’s how you landed your job in the first place, but now because of this one stupid mistake, you were bound to lose your job.

“guys…” head manager, a very big alpha man in your words, spoke up. his head tilting and nostrils flaring as he’s looking around the office, confusion on his sharp features “…are you smelling that?” with the attention drawn on your floral scent, you begin to panic as the other alphas begin sniffing around too.

ough,, how do you get outta this situation fast “i think i’ll head out early guys. whoever has their heat is driving me insane it might trigger my rut” how bad of a lie was that. it didn’t matter anyways, dashing out the room with your blazer and bag in, hand rummaging around your trouser pockets as soon as you make it out of the building.

“jesus christ jimin pick up please, please” walking, no- sprinting to the direction of your apartment. you knew your heat was gonna hit you badly. you’ve been taking suppressants for years so having a full blown pheromone disaster for the first time in years was going to be crazy. people were looking at you like you were crazy, but you’d rather have many people look at you weird than have your scent imprinted on the damn streets.

“what’s up?” thank the lord, she answered her phone just in time.

fumbling for your keys trying to shove it into the door lock, you sigh with a heavy breath “uh,, um jimin i’m going into heat- i already feel funny” unlocking the door, you fling yourself into the apartment, slamming the door shut with a loud bang.

“what do you mean going into heat? did you not,,, oh well shit okay give me a few minutes” hanging up the call.

not so much to your surprise, slick was coating your cunt like crazy. to the point where it started to go through your trousers and down your legs. the need you had for your girlfriend was so unbearable.

in a haze, you wobbled to your shared bedroom and grabbed one of her used shirts. her clothes smelt so good, the lingering scent dripping from her clothes was enough to make you keel over and plop onto the bed. you felt yourself getting slicker, your needy cunt needing your alpha to come over and fuck you silly was growing stronger each second she wasn’t in the room with you.

taking matters into your own hands because you couldn’t wait any longer, the feeling of your heat coiling in your stomach was too much. your brain was giving into your biological urges and you needed to get off now or you’d suffer. grabbing a pile of jimin's clothes and making somewhat of a nest on the bed, you surround yourself with the scent of freshly ground coffee. quickly taking off every single piece of clothing, getting right back up to open the box of toys you kept just in case a moment like this ever happened- searching for anything, any toy, that could satisfy you while you wait for your alpha.

whereas jimin on the other hand was worried sick. throughout your two year relationship with her she’d never seen you in a proper heat. like yeah, the heat suppressants and scent blockers helped quite a lot so you were never heavily affected by the symptoms. of course omegas would usually never get this horrible desire to mate this early into their heat, but unfortunately for you, you did have this raging urge to mate so early.

you weren’t so very conscious, you were starting to feel groggy, a feverish high temperature when you touch your head began to appear. this heat was kicking you in the ass and you couldn’t take it anymore- taking the vibrator in your hands and placing it on the highest setting, your hands make there way all the way down to your throbbing clit “a-ah, hnnng jimin come quick…”

so so desperate for her, you pick up your phone hoping that she would answer your calls “please- please pick up jimin”

“i’m almost home baby, do you need something or…”

“just hurry up i’m begging you to come home pleaseee” and who was she to deny your request. stepping on the gas faster knowing that her precious little omega was in need of her alphas presence. she could here your desperation deep within your voice.

“don’t worry i’m about to park soon, just wait for me okay” jimin, knowing how she acted during your very suppressed heats, believed that she could never submit to her instincts since she has never done so when it came to you. that quickly changed as she opened the door, the scent of roses attacking her as she stepped inside. it was a thick scent, it stuck to everywhere and it didn't help that you couldn’t open the windows in time, now your walls were coated in this thick floral scent.

it took jimin a lot of willpower not to give into her urges right there. she felt her rut kicking in and it made her growl in discomfort. never feeling this way in a while, because she took rut suppressants since the two of you started dating, she started growing hazy much like you did. she was a pure blooded alpha which didn’t help either, the intensity of your heat did rounds on her and she had strongest urge to mark you up.

you could hear her footsteps grow louder and louder, her low growls could be heard with the door still shut. quite impressive. she didn’t even say anything when entering, taking off her work clothes only leaving just her boxers on, the line of her hard cock showing through made you whimper out loud. your slick was practically drooling out from your pussy.

in her eyes you were nothing more than a snack to be devoured. her red eyes peered down at you like you were some sort of prey, and you must admit that pure blooded alpha jimin was really arousing to watch. pheromones in the room were strong as hell, your thick sweet floral scent mixing with jimin’s freshly scented coffee smell made a delicious combination. the scent alone driving you two mad.

she went to sit on the bed, still peering at you meek little body. with hunter like eyes she stared you down and licked her lips, “sit up omega” obeying your alpha like the good little omega you are, you sit up from the nest of clothes.

she could hear little puffs of air pour out of your lips, stifling a chuckle as she watches you struggle to sit up straight and look at her straight in the eye. hooking you up with ease, jimin had your body pressed up against hers, sliding one of her hands in between your thighs opening them up with a strong grip “you look so needy for me” a second goes by and she’s shoving you back into the pillow.

“fuck” jimin whispered “how do you smell so good” nuzzling into the crook of your neck, “you smell so tempting, fuck, i can’t-“ she gave your thighs a firm squeeze, exhaling shakily “you need to take me right now, i can’t take it anymore. i need to feel your tight cunt around my cock” her voice low and coarse. in a flash she slipped her cock into your dripping heat, mewls threatening to escape your mouth.

if you weren’t too dazed and horny you would’ve been saying how you’ve waited for this exact moment. jimin didn’t spend anytime fucking around with foreplay, she went straight into pounding your slicked up hole with no mercy. everything she did set your body ablaze, her hands were touching every single inch on your body and it felt so fucking good.

like a ravenous animal she attacked your neck, licking, marking, biting your throat all whilst groaning. her animalistic mind wanting to show that you’re her omega and nobody else’s and by that she had to litter you with marks of any kind, purposely rubbing her scent to mark you as her omega.

every thrust made your back arch slightly off the bed, hitting all the spots you never knew could feel good because of how nice she usually fucked you. you felt how fast and precise her movement was, and it was heavenly.

as your back arched closer to hers, she shifted even more closer to you, practically pinning you onto the bed by hooking both of your legs above her broad shoulders. hitting even deeper then she previously did before, you felt the tip of her cock graze your cervix “mmfh, fuck, fuck- my baby feels so fucking good” saying all that while she’s harshly sinking her teeth into your shoulders.

