#wearing their little blouses and blazers

[touchlikethesun]

oh, to be a part of the london corporate girlie crowd…

[togrowoldinv]

The Clubhouse

WandaNat x Female Reader

When the richest members of the country club approach you about joining their relationship, you can’t say no to them.

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (N and R receiving), strap on sex (R and W receiving), essentially sugar mommies

Note: Enjoy!

WandaNat Masterlist, Main Masterlist

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Natasha’s raspy voice asks.

You barely hear her over the sound of your own heart beating. She is so close to you. Her hand is on your thigh, just a little too high to be friendly. Her nose presses against your neck.

“Yeah. It’s just- this is coming out of nowhere,” you say.

“Is it?” Wanda asks. Her tone is a bit condescending. You can’t help but press your thighs together at the way it makes you feel.

“We’ve been flirting with you for months now,” Natasha says. “You haven’t noticed?”

You shake your head. Wanda grabs your chin a little roughly to force you to look into her eyes. This is way too intimate for a public area of the clubhouse. A corner booth doesn’t offer much privacy.

Wanda and Natasha frequent this bar area often after their visits to the course. You never knew that they paid any attention to you working.

“Use your words, baby,” Wanda instructs.

“No, I didn’t notice,” you reply.

“That’s a shame,” Wanda says. “We thought about you every night. Didn’t we, Natasha?”

“Mhm, we did,” Natasha agrees. She moves her mouth to your neck and leaves a few opened mouth kisses. “Every night as I buried my face in my wife’s pussy I thought about what yours might taste like.”

You bite your lip and can’t help but close your eyes at the feeling of her lips, and her words make you feel unspeakable things.

Wanda presses her lips to the other side your neck, following the same delicate pattern that Natasha did.

“And when I rode her strap, I thought about how good you’d look doing the same. Being so good for us,” Wanda says.

“What did you say, baby? Will you join us?” Natasha asks.

You almost nod without speaking, but you remember Wanda said to use your words.

“Yes,” you breathe out. You’re not really sure why you agree, but you know that you want to see where this goes. “I- um- I don’t get off until 8.”

“I can fix that,” Natasha says. She gets up from beside you. You miss her warmth already.

“Let’s go to the car,” Wanda says. She holds your hand and walks with you to the door. Natasha meets you there.

“You’re free to leave,” Nat says. She places a hand on your back to lead you out of the clubhouse. “And don’t worry, this will be better than any tip you’ll get from these men.”

Outside, there is a car waiting for Wanda and Nat. They help you into the backseat with them. Their thighs press against yours as they sit close. Natasha fields a few calls on the car ride to their house.

When you arrive, the driver opens the door to reveal the absolute mansion Wanda and Nat live in. The two women walk you inside. They share a nod and Wanda walks to the other room. Natasha ushers you into the living room.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Natasha says. She gestures to the couch. You sit and watch as she makes a drink. “Would you like one?”

“I’m okay,” you reply.

“Y/n,” she says as she walks to the couch. She is wearing a fur coat that reveals enough of her chest that you want to see more. Her blonde hair is styled perfectly. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “Intimidated by you is actually it.”

“Ah, okay,” Natasha says. “And Wanda?”

“Same thing,” you tell her.

“We’re just people, you know.”

Wanda enters the room. She shed her blazer and is now wearing dress pants and a white blouse. Her brown hair cascades over the material.

“I made you a drink,” Natasha says to Wanda.

“Thank you, my love,” Wanda replies. She takes her drink from the table and sits on the couch on the other side of you. “So, what did I miss?”

“Oh nothing,” Nat replies.

“Did you tell her what we want?” Wanda asks as if you aren’t there. Nat shakes her head. “Well, then I will. Y/n, we are very attracted to you. And we wanted to ask you to join us. No strings attached. Just sex. What do you think?”

“I- um-”

“Wanda, don’t scare her,” Natasha jumps in. Her hand rubs your back. “We can take it slow. For example, can I kiss you?”

“Okay,” you agree.

Natasha’s hand comes to your neck as she pulls you in for a kiss. Her plump lips brush against yours softly. You feel your entire body burning with pleasure. She doesn’t deepen the kiss, but it was enough to make you think you’d say yes to anything she asked.

“How was that?” Natasha asks.

“Wow,” you say seriously. The blonde chuckles.

“Wanda, why don’t you try,” Nat tells her wife.

Wanda pulls you her way and kisses your lips much in the same way that Natasha did. She tastes different though. Her kiss is hungrier. You get the feeling this was her idea and Nat is doing it to make her happy. Not that she minds.

When Wanda stops kissing you, Natasha is quick to bring her in for a kiss. The two of them kiss in front of you. The sight of their tongues mingling alone is enough to get you off.

“You like that?” Natasha asks you. She noticed the way you were staring.

You nod. Wanda suddenly leans forward and bites your neck. It hurts but not more than it feels good.

“Words, detka. Words,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Wanda seemingly forgives you as she kisses your lips again. Nat moves her deft fingers over your button up. It seems she is magic as she unbuttons all of them by the time Wanda moves her attention to your chest.

The brunette uses her hands to push open your shirt. Your bra falls to the side. You assume Natasha also took that off you when Wanda was distracting you with her intoxicating lips.

“So beautiful,” Wanda breathes out. “I have imagined this.”

Natasha stands from the couch. She opens her coat to reveal she is completely naked aside from a red strap connected to her hips. Your eyes go wide at the sight. Wanda grins. She takes your nipple into her mouth while she takes the other with her fingers.

“Do you want to ride my strap, baby?” Natasha asks you.

“Yes please,” you say.

“Good girl,” Natasha says.

She sits on the couch next to you, pulling you onto her lap. She moves the tip of the strap over your folds. Wanda sits up higher on the couch and takes her wife’s breast into her mouth. Natasha slips the strap into you. You press your forehead against hers as she fills you up.

“Fuck, I knew she could take your cock so well,” Wanda says.

“I know, sweetheart. She is so fucking wet and tight,” Natasha says.

“I can’t wait to taste her for myself,” Wanda says. “To make her feel so good.”

Natasha’s hands move your hips back and forth as she pounds the strap into you. She hits the sweet spot over and over again. You feel yourself losing control.

“Come for me, y/n,” Nat instructs you.

You come hard against her strap, slowing your movements until you fall against her. She kisses your head softly. A stark contrast of how she was just pounding into you. The two women give you a moment to catch your breath.

Nat helps you slip off her strap. Wanda kneels on the floor in front of the couch. She spreads your legs open again before burying her face between them. Nat situates herself behind Wanda. She pulls her pants down her legs enough to gain access to her. Nat presses her strap into her wife.

Wanda groans as she feels Nat bury herself deep into her. The taste of you gets her high quickly. You squirm under her tongue and that spurs her on further.

“So fucking good,” Natasha says, accentuating each word with the movement of her hips.

“Fuck,” you mumble. You won’t last much longer.

You see Natasha smirk as she feels Wanda coming against her. Her pleasure is enough to finish you off. Coming hard against Wanda’s tongue, you fall apart.

The two women stop their ministrations and catch their breath. Wanda takes the strap off of Natasha’s hips. She kisses the woman before directing her to sit on the couch.

“I want to see you eat her out,” Wanda says to you.

“Yes ma’am.”

You stand from the couch and kneel before Natasha. Her strong hands direct you exactly where she wants you. Natasha smirks at how in heaven you look between her legs. Wanda moves her fingers over Nat’s pussy lips to work in tandem with your tongue.

“That’s it, baby. Make her feel so good,” Wanda says. She lifts your head to kiss you before pushing you back to Natasha’s clit. You suck her until her hips stutter beneath you.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Natasha says.

Wanda removes her hand to let you have the moment when Natasha comes to yourself. She is so beautiful falling apart underneath you. Once she comes down from her high, she pulls you up into her lap. You rest your head on Natasha’s shoulder.

Wanda sits next to you and the three of you recover together.

“How do you feel, y/n?” Wanda asks.

“I’m good,” you say. And you really are.

“I think this is going to work out just fine,” Natasha says.

After that day, Natasha and Wanda continue to see you at the clubhouse. Whenever they ask you to leave with them, you never turn them down. Why would you? They are absolutely perfect.

[hitomisuzuya]

bodyguard x overworked fem ceo reader person here lol

I’ve got a smut version I’d love to share

thinking of reader (who’s not overworked this time) to just have an amazing body. Like her body is the epitome of attractive, she’s js hot like that🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

she’s wearing tight fitting office clothes (blouse, blazer, tights, and ong the sluttiest little tight putting black pencil skirt.) and scara walks in seeing her bending over to get a file

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Fingering. Degradation.

This request😳 I'm sorry this took so long to get to😭

Scaramouche was on his way into your office with cups of coffee and hot chocolate for the both of you. He nearly spit out his bitter, black coffee when he saw you.

The sight of you bent over, reaching down to pick up a file you'd dropped next to the cabinet made him start to feel hard. Your ass looked defined and grope able. He swore that if he tilted his head a little, he could see a peek of your panties.

Your black stockings hugged your thighs in a way that was impossible for Scaramouche's greedy hands to resist. He set the cups down on your desk, his eyes trained on your ass as he walked over to you.

You looked so breedable bent over like that. Were you trying to tease him?

He reached out and groped your ass, smirking when he heard your shy squeak. "Scaramouche, it's still office hours," You said, blushing in embarrassment feeling his hand squeeze your ass again. It appeared he hadn't heard a word you said.

"Hmm?" Scaramouche purred, his hand travelling from your ass to your thigh. He hooked his fingers through the band of your stockings, snapping it back against your thigh.

Any other protests from you died, quickly being silenced as his hand cupped your cunt. He rubbed and teased your clit outside of your panties, quickly making you wet as you squirmed. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips watching you grind into his fingers, a string of shaky moans emitting from your parted lips.

Scaramouche took his time stroking your swelling clit, reducing your panties to soaked mess clinging to your cunt. Every sweep and stroke of his thumb made your clit throb, the fabric of your panties creating friction against it.

"What a slut I have for a boss," His eyes followed the moments of hips as you grinded into his fingers, "so wet and eager for her bodyguard's fingers," You mewled in protest when he took his fingers off your clit.

He bunched your skirt up around your hips, his eyes getting the perfect view of how wet you were for him. It made him lick his lips, not being able to resist smacking his hand across your ass. You yelped softly, your pussy clenching around nothing from his degradation.

You reached down with a shaky hand to pull your panties aside for him. He smacked your hand away, hastily pushing them aside with two fingers. Your toes curled as his connected with your clit, your legs shaking as he pressed his thumb in slow circles on it.

"Sc-Scara, please," You moaned needily, all rational thoughts crumbling in your mind. Your hole quivered around the tip of his fingers as he teased them at your entrance, gliding his fingers back up to flick your clit.

He knew very well he could make you cum by rubbing and playing with your clit, but he wanted to make you cream on his slender fingers.

A loud gasp of pleasure tore from your throat as he plunged his fingers into your wet warmth. They curled and nudged into your sweet spot. Your fingernails clawed into the wall, grinding your hips back into his fingers. Jolts of pleasure went straight to your throbbing clit, making you see stars.

"Fuck you are so tight," He groaned, scissoring your walls apart. He made sure you felt every drag of his fingers against your sensitive walls as they clapped around them. "You'd suffocate my cock with your slutty cunt."

Your orgasm curled tighter and tighter inside of you. His eyes were trained on the slick that oozed out around his fingers, squelching sounds accompanying your shameless moans.

The pace of his fingers increased, hitting into your sweet spot more firmly when he saw your body twitching and tensing with your approaching orgasm.

"Be a good girl, and cum like the slut you are," He pumped his fingers as deep inside of you as he could, sweeping them up to play with your clit before plunging them back inside of you.

You whimpered before crying out loudly for him, your body shaking as your orgasm tore through you. His cock was straining in his pants watching you twitch and make a mess on his fingers.

[kyujiminloves]

"What are we?"

Paring: Top Tipsy GP!Karina x Bottom!Minjeong

Genre: Smut, angst

Contain: creampie, cockwarm, rough sex, teasing, dirty talk, fwb, mark, biting, praise, degradation, mentions of alcohol, adultery

A/N: thank you @wintersera for helping me w the tags:< also this is my first fic/post!! Dont mind the incorrect grammar or spelling:(

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡♡¸.•*'

Minjeong's best friend, Karina, walked to your house tipsily because it was closer to her work. At her drunken state, she begs to stay over. The reason being ‘because I wanna stay with you’, type of bs. How can Minjeong say no to her ‘best friend’?

"What happened? Did something happen at work?" Minjeong asked, worriedly. Finally letting Karina in her home.

Karina sighs as she walks towards Minjeong, hugging her ‘best friend’, “Yes, it was a long day. I had to deal with some difficult clients and employees all day.” She reaches down and unbuttons her blouse, revealing her black lace bra underneath. "And then...I had a bit too much to drink at the office party." Her voice trails off as she removes her blazer and tosses it onto a nearby chair. She stands in front of Minjeong wearing only her black trousers and bra now, looking like a goddess with her perfect figure and gorgeous face.

Minjeong blushed, not knowing how to handle a drunk Karina.

"We should go to bed, then." Minjeong looked down, blushing by the half naked figure in front of her.

Karina nods, her eyes locked on Minjeong's face as she walks towards Minjeong's bedroom, her skirt trailing behind her. She licks her lips, feeling aroused by the sight of Minjeong's small frame and innocent expression. She can't help but think about how cute and sexy they look together, especially when they're in bed together. As she climbs into bed, she pats the spot next to her for Minjeong to join her. "Come here, Jeo." She purrs as she waits for Minjeong to crawl into bed beside her.

Minjeong crawls up on the bed, looking at Karina. Not knowing what to say, she randomly says,

"You're drunk." Minjeong mentally cursed at herself for rambling such an obvious thing…

Karina chuckles, her eyes half-lidded as she looks down at Minjeong "Yep, I'm a little tipsy. But don't worry, I won't do anything too crazy while I'm like this." She moves closer to Minjeong, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her little friend against her naked chest. Her other hand runs through Minjeong’s hair as she leans down to kiss her lips deeply, taking full advantage of the fact that she's the one who is taller and stronger than Minjeong right now. As Minjeong gives in and kisses her tipsy 'lover' softly, she feels like she could do anything while she's like this, including being more aggressive and dominating than usual.

She breaks the kiss and whispers into Minjeong's ear, "You know, even though I'm strong and in control, there's always a part of me that feels so weak and vulnerable. Especially when I see how beautiful and delicate you are. It makes me want to protect you." Minjeong blushed, not knowing what to say but warmly nuzzled Karina's neck in response.

Karina smiled softly, "So let me take care of you tonight, okay? Let me show you how much I love you and how special you are to me." Minjeong was confused, but could see how loving Karina was. What could go wrong? Minjeong thought.

"Good girl. Now lie down and let me make love to you." She gently guides Minjeong onto their side, facing away from her, before sliding her hands over her body, caressing every inch of skin until she reaches the desired spot. With a gentle touch, she begins to explore and tease, building anticipation as she slowly works her way towards Minjeong's most sensitive areas. Minjeong's breathing becomes heavier, and they start to squirm under Karina's skilled hands, their desire growing more intense with each passing moment. Finally, Karina positions herself between Minjeong's legs, her lips brushing against her inner thighs, sending shivers down her beloved friend’s spine. She takes her time, savoring every moment, lapping Minjeong's wetness. Minjeong moans loudly, gripping Karina's hair further down her wet folds. As Minjeong finally reaches the peak of pleasure, sending waves of ecstasy throughout their entire body.

Karina hears the sound of her beloved’s pleasure, knowing that she is driving her wild with desire. She continues to tease and pleasure Minjeong, using her tongue and fingers to bring them to the edge of climax again and again. She loves watching the way Minjeong's body reacts to her touch, the way they become completely lost in sensations that only she can provide. Karina knows that she is the one who has complete control over Minjeong's pleasure, and she takes full advantage of this power, making sure that every moment is filled with pure bliss for both of them. As Minjeong's moans grow louder and louder, she feels Minjeong's release approaching once more, Karina speeds up her movements, determined to push her over the edge and give her everything she needs. Minjeong in full ecstasy, cums all over Karina's mouth.

Karina feels the warmth of Minjeong's release, tasting the sweet nectar on her tongue as she swallows every drop. She relishes in the knowledge that she has brought such pleasure to her lover, and she smiles as she watches Minjeong's body convulse with pleasure. Karina's own arousal builds, and she can feel the pressure in her own core as she imagines how good it would feel to fill Minjeong with her thick, pulsing cock. Without warning, Karina pulls Minjeong's body to the edge of the bed. Impatiently unbuttoning and unzipping her pants to relieve her hard member. She gets on top of Minjeong, positioning her large member at Minjeong's entrance. Minjeong moans at the sight of this, blushing shyly with her hand on her face.