“s’too much,, ah- jimin, g-good” her urges began to flare up, the only thing on her mind was to mark you up for good. like she was oh so desperate to keep you as hers.

pulling her cock out, in between breaths she instructs you “turn around. y/n turn over for me.. need to- need to fill you up“ taking your legs of her shoulders and flipping you over with ease, again with her predatory gaze, she stares right at your exposed ass in which tempted her to completely destroy you until you can’t stand anymore, leaving you in a state of vulnerability so that she can take care of you.

her alpha instincts were indeed controlling her every movement, the loving and caring alpha you knew was gone. all was left was a dominating alpha who wanted to fuck you till you were filled up with her cum, even if that means you’ll bear her pups.

returning back into your needy cunt, she moans even louder, louder than you’d ever heard. “omega- omega fuck, i’ll mark you. you’re mine, mine only. mine,,, shit you’re mine forever” relentlessly pushing your head into the pillows, her thrusts became frantic and desperate- her movement erratic and messy, it made you love her even more. her alpha side was making you wetter and wetter, bedsheets were covered with your slick.

your moans were insanely unholy. you were screaming and clawing onto whatever you could grab hold onto. her dick growing larger than before and that's when the both of you knew that she was about to knot into you. grabbing her arm for moral support, you dig your nails harshly into them leaving a few minor scars.

right now you looked so fucked out. you were crying, drooling everywhere all while you were screaming out her name. jimin took her time to place a generous amount of bites and hickeys all over your back too. you know… for extra measures of course.

“aah fuck, pleasepleaseplease alpha cum- cum in me” you sobbed out.

“bout to- gonna,, augh fuck cumming” one final harsh thrust into your cunt and her knot swelled as she spilled every ounce of cum into your hole. your cunt clamping down on her as well, essentially locking the two of you. whilst she knotted into you, she swiftly leaned to the back of your neck and inserted her teeth. it hurt a lot, the feeling of her sharp canines sent your nerves on fire, but only a second later and it felt almost orgasmic.

finally she had marked you, but now you were stuck like this for a while. her knot being large enough to just be stuck in this position. both of you were lowkey back into consciousness, the alpha side of her dying down a little bit and the subby omega side of you dissipating.

after a couple of minutes of basking in your orgasm, her knot went down eventually. it was just enough so that you could move slightly which inevitably caused her semen to seep out of your cunt.

“aaah~ can’t… believe.. i… marked.. you..” catching her breath through each word she managed to muster up “that means you’re mine.. forever, right?”

aww big dom alpha jimin was gone, but your cute puppy of a girlfriend was back. you turn around with her cock still in you and see her smiling right at you, her big puppy eyes beaming with glee.

“yeah.. forever”

[shdysders]

insecurities

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: in which vada makes an offensive comment about your appearance, knowing you already hated it.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: serious topics, body image, body shaming comment, alcohol poisoning.

author’s note: remember that words don’t define you, you’re beautiful just the way you are and do not need to change yourself.

the ending on this one is rushed, i’m sorry about that. also sorry if you guys don’t like this idea, it was just smth that popped into my mind.

Shopping with Vada was absolutely pointless.

She would complain about everything and nothing. About her feet hurting, about how she didn't have enough money for new things, or how she found it completely unnecessary to buy clothes when she already had enough.

You had spent multiple times with Vada in countless malls, walking through different stores, listening to her complaining all the time, whining like a child and nag about it being boring.

This time you had suggested for Vada to bring Mia along, for company while you tried things on. You thought it would make things easier for you; not having to deal with your child like girlfriend.

However you were wrong.

You were at the local mall alongside Mia and Vada, shopping for dresses who would be appropriate for your birthday party. You were really excited; two people were there to help you pick.

Although they didn't help. They were too busy talking and gossiping about losers at school to even notice the dresses you were showing.

You could understand that this probably wasn't the most exciting thing to do, but you thought they would at least pay attention, considering Vada was your girlfriend, and Mia was one of your closest friends.

You had been gushing about this party for months, so you didn't understand why they were suddenly so uninterested.

"What about this one?" You spoke, trying to drown out their loud conversation with your own voice.

Vada didn't listen for one bit. She only turned her head when Mia did so, only because it ended their dialogue.

"That one's pretty." Mia said, adoring gaze scanning the dress.

The dress was black with floral design that covered the whole fabric. The fabric was lightweight and flowy. You felt pretty, it suited you very well.

"It's alright." Vada said not long after, her lips formed in a thin line, there was frustration in her voice, like she was mad at you for interrupting their talk.

This was the second dress you tried on and Vada was already bored and frustrated, you could tell. She wasn't exactly hiding it.

You decided it'd be for the better to just hurry up, even though that wasn't what you had planned. You didn't want to waste their time.

Nodding your head, taking their answers into consideration, before turning around to get into the next dress.

This one was your favorite.

Navy blue with an open back, glitter decorating the whole dress. It was tight, rather short as well, but you felt sophisticated in it. Pretty. Gorgeous in fact. Which was rare for you.

You smiled to yourself in the mirror, prepared for Vada and Mia to liking just as much as you.

However, when you pull the dressing room curtain to the side, they didn’t even bother to turn their heads to look at you. They were way too busy talking yet again.

They were laughing about something. And a strange feeling in you were saying that it was either about you or the dresses you were showing. 

You stood there dumbfounded for a minute, waiting for them to turn their attention to the clothing piece. But they didn't.

"Vada?" You called out, since her opinion was the one that really mattered. 

She still didn't turn her head, although you knew she heard you. You could tell by the way her head slightly turned, her eyes not leaving Mia as she talked. You couldn't even bother to listen to what they were saying.

Seconds later she put her hand up, signaling for you to wait for her to finish listening, and for Mia to stop talking. Which at this point, could take ages.