Smiling softly, "Don't worry, my love. Tonight, you'll experience a whole new level of pleasure. I promise you'll never forget this night." With a single thrust, Karina enters Minjeong, she groans, filling Minjeong with her immense presence. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and Karina can't help but marvel at the sensation of being inside Minjeong. She begins to move slowly at first, allowing Minjeong to adjust to the size of her cock. As Minjeong's body grows accustomed to her presence, Karina starts to increase her pace, moving faster and deeper within Minjeong, causing Minjeong to gasp and moan with every thrust. The intensity of their lovemaking intensifies, and soon both partners are lost in a world of passion and ecstasy. Minjeong gasped a breathy sigh, begging Karina to fasten the pace. Karina's voice is low and seductive as she speaks, her words dripping with desire and lust for Minjeong's small form. "Take it, my love. Take my big, thick cock deep inside you. Feel how good it feels to have me filling you up." Her hips began to grind against Minjeong, pushing her massive girth further into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful stroke. Karina's hand reaches down and grabs hold of one of Minjeong's erect nipples, rolling it between her fingers as she uses her free hand to play with her nipple. Minjeong couldn't help but moan and groan under her beloved's touch. Karina smirked as she saw how much power she had over her. "My little slut, you look so cute under me. Show me how much you crave my cock." Karina's cock pumps harder and faster, her hips grinding against Minjeong's pelvis as she drives herself deeper into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful thrust. Her hand keeps a steady grip on Minjeong's hip, preventing any chance of escape while she focuses entirely on pleasuring herself inside Minjeong's tight channel. Karina's mouth descends upon Minjeong, capturing their lips in a fierce kiss as she takes control of the situation completely. Their tongues dance together, exchanging saliva and passion as Karina's cock pumps hard, filling Minjeong's body with her thickness. Minjeong moans between the kiss, kissing her deeply with Karina's cock going in and out of her. Karina's eyes glaze over with lust as she continues to dominate Minjeong's body, using her strength and size to push them closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. She can feel the heat building within her own loins, and she knows that soon, she will release all of her pent-up energy inside Minjeong's welcoming depths.

"K-Karina!" Minjeong said between cries as she felt herself getting closer and closer. Karina growls, as she bites down on Minjeong's neck, leaving a mark as she increases her pace, her cock pounding furiously into Minjeong's core. Her hips rock forward, forcing her entire length to slide in and out of Minjeong's tight passage, sending waves of pleasure throughout their bodies. Karina can feel the tension mounting within her own body, and she knows that it won't be long before she explodes inside Minjeong's warm embrace. Minjeong couldn't handle it anymore, she cums all over Karina's big shaft. Karina groaned as she felt her cum all over her cock. Karina's cock twitches, releasing a torrent of hot cum inside Minjeong's tight hole as she cums along with her. The feeling of satisfaction washes over her, and Karina's hips continue to pound against Minjeong's body, driving her massive load deep into Minjeong's tight walls as she releases her essence inside her partner. Karina's voice is low and rough, a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction as she declares, "You're mine." Karina's cock remains buried deep within Minjeong's tight channel, her balls slapping against Minjeong's ass cheeks as she looks down at Minjeong with a mix of pride and lust in her eyes. She saw that Minjeong was tired and sore, she leans down and captures Minjeong's lips in another passionate kiss, sharing her seed with her partner as she revels in the aftermath of their intense lovemaking session.

"Mmm," she murmurs against Minjeong's lips, "That was incredible. You took my thick cock so well, my love." Karina's voice is soft and gentle as she speaks, her hands caressing Minjeong's face and running through their hair while her massive cock still throbs inside Minjeong's body. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my love. And don't worry about feeling sore – that’s just proof of how well you took my cock.”

“Now,” she says, “I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Lie back and let me pamper you.”Karina's cock pulls almost fully out of Minjeong's body before beginning to pulse, releasing a final spurt of cum onto the sheets beneath them as she moves away from Minjeong's body. Smiling, she begins to clean up the mess they made, taking care of her ‘best friend’ in a way only she knows how. As she does so, she promises herself that this would be the last time they shared such an intimate moment. There was something special about Minjeong, and she knew that she wanted more of it in her life. Minjeong was already snuggled on the bed. Karina gently tucks Minjeong under the covers, making sure they're comfortable before joining them. She wraps her arms around Minjeong, pulling her close to her chest, resting her head on top of Minjeong's head as Minjeong drifts off to sleep, content with what they had shared tonight. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll stay here until you wake up.” Karina whispered softly, as she kisses Minjeong’s forehead, “I love you.” the latter hummed in response nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t fighting the urge to say it back.

Karina's heart swells with love as she holds onto Minjeong, feeling the warmth of their body against hers and the softness of their skin against her own. She could feel her ‘partner's ‘ heartbeat slowing down, indicating that they were falling into a deep sleep. Karina closed her eyes, but not before casting one last glance towards Minjeong to make sure everything was alright.

It was the next day, Minjeong woke up after that passionate love making between her and Karina. She sat up, slumping on the bed, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes adjusted to the light caused by the sun through her window. Minjeong felt that her best friend wasn’t there beside her, so she panicked. Minjeong ran her hand on the bed, she wasn't by her side. Minjeong ran around her own home, hoping Karina would be there, just making coffee. To her surprise, she saw no one. Feeling dumbfounded, the words she said that night echoes through her mind. Did she even mean everything she said last night? I mean, who could stay, right? She thought, feeling gloomy, looking for the after care from her beloved. She couldn't help but overthink; not even a note? A text? Minjeong felt like a one night stand, all alone. As she opens all her social media, she stumbles over a notification on twitter that has Karina’s name on it. Is it a text? She opens the notification

"I guess I know my answer."

[whimsicalpolitical]

Distraction // Matty Healy x Reader

a/n: I can’t believe he’s actually so fucking hot. FERAL for Matthew Timothy Healy

summary: you’re staying at a hotel with matty in Leeds and he has tons of work to do, it’s not your problem he’s distracting you with his good looks

content warning: 18+MDNI, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, p in v (unprotected), d-word, begging

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You turn over, expecting to see Matty beside you, but the bed is empty. You sit up, ruffling your hair and letting your feet dangle off the edge of the bed for a moment.

The sunlight streams through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel room, casting a golden glow across the plush carpet. This is easily the largest and most luxurious hotel you had ever stayed in. You stretch, savoring the softness of the high-thread-count sheets, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. 10:00 AM.

With a soft sigh, you slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. You pad across the room, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you as you enter the bathroom.

You turn on the shower, adjusting the water until it is just the right temperature.

After a long, relaxing shower, you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels, its softness a gentle hug. You take your time with your morning routine, relishing the unhurried pace. Skincare, a light touch of makeup, and a quick brush through your hair leaves you feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.

It’s a hot summer day, you decide to wear your favorite white and oversized muslin blouse with a pair of shorts, not visible because the blouse is covering your upper thighs.

You walk back into the bedroom, on your way to see Matty and maybe convince him to have breakfast with you.

You reach the door to the very large living room area, where Matty is mostly working. You’re very sure he’s sitting in there, doing some kind of work.

Your heart drops at the sight of him. Luckily he doesn’t hear you standing at the doorway, this way you can admire him some more.

He’s manspreading on the couch, intensely focused on signing some photographs.

It’s the all black suit that does it for you. You could shower all over again, feeling too hot staring at him. He’s wearing a sleek, tailored black blazer. The sharp lines and perfect fit adding a sophisticated touch.

Underneath he’s wearing a white tanktop, the cut is low around his neck, the tattoo for his nana peaking out.

Your eyes trail down his chest to his pants, black trousers well-fitting. They’re hugging his thighs, and oh well, the times you spent grinding on them are flashing through your mind.

He’s hot- it is all almost too much to handle. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips as you decide to get a little closer, meanwhile you try to ignore the feeling of your already damp panties.

He finally notices your silhouette, “morning love,” he lays the pen down in front of him, reaching out to you as you gently slide into his lap sideways, resting your feet between his thighs. His hands are instinctively finding your waist.

“Missed you in bed,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He hums, moving his lips to give you a quick kiss but you deepen the kiss, your hand finding it’s way to the back of his head, pressing his lips eagerly against yours. “Missed me a lot I see.”

He pulls back and misses the pout that forms on your lips, “have breakfast with me?”

“Can’t, have to finish these,” you roll your eyes as he nods towards the pieces of paper.

“Work is all you’ve been thinking about these past days, enjoy this insane hotel with me.” A hint of frustration lingers in your voice.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest, “not true. I think about you plenty.” He gives you a pathetic kiss on your cheek, “besides s’ just another hotel, what are you on about?”

“This is hotel is insane, how can you play it cool.”

“I’m not here for the hotel, love, s’ easy.”

Before he can grab the pen again to sign some more you pull it out of his hand and lift your hand into the air. “Haven’t even told me if I’m pretty today.”

He raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Apologies from my side,” he tilts his head a bit, “you look very pretty today, thought I don’t have to tell you every minute.” You huff out loud, not thinking he’s serious.

“You have to tell me every day Matty,” you fumble with his white tank top, “I tell you how hot you look everyday, don’t I?”

He chuckles, “you do look absolutely stunning, forgive me?” His brown eyes soften but he’s still teasing and you’re afraid he feels your wetness on his thigh, his teasing tone always impacting you. “Care to give me my pen back?”