You were starting to grow tired of her ignorance. She always did this whenever Mia was around. Sometimes she would find subjects to talk about that you couldn't be included in on purpose, either that or you just couldn't relate.

Her name fell from your lips again, and this time her head snapped in your direction, nothing but exasperation painting her face. "What?"

The previous smile on your face fell once you heard the harsh tone in her voice. "Could you at least look at it?"

Vada's gaze was burning onto your skin, she was looking at you as if you just told her that she had to be quiet for the rest of the year.

You couldn't put a finger on the reason for why she had gotten this angry, she used to get like this, but when she did there would at least be some kind of motive for it. Now there wasn't.

It was like steam was coming out of her ears. All you did was ask her to look at the dress for like what? One second? And she looked furious.

Vada didn't know what had gotten into her either. She didn't like being interrupted, but when it was you, she didn't care. Now she did.

She cast a discerning gaze over the dress, her eyes revealing a clear hint of annoyance. "It makes you look big. I don't like it." She spat out before she could process her words.

The confidence in the dress was quickly drained away by Vada's comment. It was like a punch to the gut, a lump beginning to form in your throat.

You suddenly felt embarrassed, for even thinking she would like the dress in the first place. Of course she didn't like it. What did you except?

"Oh." You bit your lip, trying to the prevent the layer of tears from falling, which you felt was beginning to coat your irises. "Okay"

You didn't think twice before hurrying back to the dressing room, being quick to pull the curtain back so it covered you. Mumbles from Vada and Mia could be heard, but they were shut out as the ringing in your ears took over, quiet sobs falling from your mouth.

Checking the dress in the mirror one last time, you saw what Vada might've seen. Now all you could see was the body that you used to see back in sophomore year, back to when you used to stand in front of the mirror in tears and panic every day.

There was a few more dresses you had yet to try on, however, you had lost interest in pursuing that particular topic. All because of what Vada said.

You rushed yourself out of the dress, not standing the sight of it in the mirror.

And while you were about to get into your regular clothes, you heard Vada's voice right outside the changing room.

"Y/n, I'm sorry.. I didn't mean it." She sounded regretful. "You looked beautiful in it.. I don't know why I said that."

It was true. Vada had no clue why she said what she said and did what she did. She felt like she had absolute no control over what her mouth was doing. Like always. She always ended up saying something she didn't mean or stuff that was completely inappropriate.

She knew you'd had problems with confidence and self esteem before, which only made the guilt in her chest grow stronger and bigger.

You didn't care for Vada's attempt at solving the problem she caused. Instead you rapidly grabbed all of the dresses on their hangers and rushed out, not bothering to look at Vada's sad expression, filled with remorse and guilt.

You rushed past her, not even glancing at Mia who was standing further away, looking at you in the same way.

"Aren't going to try the rest?" Vada rushed behind you, almost stepping on your heels for walking so closely behind.

"No." You answered harshly before the full question had time to exit her mouth.

She didn't ask why; because she knew the reason. The reason was her. And her too big of a mouth.

All of the dresses you were carrying were put onto the return racks before you walked out of the store.

You could feel Vada hot on your trails, Mia walking further away, surely not wanting to get into the middle of the situation.

"You should, they would all look pretty." She tried. But it was unclear if you heard her.

Vada's short legs couldn't keep up with your rapid speed, making her groan in frustration. You pushed through people, your only goal being to get out of the mall.

All you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and melt away.

Which was what you did.

***

The party was set two days later. Which felt sooner than expected.

You didn't want to have the party anymore.

That's why you had half a mind to just drink all of the punch and alcohol you had bought for the guests, and tell everyone the party was cancelled. Although it was too late for that.

You weren't sure if Vada was still coming, you hadn't contacted her ever since you left her a good night text the day of the mall 'accident'. She probably was coming though, she probably thought nothing of it.

However, it was everything Vada could think about. Her mind had been clouded by the look on your face when she told you that you looked big in that dress. Her words were echoing in her head.

She hadn't reached out to you because she thought it was for the best to give you space. Also because she didn't know what she would say. Of course she would pour out apologies and excuses, but she knew that wouldn't mean anything. But it hurt her to pieces knowing she had done something so incredibly wrong, to you of all people.

Which is why Vada was now placed on your living room couch, watching dozens of people dancing with drinks in their hands, scanning the people in case her eyes would get in contact with your figure.

She hadn't seen you all night, and it was starting to worry her. You used to run towards Vada the second you knew she arrived, now you hadn't.

The music was so loud the whole house was basically shaking of the vibrations from the speakers.

Vada was about to give up looking for you, when all of a sudden, she saw the top of your head not too far away from the dance floor.

She immediately forced herself up from her position on the couch, leaving her red solo cup in the living room table to approach you. Pushing through all the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to get to you.

You stood at the kitchen island with a beer in your hand, a big smile on your face as you spoke to one of your friends.

You hated beer. Vada knew that.

"Y/n?" Vada called out, almost screaming to be heard over the loud music and chattering.

Your head slowly turned to her, and just by looking at you for two seconds, she could tell you were drunk out of your mind.

Your eyes were almost bloodshot and glassy, your movements were unsteady and your face was flushed. "Hi Vada." And your breath reeked alcohol.

"Didn't think you were coming." You slurred, bringing the drink up to your mouth.

The girl who stood in front of you quickly slipped away from the two of you, joining the others on the dance floor.

As Vada's eyes scanned your figure, she could see you weren't wearing any of the dresses you tried on, the dress you were wearing was one of your old ones, it was loosely fitting so she couldn't see your figure that she admired. But it was her fault, she reminded herself.

"Don't you think you've had enough of those?" Vada asked, about to take the beer bottle out of your hand, but you moved it away so she was unable to.

"Probably" You laughed, putting your free hand on the table behind for support and prevent yourself from falling backwards. Taking another sip of the drink, your face scrunching up in disgust from the bitter taste.

This had been your plan for the whole night. Drinking more than you could handle, so you wouldn't feel like yourself.

You had spent the whole afternoon standing in front of the mirror, understanding what Vada had meant by the comment, understand that she was right. That's what you told yourself.

Vada hated seeing you like this. She was used to having to take care of you when you went to parties together, however she had never seen you this affected.

Hence to why she thought it was a good idea to bring you somewhere where you could be alone.

"Should we go outside?" Vada asked close to your ear, so she knew for certain that you heard.

You let out a scoff, "Why? So you could push me into the pool and tell me how big the big splash was?"

Vada flinched at your remark, and even though she knew the comeback was something you'd make without alcohol in your blood, she tried to tell herself it was just your fogged mind speaking.

She knew you wouldn't come with her just because she asked, you never did when drunk. Hence to why she grabbed your forearm with a firm grip, but not too hard for it to hurt you.

She pulled you through the dance floor, ignoring people cursing at her for pushing through them with her body. She walked you outside to the backyard, and luckily enough, nobody was there.

You didn't protest when she sat you down onto one of the pool chairs, mostly because you couldn't think straight and didn't know what was going on. Your head was spinning from all the punch and alcohol.

Vada sat down on the chair next to you, inspecting your features and how your lips were shaped like a frown.

She was completely aware that you probably wouldn't remember this tomorrow, but she felt like she had to apologize to you at that moment, even though she likely had to do it again when you were clear-headed.

"Y/n." Vada started, not knowing how to continue when your eyes met hers.

"Yes?" You replied quick, voice sounding even more slurry than before.

She let out a sigh, thinking how to form her apology without it sounding forced or sarcastic. "I-I'm so sorry for saying you looked big." She began, her voice feeling shaky; filled with regret from what she'd done.

You looked up at her, eyes sad and hollow with tears starting to form.

"I don't know why I said tha- I was so passionate about talking. I didn't even pay attention to you- You're the prettiest girl I know and I just-...I don't know why I said that." Vada rambled, her hands flying all over the place.

Normally you would smile at Vada's rambling, but now you didn't. And she noticed that.

She exhaled deeply before continuing, trying to think her words through even harder this time, since it clearly didn't work the first.

"I didn't mean what I said. And I'm sorry." Vada spoke up again, trying to sound calmer than she actually was.

You didn't answer, just staring back at her with your beautiful eyes. It was making Vada nervous, her hands starting to sweat. Were you about to break up with her? Oh god, if you did she would never forgive herself.

You licked your lips, looking like you were about to say something, and you did. "Why did you say it then?"

The question made Vada furrow her brows, didn't you listen to her rambling? Were you too drunk to even notice she had been talking this whole time?

"I don't know." Vada sighed, getting frustrated with herself for being such a blabbermouth.

She scooted herself to the edge of the beach bed, taking your hands in hers. Vada had never been great with the physical touch thing, she loved when you would take her hands or touch her face, but she felt like she did it awkward. She thought she made everything awkward.

"You looked great in that dress.. all of the other ones too.. I'll buy them all for you if you ever forgive me." Vada spoke softly, gently rubbing her thumb over your hand.

"Serious?" You grinned.

Vada nodded. "Promise." Putting up her pinky for you to link with.

"You're forgiven then." Your finger joined hers, solidifying the promise.

You knew you weren't sober or in the right mindset, but you did know that you did want those dresses.

Drunk or not.

[me-and-your-husband]

body ink || e. williams

summary: you tattoo ellie's thigh. it's a bit of a compromising position, and it leads you down an unexpected road. female reader.

warnings: smut!, fingering (e receiving), oral (e receiving), tattoo guns, mentions of a needle, tattoos? finger sucking?? not beta read (i didn't even read tbis through once)

a/n: i've risen from the dead. lets chat, my inbox is open :)

e.williams

Hey! I've gone thru your page and I love your work. Especially your big pieces, they're sick asf. I was wondering if you had any openings for July?

y/ntattoos

hi! i'm glad you like my work, thank you for the kind words! i've got a couple openings in july, when can you come in?

e.williams

I can come in whenever. I'll make time for it if I have to...I don't care when, as long as you're the one doing it haha

y/ntattoos

how does july 13th at 1pm sound?

e.williams

That works!

y/ntattoos

perfect. what are you looking to get done?

e.williams

I was looking to get something kind of floral but not super...soft, yk?

y/ntattoos

so not super feminine? like no roses?

e.williams

Yeah, exactly like that. I don't have a design in mind...I kind of wanted you to design it? I'll pay extra for it I don't mind, but I saw your other designs on your page and liked your style lol

y/ntattoos

okay, tell you what: i'll draw up a couple designs and send them your way before the appointment. sound okay?

e.williams

Yes! Perfect.

y/ntattoos

cool cool. i'll send you the quote once we choose a design. how big were you thinking? and where?

e.williams

I was thinking on my thigh...? I know some artists won't do thighs so if you're uncomfortable w that it's cool!

I was hoping to cover most of my thigh tho

y/ntattoos

haha dw about it. i'm fine with the thigh. trust me, i'm sure i've had weirder requests.

e.williams

Oh yeah? Like what?

y/ntattoos

had a guy a few weeks ago who wanted a full portrait of his grandma on his ass.

e.williams

Oh my goddd. Did you do it?

y/ntattoos

...

$300 is $300...

e.williams

At least I know you're cool with a thigh 😭

y/ntattoos

absolutely. well, i've got some more dms to answer but i'll get to drawing up your design asap. i'll be in touch, thanks ellie :)

e.williams

Sweet. Have a good one :)

ellie walked into your tattoo shop about fifteen minutes early, to which the receptionist told her to take a seat as you were still finishing up with another client. "she shouldn't be too long."

you had reached out to ellie with five or six amazing designs, all of which she loved. she had such a hard time choosing between all of them, but you managed to rework her favourite parts of each design into one. you both finally came up with a tattoo design that she was obsessed with.

ellie half expected you to be a middle-aged woman with black lipstick and face tattoos, maybe even half of your head shaved and the other side bright pink. your page didn't feature any photos of yourself, just your work.

so when you came waltzing out from the studio and into the foyer, ellie thought you were the client.

"hey, your next client is here," jess said, gesturing to ellie in the chair by the entrance scrolling her phone.

"thanks, jess," you said before approaching ellie. "ellie?"

she looked up from her phone at you, completely startled by who was in front of her. a girl about her age, fucking gorgeous. there's no way you could've developed such skill in so little time.