You throw it across the room, shaking your head, “take a break,” the suggestive tone in your voice can’t be overheard and Matty gets it now.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” His hands land on your thigh, beneath your blouse, squeezing the flesh making you squirm. “Told you yesterday I have work to do.”

You remember last night, riding him on the balcony while he was smoking one cigarette after another and taking you in the shower, making sure you’re pleased enough for the weekend. But you’re not. You’re never pleased enough with him looking like that. You already miss the feeling of his fingers between your thighs.

“It’s your fault,” you scoff and his eyes widen, “can’t expect me to sit still when you look like that.” Your finger trails down his chest but before you reach his lower stomach area he grabs your hand.

“You make it seem like I’m sitting here with my fucking dick out,” he scoffs, “behave.”

“I wish,” that earns you a smack to your thigh.

“Can’t do anything properly with you here.” He tries to pull you off of his lap but it just ends with your leg going over his lap, sitting down the right way, facing him.

“15 minute break Matty, c’mon,” you plead, trying to grind down on him but he knows you too well, gripping your hips so hard you can’t move at all.

“Later baby,” your bottom lips juts out but his thumb is quick to remove the pout. “Get yourself off or some shit f’ you’re this horny.”

He’s being mean but you definitely won’t give up because the burning in your lower belly gets increasingly worse the more Matty talks and touches you. You always get what you want, it’s Matty’s own fault that you’re this spoiled.

You’re not unfamiliar with his big ego when it comes to work. You’re willing to tease him as much as he teases you until he finally gives you what you want.

You pout again, smiling when he rolls his eyes. His grip loosens on your hips and you take your chance to grind your hips one time, whining when he stills your hips again. He hisses, “unbelievable, did you not listen to a word I have said?”

“Please Matty, you have the whole day doing this shit,” your hands rest on his shoulder, trying to persuade him with you touch.

“No, I actually do have a tight schedule,” his hand disappears in his pocket, pulling out another pen, “can’t neglect my work just because you’re up for havin’ a fuck.”

You try to snatch the pen again but he’s rolling you off his lap, signing another card. He’s playing dirty.

You scoot next to him closer, just sitting next to him until your hand finds his inner thigh. He gives you a quick glance but he doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t you want to please your girl? Make her feel good?” He groans at your words. He does. If he could he would make you feel good every time you’d say so and sometimes it ends with him having to bend you over in a bathroom or at the back of a hall.

“You’re a beg, love,” he finally turns to you, “can’t stand when you’re a beg.”

“M’ not,” you know it’s a lie.

“No? Just want to get off then?” You nod and he laughs. Like actually laughs at you. “Too bad.”

You have to change your strategy then.

“So you don’t think I’m pretty right now,” you huff, “unbelievable.”

You cross your arms and try to stand up but Matty grabs your chin. “You’re joking right?” He takes your hand and leads it to his crotch, he’s not fully hard yet but he’s definitely getting there. “You’re fucking gorgeous, love. All the time.”

“Then why won’t you just fuck me?” You sit on his lap. Again, because you love this place, you’re born for it. “Please Matty, only 15 minutes.”

“15 minutes?” He asks and you nod, “s’ never going to be just 15 minutes, don’t act like you’d ever hold your bargain.”

“I will this time, please matty,” you lean closer to his ear, “please matty.” You nibble at his ear slowly and bite your way down to his neck. “C’mon daddy.”

“Fuck off with that,” he groans as you keep kissing him. You don’t usually call him that because he says he’s not fucking with that but you felt him getting harder right then and there. “You’re fucking needy.”

Matty clicks his tongue and has his hand running through his hair while you’re still sucking marks into his neck. “Christ-“ he lost because you’re grinding yourself down onto him and he’s not gripping your hips to stop. You grin into his neck.

“You look so fucking hot Matty,” you whine, feeling his bulge perfectly rubbing at your clit. “Fucking love you.”

He laughs, standing up and you get the hint, wrapping your legs around him. “Flatterin’ me much today? Don’t have to give me shit anymore, I’m gonna fuck you.”

He’s walking into the bedroom with you, hands on your ass, until he’s throwing you onto the bed. He’s removing his jacket and his tank top before hovering over you again.

Matty kisses you, desperation in every move he makes. You run your hand through his hair. Messy as it’s filled with gel. You feel him slide his hand up your blouse and it sends a shudder down your spine. His hand is calloused, rough, but touches you with a sweet gentleness that makes you swoon. His hand reaches your breast, cups it, squeezes like he needs to get his fill. “Want you Matty.”

“Know you do, want me all the time,” he opens all the buttons and slips it off of you, throwing the piece of clothing around the room. “Drives me insane,” next thing which is on the floor is your bra. His mouth immediately latches on to your nipple, pinching the other one with his finger, switching after a while.

“Touch me, please,” You’re begging so sweetly for him today.

“Already am,” he states, kissing down your belly, finally reaching those thin shorts. “Am I touching you wrong?” He teasingly asks but he always wants a serious answer from you.

You shake your head. “Just- touch me here,” you take his hand and slowly trace it to your clothed core. He rubs slow circles on your clit, trying to drive you against a wall with how slow he is. “Here’s good huh?”

“Matty-“ you whine, trying to tell him to take your shorts off because you’re getting frustrated and you don’t even need foreplay anymore.

He slides the shorts and your panties down your legs and also throw them across the room. “Fuckin’ hell, love,” you feel his mouth lapping on the inside of your thigh, “you’re dripping down your thighs.”

You feel his breath on your center, and the minute his tongue touches you, you let out a moan. He works his tongue over your clit, swallowing every drop of arousal dripping down his mouth. You grip the headboard and rock yourself down on his tongue while he continues to lap on your pussy without any care for the mess you made. You are wet and sloppy as his tongue moves in and out of you, up and down your folds while also sucking on your swollen clit.

“F-fuck Matty,” you moan, looking down at where you can see the top of his face, his eyes closed as he groans on your flesh, wrapping his arm around your thighs while never stopping stroking your wetness with his tongue. He holds you tight, keeping you in place, and there is nothing else you can do but buck your hips as you run your hands through his hair and tug on the strands, receiving a deep, rough yet excited groan from him.

“So sweet,” he mumbles, you exhale his name, not being able to find the words or the breath in you to speak as you feel the familiar coil in your stomach. He flicks his tongue over your clit a few times before gathering up your juices and circling back to the swollen bud, massaging your flesh with the flat of his tongue. You feel the bliss swelling inside your body. You know you won’t last much longer.

“I’m gonna-,” you’re cut off by your own moan, you feel the warmth from between your legs surge through your whole body. Your walls tighten as you keep rocking your hips against him, whimpering, moaning, crying out that you are coming. You shiver and tremble above him, tossing your head back, gripping his hair even tighter, and pressing your thighs together around his head.

After licking up all your juices he comes up to give you a kiss, he slides his tongue into your mouth and you moan at the taste of yourself. “What do you say?”

“Thank you daddy,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around him, a whine slipping from your lips as he slaps your core.

“Told you to quit that,” you grin at his reaction, rolling him to his back, so you can straddle him.

He’s unbelievable hard in his pants, in his black fucking suit pants. You don’t waist anytime to open them and dive your hand into his pants, feeling his cock through his boxers.

“So hot,” you say again, pulling his pants and boxers down.

His hips are jutting up into your hand when your hand is finally wrapping around his rock hard cock.

Matty’s head falls back in a loud moan as you finally start to move your hand on his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip, it doesn’t take long for his thighs to start shaking and his hands gripping your hand.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, changing positions with you again, you on your back, “s’ what you begged for.”

He comes up to kiss you and you can’t process anything when he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

“You’re so good fuck-“ Matty croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head drops to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. “You’re so sensitive today.”

Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

“You look gorgeous as ever ‘round my cock,” he groans, looking down at your pussy and the way it’s sucking him inside, encouraging him to go deeper.

“Please,” you beg again, and he knows what you need. He’s reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans, not wanting the hotel to hear you, which is ironic ‘cause last night wasn’t quieter at all.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you are near the finish line, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Matty and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. “Satisfied now?”

You nod, pulling him in for a long kiss, “thank you.”

“Not for that,” he speaks softly, pulling out of you and you whine at the loss of his warmth. “S’ my favorite activity.”

He lays down next to you, your head finding his chest immediately. “Sorry for the distraction.” You don’t mean that but you want him to know you do care if you’re the reason he can’t work.

“C’mon now, you’re a brat and you regret it now?” He has a boyish grin on his face, “I can tell you off ‘f I want to, I just- never want to.”

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. “Have to work in 10 minutes, that alright?”

You nod and say ‘yes’ because you know you’ll be asleep again in less than 10 minutes and he knows it as well.