"hi, yes, that's, uh, that's me," she said as she stood, shoving her phone in her pocket.

"nice to finally meet you," you said, holding your hand out for her to shake. her breath hitched slightly as she took yours.

"you too," she mumbled.

"i'll take you back into the studio now, i've just gotta wipe everything down from my last client." you started walking into the back and she followed you.

"cool, cool ," she said nervously.

this wasn't her first tattoo. she knew what it felt like. she wasn't sweating, stuttering, and shaking before she caught a glimpse of you.

her breath caught in her throat when she realized that you'd have to sit between her legs for most of the appointment.

she was so fucked.

she stood awkwardly playing with her fingers as you sanitized the tools and the chair, listening to you hum slightly to the music playing. she could hear the buzz of the tattoo gun from other artists in the space tattooing other clients.

in the back, an older man was tattooing a woman on the back of her knee. that had to hurt. next to them was a older woman tattooing a woman not much older than you two.

"alright, we're all set. i'm just gonna put this up," you said, unfolding one of those old-timey partitions that princesses change behind in the movies. "it's just to give us a bit of privacy, since you're getting tattooed in a bit more of an exposed place, you know?"

"oh yeah, that makes sense. thanks."

"don't thank me," you laughed. "okay, not to be too forward or anything, but if you brought shorts to change into, i'll give you a minute. if not, i'm cool with you just taking your pants off."

ellie laughed nervously, knowing it didn't even cross her mind to bring shorts. "take me out to dinner first, damn," she chuckled, starting to undo her belt buckle.

you pretended to occupy yourself with putting your gloves on and preparing your table as she took her pants and shoes off, leaving her in her black boxers, your mouth watering a little at her toned thighs.

"you can hop up on the chair when you're done. if you can just like, throw one leg over each side— yeah, like that. perfect."

ellie couldn't believe that she was borderline straddling a tattoo chair in her boxers right now. in front of you, especially. fuck.

without much warning, you slid your swivel chair almost between her legs.

"left or right?"

"uh, i write with my right hand, but i can do some things with my left?" she swallowed hard.

you laughed, "are you getting it on your left or right thigh?"

"oh, uh," god, she was an idiot. "left."

"cool. i'm gonna put the stencil on, then you can look in the mirror and see if you like it. 'kay?"

she nodded, watching you peel the film from the stencil, trying her hardest not to tense up when your soft fingers placed the stencil onto her milky skin, sending shivers straight to her centre.

when she looked at it in the mirror, she grinned, rotating her leg around to get a good look. "fuck, that's sick. i'd be content with just the stencil, you know."

you smiled at her through the mirror. "well hopefully you'll like it better once it's actually shaded."

once you had her back in the chair, you began prepping your gun. "okay, i know you've had a tattoo before, i saw that piece on your arm. so you know what to expect, right?"

"yeah. yeah, i'll be fine."

"okay. if you need a break, just let me know, kay? thighs can be sensitive." you switched the gun on.

"will do."

you began the outlining, humming to yourself over the buzz of the gun. she watched your face focused on the lines, keeping a steady hand.

"who did your arm piece?" you said as you wiped the ink away, making brief eye contact with her.

"oh, my ex-girlfriend did it. she bought a cheap tattoo gun when we were teenagers and i was her test subject i guess."

"cute," you said. "i was just curious." you went back to tattooing her thigh.

ex-girlfriend. that piqued your interest. i mean, it was kind of a given based on the fact that she was wearing boxers and looked like the idea of men repulsed her. and the way she took you in when she first saw you. like she was thirsty. and she was so fine, the way you could see her thigh clench and feel it under your fingers making you want to take her right behind that privacy partition.

"my ex let me tat her too. she was brave. let me do an entire leg sleeve my first time."

"oh?"

"yeah. it kind of ended badly though, so she probably regrets it."

ellie sighs, "that's the beauty of being into girls. they fuck you up."

"amen," you said, looking up at her again.

you made small talk as you worked. you found out that she was a university student studying astrophysics, that she works with her dad in the summer as a contractor to make some extra cash, that she teaches guitar throughout the school year, and that she's an artist herself (her media of choice being oil paints). she even told you that she missed work with her dad today specifically to come.

you quite enjoyed how she'd tilt her head back when you shaded some more painful areas, the cords in her neck more prominent and the column of her throat exposed.

four and a half hours later, the tattoo was finished, and you placed the second skin over her tattoo. you gave her all the aftercare instructions, going over the dos and don'ts. she held her breath when you didn't move your hand from her knee until you told her to go look at it in the mirror.

"holy fuck!?"

"...is that a good reaction or a bad reaction?"

"it's fucking amazing! jesus christ, that's so fucking cool. oh my god. you're amazing."

you blushed and thanked her as you watched her check it out in the mirror, inspecting it and gushing over how detailed it was.

she put her pants and shoes back on and you walked her out to reception.

"i've got this one, jess. take a smoke break," you said, smiling at your receptionist. she thanked you and scurried into the back room.

"alright ellie, that's $200."

"what? you quoted me at $350?"

you just smiled and looked at her, leaning forward against the counter. "pretty girl discount."

her face turned red as she took out her wallet and grinned. she counted out the money, laying $200 in cash against the counter.

"you gonna give the next client who walks through that door today a pretty girl discount, or is it just me?"

"actually, you're my last. and for the record, you're the first to get the discount."

she smiled and returned to her wallet, folding up more bills. after you put the money in the register, she leaned forward and tucked a stack of folded bills into the front pocket of your shirt, pulling you in close. "pretty girl tip."

you bit your lip as you looked at her. her eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips, finally deciding on your eyes. "you said i'm your last client, yeah?"

"yeah," you breathed.

"what're you doing after this, then?"

"well, a pretty girl hasn't asked me to go home with her yet, so i guess i'll probably pick up a coffee and—"

"come home with me?" she breathed, leaning in slightly. "please."

you giggled, "like i could say no to that."

tired of her teasing, her breath eternally fanning over your lips, you grabbed her and pulled her into you over the counter. your lips met and she groaned into the kiss, pulling away after a few seconds. she held her car keys up and shook them, "you ready, babe?"

she had you pressed up against the wall as soon as she kicked her door shut behind her, hands all up in your hair, lips bruising against yours. you kissed her back fervently. your hand slid down to her core, feeling the wetness through her boxers and jeans. she whimpered into your open mouth at the feeling.

"fuck, you're so wet, ellie."

"then do something about it," she said, hiding her smirk in your neck as she sucked hickeys into it.

"then take me to your bed."

she led you to her room, closing and locking the door, just in case. you pushed her flannel from her shoulders and undid her belt buckle, undoing the buttons on her jeans and sliding them down her legs, being careful of her thigh. she groaned.

"this doesn't seem fair," she said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and sliding it off. she slid your pants down your legs and threw them onto the floor. "that's better."

she laid on top of you, caging you in, undoing your bra and sucking on your tits, trailing kisses down to your stomach. "fuck, so beautiful," she groaned. 

you pressed your knee gently into her core, "still want me to take care of that?"

"fuck, yeah."

you flipped her over so her ass hung off the edge of the bed and you got on your knees on the carpeted floor. she propped herself up on your elbows, watching your every move.

you began running your finger over her covered core, soaked so good that your finger was covered in her wetness when you took it away, bringing it to your lips.

"please, fuck, i need more, take them off," she said, bucking her hips up.

you hummed, "but i'm enjoying myself, el."

"please, i need you so bad y/n."

"what do you need ellie? tell me."

"i need your fingers, your mouth, anything. i'll do anything. just need you," she begged, shame gone.

"you're lucky you're insanely hot."

you slid her boxers off, watching the strings of slick that connected her pussy to the fabric. you laid your head against the thigh that wasn't freshly tattooed, tracing your finger through her dripping core.

"open up for me, honey," you instructed, gently spreading her thighs further apart.

she let out the most guttural moan when your tongue finally slid through her folds, collecting her juices on your tongue. her hands found your hair and pulled gently, making you moan into her cunt.

you sucked her clit gently, sending waves of pleasure up her spine. when your middle finger slid into her entrance she tried to muffle her moan with the back of her hand, but you yanked it away. "wanna hear you, el. don't do that."

"fuck, you're too good. fuckkk."

"you almost there el? can feel you clenchin' around me," you said, sliding another finger in and returning your mouth to lapping at her folds, paying special attention to her bundle of nerves.

she hummed and nodded fervently. with every thrust in and out, you felt her clench around you, a small white ring forming around the base of your fingers.

"fuck, fuck! i'm gonna— ohhhhh god—!"

you lapped up all of her release that you could, only coming up for air once she had to push your head away from the overstimulation.

you wiped her release from your face with the back of your hand and brought your fingers to her lips, "open."

she grabbed your wrist and obeyed, swirling her tongue around your digits and closing her eyes. "see how good you taste?"

she released them with a 'pop'. "i bet you taste better."

"i seriously doubt that."

"you've been between my legs twice today. i think it's my turn to be between yours. take your panties off."

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz

@pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 1 3 4 5 6 7 💐

The second time Eddie stopped by Harrington Floral, it was because it was his mom’s birthday.

Each year, he bought a dozen Black-eyed Susans, her favorite wildflower, and placed them on her grave. He’d also eat a piece of carrot cake in her honor with Uncle Wayne.

The carrot cake was usually store-bought because he and Wayne were both hopeless in the kitchen, but this year, Eddie was going to try and make her recipe from scratch.

He felt like he owed it to her, and he needed to overcome his fear of the oven if he was ever going to survive on his own. She’d want that for him. Growth. Adulthood.

He had a brown bag full of groceries in one arm, carrot tops hanging over the side as he entered the store.

There was a new display in the window now. This one was called When I Think of You, and it was an assortment of roses, all in various shades of pink and red.

It was a different florist than the brown-eyed beauty that ended up serving him, but Eddie heard a voice coming from the back.

“Rob, I told you I already watered the Anthuriums today. Now, you’ve gone and over-watered them. They’re very susceptible to rot. Be careful next time!”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” the girl, Rob, responded. She rolled her expressive blue eyes, the freckles on her face standing out wildly around all the bright bouquets. “Flower nazi.”

Eddie wasn’t exactly in a laughing mood, not today, but it made his lips twitch.

Rob rang up Eddie’s flowers. “That’ll be seven ninety-five, please.”

As he handed over his cash and coins, Eddie saw the source of the cranky voice crouching over a potted plant, shaking a bag of fertilizer over the soil and muttering to himself.

Eddie’s head tilted. The flower nazi had a nice butt.

Rob cleared her throat—the fake kind that actually sounded like ahem—and shoved the bouquet and receipt under his nose. “Have a great daisy,” she told him flatly.

“Oh, I’m sure I will not,” Eddie said, taking them.

He walked out still feeling blue, but as he buried his nose in the bundle of Susans and smelled their sweet grassy aroma that reminded him so much of his mother, his steps became lighter.

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

[mosaickiwi]

MC/Angel relaxing with Fox Ren giving him all the smooches and cuddles~!!! Or daily life with Redacted with MC/Angel as a house spouse teehee~!!!

Kinda sorta combined them oopsies teehee <3 <3 da best fluffy boi

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~Literal Domestic Fluff~

You’d been busy since Ren left to patrol the territory early that morning. With him out of the way, cleaning up was admittedly easier. The kitchen was spotless, paw prints in the hallways scrubbed away, and the laundry almost finished. A scant few linens fresh from the dryer lay in the basket at your feet, one being carefully folded as you lounged in your favorite window seat to bask in the setting sun.

You paused to bring the warm fabric up to your face. The pleasant floral scent of the detergent was nice, but nothing compared to the fresh mountain air you’d finally gotten used to over the months. You opened the window all the way to let in a breeze.

Something immediately felt different, almost relaxing about the faintly cool air flowing past. It took a moment to realize the real source of the calm that washed over you.

A familiar presence was running through the sparse trees that lined the farthest edge of the garden. Before you could even call their name, he was making leaps and bounds on pink-toed paws to cross the short expanse of greenery between you. In a matter of seconds the ethereal fox morphed into a shape closer to human as they approached, though the tails and ears stayed in place. He came to a skittering halt outside the window.