[loquaciousferret]

Little Games

Summary: Agent Peña reaches breaking point after your not-so-subtle teasing around the office, deciding to teach you a lesson you won't be quick to forget.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, degradation, name-calling, rough unprotected sex, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, Javi being mean. As always- maybe more! Read at own risk

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Javi pulled me out of my Joel thots today, enjoy this short piece of filth

MINORS DO NOT PRESS KEEP READING

“Cut the shit!” Javi’s palm slams into the wall behind your head.

You could see how the man would be terrifyingly intimidating, if this hadn’t been your goal all along.

“What’s wrong, agent?” You gaze back at him innocently with wide eyes, his cock twitching just at the sight.

“Don’t give me that.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it against the wall after you had tried to reach out and push his chest back lightly to create space between you.

You blinked. You wouldn’t give in yet.

“Just admit it.” He hisses through gritted teeth, “You may be stupid but not too stupid to know what you’re doing.”

You can barely keep a straight face, it’s practically painful trying to hold back the defiant smirk that wants to creep its way onto your lips.

“I’m sorry Agent, don’t you think I’m doing a good job?” You said, holding on to the pretence a little longer.

“Cut the act.” His tone is menacing. “You know you do a great job, staying late whenever I do, doing my paperwork faster than any of the other agents just so you can come back and see me sooner. Hovering around me in those ridiculously short skirts, driving me crazy. Maybe HR should talk to you like a grown up about professional dress codes.”

“You don’t like how I dress?” You said, playing dumb for him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He gripped your jaw and tilted your face up to him.

“Is this a game to you?”

Involuntarily, your tongue darts out to lick your lips. He can’t bear to look at you any longer and spins you round so you face the wall.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson.” His hand was roughly separating your thighs, spreading your legs forcefully. “Maybe you’ll learn not to start something if you don’t plan on finishing it.”

You moaned as one of his large hands started to put pressure on your already wet pussy, through your thin underwear. He pushed it aside and thrusted two fingers inside you roughly. You gasped and he hissed at you to “Cierra el Pico.”

Of course he had seen you coming from a mile away that morning, wearing a black pencil skirt that barely grazed your mid thigh, and a white blouse under your blazer that clearly showed the outline of your lace bra. Most of the department were away at an incident, and management had been scheduled in with the President. Being a secretary, you knew everyone’s schedules, and you knew today was the perfect day to take your little game with Agent Peña up a notch. He would already be in a bad mood, frustrated that he had been benched while most of the other agents were out potentially getting into some action today. You used this existing frustration to your advantage and that’s how you ended up here right under his grasp where you had wanted to be all along.

You heard him unbuckling his belt with his free hand and you shuddered with excitement. He removed his fingers from inside you and gripped your panties, pulling them down your legs roughly. You stepped out of them when they hit your ankles and he picked them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You smirked, suspecting that he wouldn’t return them following this encounter.

He pressed on your upper back, folding you more so that your ass stuck out and your chest was pressed to the wall. Your breathing faltered as he slid his erection through your wet folds and lined himself up with your entrance. He pushed into you with no mercy and you whined, unprepared after using his fingers on you for such a short time.

“I thought I told you to shut up.” He sneered.

He immediately set a punishingly harsh pace, pressing you hard into the wall as you held both your hips, guiding you back onto his cock to increase the force of each rough thrust of his cock.

You chewed on your lip to silence your moans of pleasure, there was only one locked door between yourself and Javier and a corridor that could contain government officials at any moment.

“Is this what you thought would happen when you started your little game, huh?” He goaded, continuing to slam into you harshly.

You couldn’t come up with anything clever to say in response, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure he was giving you.

“You can dress up and pretend to be whoever you want but look at you now, huh. Just a whore under all those fancy clothes as soon as someone sticks their cock inside you.”

“Only you, Sir.” You manage to get out, releasing a stifled moan.

He scoffs at that but the intensity of his thrusts somehow increased, as if the idea turned him on even more. If this wasn’t him at his worst then you didn’t think you would be able to handle whatever that would feel like.

He kept one hand on your hip but moved the other round your front to play with your clit, rubbing and applying pressure in circles around the sensitive spot.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” He challenged.

You nodded, unable to speak for fear of crying out in pleasure.

“Really? After all that teasing? You think I should make you feel good?” He chuckled.

“I think I’d rather leave you frustrated all day, let you play with yourself tonight and wish it was me touching you.”

You whined, “Please, Javi-“

“Listen to yourself,” He taunted, and you could hear his smirk. “Willing to beg for it, you little whore.”

As soon as your orgasm started to build, your legs stiffening and your pussy clenching around him, he removed his fingers from your clit.

You whined at the loss of contact and he laughed and tutted, “This is what happens when you try and involve me in your slutty little games.”

He went quiet then, done taunting you and instead focussed on chasing his own release, slamming his cock into you as deep as it could go, your warm tight cunt getting him closer to his orgasm with every single thrust.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, remind you all day what I did to you.”

You nodded, whining, your pleasure reaching an absolute high.

After a few more thrusts, his pace faltered, and you felt his warm release inside you as he grunted, stilling inside you while he caught his breath.

He pulled out of you and you felt his load trickling down your inner thigh slowly.

“Make yourself presentable.” He ordered as he tucked his cock back inside his jeans and refastened his belt. “And leave me alone, I have more important things to do today than deal with you.”

He unlocked the door and slipped out of the disused file room back into the office. Your mind was already whirring, planning on how you could get him to do this to you again.

[dottiro]

Hide & Seek [ i. ]

Unreliable synopsis: How many masks can you stack on one face? / What happened to Zandik? Warnings: This is experimental and involves my own interpretation of Dottore, this will be dark content, no proofread

A grim sky declares the first signs of a rapidly approaching storm. Clouds flock together, growing darker as they gather energy. Thus, rain begins to fall steadily. At first, with rhythm—dancing down, until its intensity overwhelms and everyone caught in it has to seek shelter. Finally, it reaches a climax. Lightning flashes, abrupt and blinding, followed by roaring thunder, deafening everyone with its fierce violence.

The storm has come, and soon it’ll pass—as all eventually will.

But ‘Zandik’ doesn’t.

ㅤ

ㅤ

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

ㅤ

In the dining room, at the other end of the long table, a stranger sits in your captor’s chair. His crimson eyes are stern and focused on the steak placed on a porcelain plate before him. You watch as Dottore lifts his knife and fork between his slender fingers. He pierces the fork in, keeping the red meat in place, and then proceeds to cut it with the precision of a surgeon. 

His actions are delicate and not without purpose. He seems foreign in his home—too different from the enigmatic Zandik you met in the Akademiya. 

His pale blue hair is slicked back, safe for the two strands that frame his face. And however he might’ve tried to tame his blue locks, the ends curl up and create waves in his otherwise perfectly orchestrated appearance. 

Your eyes move to his neck which flexes when he brings the fork to his mouth. The silver utensil shines underneath the orange light from the chandelier above, something the metal parts of his single earring imitate. It hangs vertically against next to his jawline, showing off his rigid posture—something that feels out of place when he is supposedly enjoying dinner.

You try to fathom what has changed between this morning and now. 

Earlier, when he had approached you, you had gotten a glimpse of his full outfit. Simple, yet elegant, Zandik shows he made an effort to look perfect this evening. A dark sapphire button-up blouse is rolled up to his elbows, with the top buttons loose and showing off his collarbones. On top of the blue, he wears a white sleeveless blazer, decorated with charcoal-colored designs crossing his chest. To match the formal style, he wears black flat-front pants in a darker colour worn a little lower on the waistline to showcase his slender silhouette. Finally, the look is completed with a glimpse of his pristine white socks and black dress shoes. 

If you didn’t know better, you could’ve believed he had an important meeting to go to.

If you didn’t know better, you could’ve hoped he would’ve left, if only for a few hours. 

But you do know better. 

The reality of the current circumstances is as unfortunate as it is confusing. While you had locked yourself away in the gallery room, he had found you and instructed you to follow him. Having no courage to reject him, you followed him from one end of the mansion to the other. 

The whole time you were forced to chase his tense figure. Back then, aside from the obvious change in clothing and his improbable request for you to join him, you had already noticed something was different. He walked without rhythm, shoulders broad and tight, with his arms crossed behind his back… it seemed programmed—mechanical in the aspect he carried himself.

Part of you is convinced that his outfit is an indirect claim of power over you. While he allows himself to put effort into his appearance, you’re stuck with your old clothes from Sumeru, which; first of all, do nothing against the cold; but furthermore make you feel out in place, across from him at the table—underneath the crystal chandelier and china vases with intricate designs. 

For someone who decided to keep you at his side no matter the cost, a part of him seems keen to forget and neglect you. 

But not this one.

“Is the food unsatisfactory for your standards?” His voice is distant, robotic, and final. It’s not a question, but rather a statement.

You look at the plate in front of you. Red juices spread from your steak. To add colour to your otherwise dark thoughts, a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a mix of roasted veggies balance the meal. The utensils remain in their rightful place as you had found them; the fork on the left side of your plate, and the dull knife on the right. 

Your appetite had left when you first met this Zandik.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Your rebut comes out bland. It’s a tasteless excuse with no seasoning compared to the meal on the plate. You stumble over the tight composure you had tried to mimic as you hastily add, “I overate for lunch.”

Zandik’s eyes haven’t left yours from the moment he first spoke. Despite the dining room being void of homey furniture and bringing a cold feeling to the table, his frozen movements are the ones to incite the shiver that embraces your spine. 

He tilts his head lower, eyes drifting from your right eye to your left. “Since when has your appetite decreased?” he asks; being either curious or accusingly. 

Your hands move over to hover above the utensils. You try to shake him off, preferring the silence over the interrogation. “It’s fine. I’ll eat.”

He watches you hesitate. With shaky hands, you move your fork undecidingly over the plate. Every choice seems like a test and you fear to fail. Your eyes glance back at him, seeking some twisted form of assurance in the hopes you’ll find a right answer between all the same wrong choices, only to snap away when you meet his red eyes observing you. 

A test. This must be a test—!

You wish to go outside and let yourself be locked in by the snow. At the very least, it’d be much more preferable than your current cage. Between the thousand individual snowflakes, you’d be embraced by the coldness until your body would scream at you and force you back inside. It’s a constant cycle of trying to find a way out only to end up where you had started, and you wonder if the everlasting storm outside is that much different from Zandik.

Unlike the man sitting across from you, you avoid the steak. The red juices remind you too much of the blood that’s been spilt by his hands before and it makes your stomach churn in response. 

Your fork decides to pierce some of the tiny roasted carrots. You bring it to your mouth, focusing too much on the taste until you find everything you dislike. 

In the end, you gulp it down to your dismay.

You don’t notice the passage of time until a hand takes the plate away from your vision.

There is love in this gesture—as if he were apologising for his previous actions.

This time, your stranger waits in the room; letting you be the one to abandon him instead.

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

[archangeldyke-all]

I miss ceo sev

me too :/ any stories u want me to do w/ her? in the meantime, have some random thoughts about her :)

men and minors dni

only uses blue pens. usually the bic ones, the cheapest of the cheap. she's always got smudges of blue on the side of her right hand and wrist. you try to get her into better pens, even get her her own, super special, weighted, customized blue ink fancy thing for her birthday. and she has it right on display on her desk, but she never uses it. it's just to make her look fancy. she likes chewing on the ends of her plastic pens while crunching numbers and solving problems-- she's not gonna chew on the end of a pen that costs hundreds of dollars! especially not when her girl got it for her.

she tries soooo hard to wear the full work-uniform all day. every morning, she puts on a blouse or button up, some nice slacks, a blazer, and a tie if she's feeling it. she's the ceo-- she's gotta look good! but by the end of the day, without fail, she trudges back to her car with her jacket off, her tie undone and thrown over her shoulder, her shirt untucked and unbuttoned around her wrists and neck.

that being said, her blazers and slacks all look so fucking good on her. she's got a surprisingly colorful wardrobe, lots of matching power-suits. lots of teals, earthy browns and greens, purples, and her favorite: her black. she saves the all black get up for big deals... and for when she's trying to turn you on.

she doesn't have time to workout at a gym, so she does it at home. her apartment has a swimming pool on the top floor, and if you ever wake up alone in bed, it's because sevika's upstairs going for a late-night swim. usually, you'll get out of bed and wander to the elevator, then to the pool, sitting on the side with your feet in the water as you watch her do her laps. you reward her with each one with a little kiss.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Family Snuggles

Word Count: 777

Content Warnings: mention of wine, nothing else just pregnancy fluff.

DAD SPENCE

Wine night at Rossi’s. Shit. Normally wine night at Rossi’s was good, well, mostly the aftward when you and Spencer drove home and had some of your own tipsy fun. But now, it was just about the worst thing that could’ve been scheduled. Rossi hadn’t called for wine and pasta night in months and of course, once you’re pregnant, he wants everyone over. 

You sifted through your side of the closet, looking for a dress or dressy pants and blouses of sorts. You decided on a silky olive-green dress, one that was form-fitting which wasn’t a problem for you yet because you were only about four weeks pregnant. 

It was a little tight around your waist, but it still worked. Spencer froze in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom for a moment, watching you admire the dress around you in the standing mirror. “Can I say that you look maybe even hotter while pregnant?” Spencer asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hmm. Thank you. You don’t look too bad either.” You looked at Spencer behind you in the mirror. He was wearing a cute black blazer with a plain button-up underneath it and normal black dress pants. Pretty much what he wore to work minus a vest. And damn he looked hot as always.

 “At what point tonight do you think I can unbutton this shirt?” You turned around, placing your hands on his chest and running them up to his neck.

“After Rossi’s.” He said sternly with a smile. You threw your head back with a groan. “You're still trying to put off telling them you’re pregnant.” 

You frowned, arms around his neck with Spencer’s hands relaxed on your waist. “It’s not that I don’t want them to know-”

“I know, baby. You’re just nervous.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. 

You sighed, relaxing in his kiss. “How are you not?” 

Spencer walked you over to the bed, sitting you down so he could put your shoes on for you. He slid you into your fancy black flats. “Well for one, I’m not the pregnant one. And two, I’m not quite sure how much it’s hit me yet, I guess. I’m very busy taking care of you and your supplements and the doctor appointments that I haven’t really just sat with you or talked to the baby in your stomach. Maybe I’m distracting myself.” 

Spencer finished the sentence quietly as he analyzed himself. He lightly touched your right foot, sliding the last shoe on. “You enjoy those ankles before they bloat.” Spencer laughed a little, up and sitting beside you. “Hey, I have an idea before we go to Rossi’s.” You say, Spencer nodding. 

You scooted towards the headboard, laying down on the bed. Because the dress was form fitting, your very small bump was easier to see. “We’re napping?” Spencer asked, confused. 

“No, come here.” You pulled him close, resting his head on your chest and placing his hand on your bump. “Family snuggles.” You whispered, feeling Spencer brush his thumb over your belly gently.

“Wow.” Spencer whispered, all choked up but you couldn’t tell with his eyes on your belly. “I love you.” He whispered, placing a small kiss on the bump, leaving a little tear drop on your dress.

You scratched the back of Spencer’s head, soothing him however you could. It was very real to him. Surreal at that. “I’m so excited, Spencer.” You said, letting him rest his head on your stomach, his face towards you. “Two to three more weeks we can hear its heartbeat.” 

“I’m going to listen to it all the time.” Spencer laughed, inhaling deeply as he stood up. He loved intimate moments but they always caught up to him afterward. He exhaled, closing his eyes. You met him standing and gave him a small kiss. 

“We can listen to it as much as you want. We also get an ultrasound tomorrow.” You remind him. 

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Crap, right. Three pm. I almost forgot. I need to work on my list of questions.” 

You let go of Spencer, making your way to the front door as he followed you. “Oh god, Spencer. Don’t bother those poor nurses.” 

“They should’ve picked a different profession if they don’t like being asked questions.” He replied sassily, holding the door open for you. 

You rolled your eyes at him, watching him lock the door behind the two of you. You couldn’t wait to turn that guest room into a nursery. You couldn’t wait to be a mom. You couldn’t wait to have Spencer Reid’s kid.

[sehodreams]

S: in which wonbin thinks he can do better.

Inspired from @//riizeblr and the question an anon did on their blog! Ego!wonbin

TW: noncon then extremely dubcon and noncon again, terms that can be triggering for plus size people, dark!wonbin, dark!riize, manipulation, p in v, no protection

Like always I wrote it on my phone so there's probably (definitely) mistakes.

Wonbin thought you weren't special at all, yeah sure, he thought you were cute as fuck and that your cheeks were so pretty he could pour all his cum on them, but he also thought that you weren't enough.

He was too good for you, too pretty, too talented, too successful. You were just his manager, and while he worked with gorgeous idols every day, he couldn't ignore you there in the room.

You weren't even his type, he used to like small skinny girls that were nice to show around. You were his height with heels and you were bigger everywhere, and when he says everywhere, it was everywhere.

You had those plump legs and that soft tummy that blouses showed. Always wearing those ugly smart pants that did nothing for your figure when you wore blazers.

But when you and the boys were alone, when you took off the blazer and left your soft hair fall in your shoulders and your tops showed your gorgeous, full tits, he couldn't help but watch you move around, as if you were a goddess.

And he had to kill those feelings, he just had to, it was embarrassing for him to get caught by the other members even looking at your direction when he definitely could do better.

Why you? Why?

"Wonbin, please, I'm talking to you" you said exhausted "you have to eat something, you're gonna faint in practice"

He shrugged, why would you care so much about him? Yeah, you were his manager, but all the other managers just made sure he had food in hand in case he felt like eating, no one cared if he slept and ate properly, they just wanted him to be pretty.