“Angel!” Ren excitedly spoke as he reached up to you, a sparkle to his pale blue eyes. 

You dropped the blanket and leaned over the window sill to take hold of his outstretched hand, placing a quick kiss to his forehead for good measure. For once, you were the one towering over him—if only by a few centimeters. “Hi, Ren,” you said with a smile.

His excitement only seemed to intensify at your affections. Nine fluffy tails began to wag in delight while you carded your other hand through his hair. “I missed you.”

“Really? I couldn't tell,” you teased, waving away a couple stray leaves and flower petals from his pointed ears. “I missed you, too.”

Your bonded partner immediately flushed pink at your response, then something caught his attention that made his nose wrinkle. “Are you okay? Was it too cold while I was gone?” 

You weren't sure what he meant until you followed his gaze to the disheveled blanket next to you on the cushioned seat. You shook your head to calm him down. “Just doing laundry.”

He was hesitant to accept your answer, but the second kiss you pressed to his lips seemed to distract him well enough. Ren stood up straighter, determined to make it last as long as possible. Shivers ran up your spine when his fingers carefully settled along the base of your neck to keep you steady. 

Though you weren't quite finished, you were forced to pull away and breathe. “Hmm, maybe I am a little cold. We should—hey!” you suddenly laughed, gently pushing them back. He was practically crawling through the window to reach you at the mere suggestion of cuddling. “Let me finish up, okay? Just a few minutes. And use the front door.”

His ears fell flat in embarrassment as he nodded and settled down. No longer crowding the window, but still on his toes to better see what you were doing.

You took your time folding the blanket and what was left in the basket. It was hard to ignore the focused gaze of the man, nor the way he noticeably perked up once you finished folding something, only to pout at the next piece of fabric you grabbed. With a little less willpower you would've abandoned the laundry far sooner to give them all of your focus.

Eventually, you had a neat and tidy pile of sheets to put away. A quick peek from the corner of your eye in their direction was enough to alert him. He bolted from the window in an instant, just for you to hear him loudly sprinting through the villa’s many hallways seconds later. There was barely any time to stand up before you were scooped up in their arms.

He nuzzled into your neck with an almost desperate sigh as he mumbled, “I’m sorry I was away for so long, beloved.” You could faintly feel his teeth nipping at the skin above your collarbone. “Y’smell different.”

“Huh? Oh.” You made a mental note to find a scentless laundry detergent on your next outing into town. Maybe it would bother him less.

The warmth of his silky tails enveloped you, barely tickling you when they brushed back and forth over your form. As he carried you from the room, tucked safely close to their chest, you happily gave them the attention they’d been waiting for.

[martiniblues]

silk chiffon (that’s how it feels) ; ellie williams

pairing gf!ellie x female!reader

synopsis ellie decides to take you out for the day after being gone with jesse on patrol. you decide to wear a new dress you bought during ellie’s absence, and it quickly becomes her new favorite thing.

genre lots and lots of fluff, reader is described wearing a dress and called “pretty girl”, slightly suggestive but nothing too explicit, inspired loosely by silk chiffon by muna.

wc 2.0k

you sat on ellie’s messy bed, awaiting her arrival, toying with the hem of your dress. ellie had told you the morning before she left that when she got back, she would do something “special” with you. that’s all that was said—no details or clues as to what your auburn-haired girlfriend had in mind for you.

you just hoped the dress you picked this morning was appropriate for her plan. the silk fabric instantly caught your eye when you saw it and also reminded you of something ellie would like, hence why you bought it for today.

she always liked seeing you dolled up in a pretty dress or floral skirt, especially when it was for her.

the click of the front doorknob of ellie’s place snapped you from your thoughts, your eyes meeting ellie’s as she dropped her backpack to the ground. you immediately filled with giddiness in her presence, quickly making your way over to embrace her in a tight hug.

“i missed you, pretty girl." you could feel ellie’s lips mumbling against your bare neck. your skin bursts into goosebumps at the feeling of her soft skin on yours. “i missed you too, els." you replied, pulling back to look at her.

her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, which sat right above her neck. the shorter pieces that couldn’t make it in framed her face perfectly.

she was clad in her beat-up converse and white socks, which peaked just above the black canvas. on top, she wore her white “wife pleaser” (as you liked to call it, which made her laugh every time) with a green short-sleeve button up left open over it.

“you look so pretty, els," you complimented, fighting the urge to kiss her face off. she grew sheepish as you played with the buttons on her shirt. “says you, is this new?”

she tugged at the fabric resting on your waist, feeling the fabric for any familiarity. “yes, actually, i bought it with you in mind,” you teased, nails softly raking up her tatted arm, which still rested on your waist.

“did you now?” she smirked, pulling you flush against her. ellie’s hands held a firm grip on your waist while her hips bumped against yours.

“mhmm…” you leaned in, slowly looking between her lips and eyes. ellie couldn’t take the distance anymore; dipping her head down, she connected your lips in a much-needed kiss.

sure, she had only been gone for a couple days, but it felt like a millennium. the absence left you alone to quite literally do nothing; always having ellie there to pester you and hang onto started to feel like a curse.

ellie pulled away before things were able to get too heated, making you whine as she stepped back and squatted to pull something out of her backpack.

she sifted through the wads of paper and various supplies she needed when on patrol before pulling out a container. “what’s that?” you question, not able to see what the mysterious box contained.

“just a few things for our date,” she said, setting the container down before grabbing her journal, a pencil, and reaching in her bag once again to pull out a quilted cloth large enough for the two of you to lay on.

you smirked, feeling so giddy over the fact that your girlfriend had thought out a whole plan to spend the day with you. she was always very considerate and made the smallest things have the biggest impact on you, but something about the way she couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face made it even harder for you to get rid of yours.

“okay, pretty girl, let’s get going while the sun is still out.” she hoisted the items under her arm, shooing you away while you tried to hold at least one thing. her free hand brushed against yours as the two of you exited her place, fingers interlocking.

“just follow me.”

“els, this is so beautiful.” you were in awe of the scene ahead of you. planes of grass and various flowers were littered under you, while a small lake sparkled from the sunlight ahead of you.

“knew you’d like it,” she mentally congratulated herself, seeing your expression. she had found this hidden gem while out with dina and knew she had to bring you here as soon as possible. so that’s exactly what she did.

you turned away from the view to face your girlfriend, who was laying out the blanket she brought. you watched as she smoothed out the fabric, stretching it out to its fullest degree so that the two of you could lay comfortably. it’s the littlest things she does that make you swoon.

“god, els, you’re the most amazing person ever,” you practically squealed, ignoring the fact you had a short dress on, and tackled her to the ground. she fell back with a tiny “oomf” before her hands came to hold you above herself. you wasted no time, littering her face with many kisses. you felt the way her cheeks bunched up with a smile as your lips pressed delicately against her pretty face.

rubbing her palm against the back of your thighs, ellie noticed how your dress rose up from your move on her. “forget something?” she teased, yanking your dress back down to cover your butt and thighs.

you flushed when you felt her hand creep up far higher than it needed to in order to fix your dress. “you forget we are in public?” you quipped back, grabbing her eager hand to rest it on your back. “no one’s around for miles…” her words dragged on while her hand made its way back down your back to rest just above the edge of your dress.

“i don’t feel like scarring a poor bird for the rest of its life,” you joked, bringing a hand up to brush the lingering strands of her short hair out of her face. ellie continued her ministrations, trailing her fingers between your thighs and letting her blunt nails softly scratch your skin. “i think it would be blessed, don’t you?”

you swore your eyes nearly got stuck from how hard you rolled them. “ellie, seriously? we aren’t fucking in the wilderness." your tone shifted from lighthearted to stern, making her face fall into an annoyed pout. "well, how do you expect me to act when I haven’t seen you in years-“

yeah, your eyes were gonna get stuck, alright.

“els…” you leaned your head against your palm, knowing she was far from done with her whining. “and you wore this, and you thought of me when you bought it. you’re driving me crazy,” she finished, resting the back of her palm against her head as if she were truly exasperated. as if you were truly driving her insane.

you giggled at her dramatics. “geez els, if i knew a dress would get you all worked up, i would have bought it in every single color.” you sat up, fully straightening your arm to peer down at ellie, who peered one of her eyes open to glare at you.

“don’t move.” she now fully opened her eyes, making you freeze. did you have something on your face? was there a grizzly bear behind you?

you froze, shrinking under ellie’s hard gaze. after a few seconds, her concentrated expression morphed into a smile. "okay, perfect,” she finalized, and laid back down. “what was that?” you were completely confused. sure, ellie was a little weird sometimes, but this was so strange.

“you just looked so pretty, i had to get a mental image so i could sketch you later.” she spoke nonchalantly as she tilted her face, closing her eyes to face the sun. most of the time, you would have some snarky rebuttal to start her off, but this time you were left speechless.

ellie was beautiful—the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. her dark brows that somehow stayed perfect even if she neglected to groom them, her dark green eyes that always knew how to calm you from just a glance, her freckles that were more dense at her cheeks but scattered all across her body in places you had graciously had the ability to see, the list could go on and on.

the sun shining on her acted as a spotlight, putting every flower or lake to shame in her presence.

ellie felt your silence, opening her eyes slowly, only to find you staring at her. “now you’re the one acting weird,” she joked while your lips softly pulled into a small smile. you were completely enamored by her.

“you’re so beautiful, ellie. the prettiest girl in the world.” the words spilled out without any thought, making her blush immediately. you had caught her so off guard that she didn’t know what to do. usually, she was the one making you a puddle beneath her while she upheld an unbothered facade. of course, you were the one and only person to break that wall down.

she didn’t even respond, swiftly pulling you flush against her again and kissing you with so much passion that it made your head spin. the two of you couldn’t bite back your smiles, resulting in your teeth clanking and the kiss growing messy, but you couldn’t care less.

her soft hands molded you into nothing but a lovesick mess above her while your hands brushed past her button-up and under her tank to feel her smooth skin just above her shorts. your faces tilted every so often, making the kiss deeper and deeper.

your hand traveled higher under her shirt while hers edged the line between your dress and thigh. “my perfect girl in this pretty little dress, all for me,” she said between kisses, making you turn even more red (if that was even possible).

you visibly grew more and more needy as ellie grabbed and groped at your body. “thought you didn’t wanna ruin some birdie's life?” she teased, pulling away harshly as she felt your fingers creep a little too high to the “point of no return”.

“shut up,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed by how needy you grew from just her kissing you alone. she was now the one laughing at you for your childlike antics, reaching up to press a quick kiss to your pink cheeks.

“let’s eat before these go to waste,” she sat up to grab the forgotten container left by her discarded journal. “so that’s what was in here,” you smiled as she handed you the food she had prepared earlier that morning, telling you about how it was nearly scrapped in a food fight with jesse. him teasing her for being such a “loser” when it came to you.

“well… he wasn’t lying,” you bit into your food to conceal your smirk. “i’ll throw you into that lake,” she warned, trying her best to seem demanding. you just sighed, placing your food down to lean closer to her to whisper as if it were one big secret: “but you would like that too much, would you?” she choked at your suggestive comment, pushing you away as you tried to tease her even more.

the two of you continued going back and forth, just enjoying the peaceful time the two of you had together, which tended to run thin most days. due to ellie being needed on patrols more often and you being needed all around for tedious jobs, the most time you and ellie ever got together was when you slept. obstacles aside, the two of you were still able to make days like these happen. no jesse, dina, or joel, just the two of you.

that night, as you entered ellie’s bedroom to get ready for bed, you noticed her journal laid open on her desk. looking closer, you nearly burst into tears at the sight. under a few random doodles and notes, looking back at you was a detailed sketch of you in your dress from earlier that day. under it was a small note:

her silk dress dancing in the wind; watched it brush against her skin. makes me wanna try her on. she’s so soft, like silk chiffon.

notes this is one of my favorite songs of all. time. highly recommend the recorded at electric lady version (naomi’s verses AHHHHH) to listen to while you read :))) thank you so much for all the love on my first ellie post! it means the world!

tags @ang3licpretty @endureher @boobdrug @the-record @drewmclaughlin @keaton2003 @mrsromanoff @muthafuckingstargirl (if your name is crossed out tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!!)