"Bother someone else" he said and continued looking at his phone. You rolled your eyes, left his cup of cut fruit and then walked to Anton, giving him another one.

He heard you laughing with Anton and got mad, why were you paying attention to other guys?

He wanted to pull your hand, take you to another room and fuck you until his cum dripped out of your pussy while you were talking to the others. He had to mark you, but mark you in a way only he knew you were his, no one else had to know, it would kill his reputation.

So, when everyone was drinking in the restaurant and he saw Sungchan get a little to handsy with you, hugging your arm and smiling while asking you to let them stay one more hour, he lost his last string.

"I don't feel good" he said, and he knew you would react immediately to that. You quickly left Sungchan aside and walked to him.

"What's wrong? Did you have vodka again? You know you can't hold your liquor" you said tired. He nodded, acting drunk but laughing on the inside.

"I'll take him home, I'll come back for you guys in an hour, and that's all, nothing of one more hour" the others cheered and you both were quickly in the car, you driving while he was on the seat next to you with a bag on his hands.

"Please don't throw up, we'll arrive in a second" Wonbin was so happy he couldn't hide his smile, he kept his head down to not show you his victorious grin.

You arrived in what felt like 2 min, you carried him on your shoulder and then, after opening the door, you left him in the couch and went for a glass of water.

You were trying to give him the water when he grabbed the glass, took a chug of it and then left it in the little table next to him.

"Better?" You asked while taking off his shoes.

"No" you lifted your head to look at him, weird out by his serious voice tone. He didn't lost a second and used your confusion to kiss you, he grabbed your head with force and didn't let you get away even when you clawed your nails in his hands.

"Stop Wonbin, you're drunk!" you said loudly when he pushed you to the floor and grinned himself on you.

"Can you at least shut up?" he choked you. Even when you cried harder he kept with his kisses. "Why are you crying? You should be grateful anyone is kissing you, you should be begging me to not stop" he kissed you again and you bit his lower lip woth force. He groaned of pain and his hand tightened on your neck.

That didn't stop him, he took off your ugly pants with one hand and cupped your pussy angry. "Fuck you're so soft" he pushed two of his finger into you, you couldn't help but moan, even when you didn't want to. "That's right, you like that don't you? So pretty, only for me, I'm the only one who thinks you're gorgeous, so why are you refusing me?" You listened his words and stopped moving. And if he was right? You thought. What if he was the only one who saw you differently?

He saw you thinking his words and smiled.

"You were made for me, I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you, God, I'm the only one who wants to touch you, do you think there's anyone out there who will look at you this way?" He moved his fingers inside you, making sure the palm of his hand was wet. He licked his palm and gave you the sweetest smile he had ever given you. "You're mine, right?" He asked you, you wanted to refuse, you wanted to scream, but if he was right? You kept repeating that in your head. You knew no one else saw you as pretty, you didn't think you were ugly, but he was the only one until now who actually showed his interest, even if it was in this way. "Say you're mine" he ordered.

You felt the tears fall down your cheeks and when he softened his grip on your throat you talked. "I'm yours"

Wonbin had the biggest smile you had ever seen on him, victorious, successful.

He pulled down his pants enough to free his cock and rubbed the tip into your clit. You closed your eyes and moaned. "The prettiest moans and the prettiest pussy from the prettiest girl" he said, almost whispering, into your ear before sinking into you. He wasn't that big, you could've easily taken him, maybe it was because you were so vulnerable, so you cried a few tears and clenched your hands. He gave you a peck on the lips. "My girl"

He fucked you slowly first, you felt yourself enjoying it after some time, his hips touched yours deliciously and you moaned into his lips. He liked to kiss while fucking, and you liked to not feel used for a second.

Fuck it started to feel so good for you in a second and you felt terrible as a result, sick, but still earned for his dick to keep moving. He just had a way of making you forget the nauseas the sex and guilt made you feel.

He touched a spot that made you close your eyes and moan. That dick made you lose any coherent thought your brain had, replacing it with fog and tears of pleasure. Because you wanted that, right? You wanted to be with him, right?

"I'll fill this sweet cunt, do you want it there? Or where do you want it?" Oh, he gave you a choice? So sweet of him. You sighed, you didn't want him to cum inside, he wasn't wearing a condom and you weren't taking your birth control.

"Not inside, anywhere, but not inside, please" you begged. He laughed.

"Did you really think you had a choice?" He whispered and moved his hips harder, you were too stimulated to hear his words and trusted him to not cum inside. But he did what he wanted, like always, so he came inside when you got tighter while having your orgasm.

"You're so gorgeous filled with my cum" he kissed you, and you believed him, maybe you looked better filled with his cum.

His body fell over yours, you felt his breath next to your ear and you just stared to the ceiling, not believing what had just happened, a bit broken. He, on the other hand, was rejoicing, feeling like the king of the world.

You both heard voices from outside the door and rushed to dress. You didn't want the boys to see you so vulnerable, and he didn't want the others to see he fucked you.

"I brought them home" Shotaro said with a smile, he seemed tipsy but fresh and went to his room. "Thank you Taro" you said and grabbed your purse. "Wonbin is sleeping, please don't make too much noise" Wonbin had ran to his room and you were alone in the living room. "Good night boys, I'll go home" you left the apartment in a rush, you just wanted to go home and wash yourself. The others were too drunk to notice how weirdly you walked, and Wonbin was smiling in his bed, hearing you close the apartment door.

This was just the start.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 1: History]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+) and drugs, alcohol, smoking, astronomy, mental health struggles, Missouri.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

* * * I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world. 🥰😘 * * *

@borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @randomdragonfires​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @libroparaiso​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​ @trifoliumviridi​ @deltamoon666​ @mariahossain​ @darkenchantress​ @doingfondue​ @atherverybest​ @namelesslosers​ @skythighs​ @moonlightfoxx​ @partypoison00​ @bellameshipper​ @coffedraven​ @greenowlfactif​ @catalina-howard​ @babyblue711​ @marvelescvpe​ @heimtathurs​ @ammo23​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 💜

“You are a professional,” you tell your reflection threateningly, like it owes you money. Your hair is painstakingly tidy, your makeup neat, subdued, businesslike. You are wearing a black blazer, a white blouse, and Cookie Monster pajama pants. You are in your one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City, Missouri: grey, thunderous, humid as hell, June raindrops on the windows. “You have a master’s degree and hundreds of clinical hours and you are not afraid of clients. Not at all! Not even a little bit!”

You check your phone. 2:55 p.m.

“Oh God,” you whine to the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor, to the floral wallpaper. You clutch the cold porcelain of the sink: rose-pink, 1950s, diners and Thunderbirds, housewives and Valium. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

But there is no escape! You hurry, sweating profusely, to your laptop. You start the Zoom meeting and wait for your client to arrive, chewing your thumbnail until it bleeds, a scarlet semicircle of dull warm pain, a crescent moon like spilled merlot. You glance at your notepad again. David Mills, 25, married, anxiety upon relocating to a new city and beginning employment there.

Wait.

You confirm with a quick Google search in a new tab. David Mills was the protagonist in Se7en.

You sit back in your swivel chair, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blue-white luminance of the screen glows on your face like moonlight. Your client is either a coincidence or a liar.

So what? People lie. People lie about therapy especially. So he wants some anonymity. Big deal.

“Strange,” you murmur to yourself.

You have no further opportunity to mull it over. A gratingly cheerful ding announces your client’s arrival in the Zoom meeting waiting room. No avatar, name still listed as David Mills.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Here we go.”

You shake the tremors out of your hands and admit him. He pops onto the screen like a bloom of ironweed, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s nighttime wherever he is. The background is dark and indistinct, shadowy; lamplight cascades across his face, topaz and fool’s gold. You are startled to realize that you already know him. And his name is definitely not David Mills.

“…Aegon?!”

He grins, sly and cocky but never cruel. “Hey.”

“Aegon Targaryen??!!”

“That’s me!” he concurs brightly. “What’s up, Stargirl?”

And instantly, you are transported back to almost exactly one year ago: a rooftop bar downtown, neon signs coiled in shades of violet and rhodonite and sapphire, night wind, constellations, ice clinking in misty glasses, locks of his hair skating between your fingers, the sting of his teeth on your throat, the Weeknd. “Hey,” you say softly. And then again, with more enthusiasm: “Hey! I saw you on Good Morning America last week!”

“Yeah? Was I good?”

“Jace was good. You were slightly offkey.”

“Aw shit. I usually am.”

“That’s okay. You’re the hot loser, right? That’s your character?”

“That’s me, baby. That’s why it works so well.”

It’s impossible: time has passed, thousands of miles have opened up between you, and yet it’s like he’s right here in the room, he never arrived, he never left, he’s always been here for life to grow up around like the framework of a house, a trellis, a skeleton. “How did you find me?”

“I couldn’t remember your name, but I figured you must have finished school by now. So I Googled therapists in Kansas City. Do you know how many there are?”

“500,” you guess.

“712,” Aegon says. “At least, that’s how many I scrolled through before I found your photo.”

“Wow.” You’re smiling; you can’t take your eyes off him. A lot of girls have that problem. That’s why he’s worth $100 million. “Couldn’t remember my name, huh? I guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

He chuckles, a little bashfully, sweeping his blond hair off his face. “No. No, you definitely made an impression.”

So did he. In the downstairs bathroom of the bar, tucked beneath a staircase, stark white florescent lights and red walls, lip biting and ripped seams on your dress. He’d finished in approximately thirty seconds—which, oddly, felt more like a compliment than anything else—and then promptly snapped off the condom, dropped to his knees, and went down on you until you came not once but twice, a rarity for you. But that wasn’t the best part. Afterwards you’d gone back up to the roof together, sat in a quiet corner booth until the bar closed, talked about anything and everything with your bodies folded unconsciously into each other, origami, blended watercolors, whispers and murmurs, your palm on his thigh, his fingertips ghosting the underside of your wrist.

“So,” Aegon says through the laptop screen. “Are you, like, kind of unemployed currently?”

“No,” you reply, palpably defensive. Embarrassing! “I’m clearly working right now. You literally made a virtual appointment with me. I’m just…getting my practice off the ground.”

“Yeah but you seem lowkey unemployed.”

“You are so fucking rude.” But you’re laughing.

“I’m just saying, you had a lot of appointment times available. A lot.”

“I’m recruiting clients!” you exclaim. “I’m not like you. I can’t simulate sex with microphone stands to sell tickets.”

“That was one time!”

You smirk at him, eyebrows raised.

“That was…four times. That I recall.”

“I’m a professional. A serious, grown-up, certified professional.”

“You’re a glorified hobo, admit it.”

“You’re a dollar store Harry Styles.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, clutching his chest. “Okay you win.”

“Why did you do this? Why did you track me down in order to make some fraudulent therapy appointment?”

Now Aegon is something you’ve never seen from him before. He’s nervous. “I, uh…I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Well, not me specifically,” he amends. “We need your help. Comet does.”

Comet. What he means—what screaming fans all over the world mean when they drop this name in Reddit threads or Twitter hashtags or Tumblr gifsets—is the boy band Comet Donati. Three albums, five members: Aegon, Jace, Luke, Cregan, Daeron. The lineup has changed recently. Everyone knows why. “Help with what?”

“I mean…I’m sure you heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you say, somber now. Six months ago a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo. It hit Aemond, costing him six inches of flesh on the left side of his face, his sight in one eye, and his position as the undisputed, archetypal fearless leader of Comet. The celebrity gossip sites had reported that he was taking time off to recover, and then that his younger brother Daeron would be filling in for him at a few shows, and then suddenly Daeron was the fifth member of the band, and everyone was so charmed by his distinctly buoyant, sunshine-and-rainbows quality that Aemond faded from the discourse almost entirely, a ghost, a phantom, an antiquated word like telegraph or courtship or laudanum.

“So things are different now,” Aegon continues. “Things are…not always easy. And I think it might be a good idea to have you around.”

“Look, I’m not…like…” How can you put this? It’s something you have difficulty admitting out loud. “I’m not a real therapist, you know? You’re right, Aegon. I’m basically unemployed. I’m fresh out of my master’s program, I don’t have anywhere near the kind of experience that someone would need to adequately help Comet. So, maybe I could recommend some people to you, but other than that I don’t think I can—”

“It has to be you,” Aegon says.

You shake your head, gazing through the screen at him, through the space and the time. “Why?”

“When Comet performed in Kansas City…when we met at the bar that night…” He is hushed, meditative. “I don’t really remember what we talked about. But I remember exactly how you made me feel.” He smiles, the sort of smile you didn’t know he had in him: soft, pure, nostalgic, without edges. “I think Aemond could use some of that.”

The walls fall down around you, this apartment, this city, this life. “Where are you right now?”

“Capri.”

“Where?”

“Capri,” he says again, amused. “But we’ll be in Rome tomorrow. You can meet us there.”

“In Rome,” you repeat, like it’s Mars or one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Catch the next flight out. The band can reimburse you. We’ll get you a contract of some sort. Nothing too long-term, so you won’t be locked in or anything. A few months. Then we can reassess.”

“Okay, but…I don’t feel comfortable serving as an official therapist to you or anyone else in Comet, Aegon. The circumstances are less than orthodox. And not just because of the…um…bar bathroom situation.”

“Fine, whatever.” He’s high on the victory; the details don’t matter so much.

“Okay,” you say. And then again, giggling wildly at the ludicrousness of it all: “Okay! I guess I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow!”

“Cool. Let me give you my WhatsApp.” You exchange information, and then he grins at you, crafty and radiant through the screen. “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

“We’ll see,” you reply distractedly, already opening Expedia in a new tab.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Midwest, the East Coast, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, Southern Europe, green to blue and then green again as the plane descends into the Leonardo da Vinci Airport of Rome. You roll your single carry-on bag through the corridors, peering out the windows at cloudless cerulean skies and towering stone pines. Aegon meets you at the bottom of an escalator. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and matching Crocs. He’s slightly chubbier than you remember, just as beautiful, just as chaotically charismatic, the sun made flesh. He’s standing with a man you don’t recognize.

“Benvenuta, bella!” Aegon proclaims, nearly tackling you with a hug before taking your bag. He smells like beer, sunscreen, Axe body spray, summer air that unfurls warm and golden in the lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man—possibly Italian, definitely gorgeous—exhales with great relief. “Aegon said he needed to meet someone at the airport and I was 90% sure that you would be a drug dealer. But you do not look like a drug dealer. You’re not a…are you a…?”

“No, I’m definitely not a drug dealer.”

“Okay. Great. Hello.” He extends a hand, tan and muscley. “I’m Criston, I’m the tour manager. It is my job to keep everyone alive and uninjured.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” Aegon says. And then, when Criston is clearly distressed by it: “Uh, anyway, there’s an Escalade waiting outside.”

The SUV is massive and black with tinted windows. As you follow Aegon into the backseat, several paparazzi appear on the sidewalk and begin snapping photos, calling out to you and expelling rapid-fire white flashes like lightning. Aegon ignores them. You’ve been travelling all day, and the sun is setting now in Rome. The sky is the color of embers, autumn leaves, Saturn. Criston climbs into the passenger seat and gives instructions to the driver. The Escalade wheels out of Arrivals, paparazzi sprinting down the sidewalk after it to take a few final pictures.

“So,” Aegon says, smiling. He pops open the mini fridge and hands you an ice-cold can of San Pellegrino. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Kansas? Or, maybe, boyfriends?”

“Missouri,” you correct him automatically. “And no. None worth mentioning.” A guy you’ve had lunch with twice, a guy you made out with at an Olive Garden, a guy you hooked up with back at UChicago who you’re still texting, guys who flit in and out of your mind like birds through the sky, impermanent, inconsequential.

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes.” You’re not offended. Aegon is teasing, and so are you. It occurs to you that talking to Aegon is a bit like talking to yourself; there are no awkward lulls, and he rarely says anything that shocks you. “But that’s not why I came to Rome.”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I invited you.”

As the Escalade zooms by iconic landmarks—the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Piazza del Popolo—you ask Aegon about them. He has no idea; he makes things up instead.

“That’s the duck waterpark,” he says as you pass a fountain that’s over 1,000 years old. Then he points to a naked statue of an extremely buff Mercury. “That’s me before I started eating carbs again.” His only snippet of accurate trivia comes as you drive by the twilight-lit Colosseum. “Holy shit, that’s where Taylor Swift made out with Tom Hiddleston!”

“Surely more important things have happened there at some point in the past two millennia.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, frowning out the Escalade window, taciturn. “I wish I got to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum.”

Comet Donati is staying at the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, which closely resembles a palace. When the Escalade stops at the front doors, you drag your luggage out onto the cobblestones.

“No no no,” Criston says, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He gives it to a white-gloved butler along with a room number and then escorts you and Aegon to the top floor. It’s not until the three of you are in the elevator that you realize you are still wearing your highly unsophisticated travel-day attire: yoga pants, flip flops, a tie-dye hoodie with Louis Tomlinson’s face on it that you purchased from Etsy last winter. Aegon catches you scrutinizing your reflection in the mirrors that line the inside of the elevator.

“Traitor,” he says with a grin, massaging your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. His touch is—just as it was a year ago at that bar in Kansas City when you were home from school on break and he was a transient visitor, fleeting like a rainstorm—familiar somehow, pleasant and comforting but not profound, welcome without being necessary.

“Don’t hate him ‘cause you ain’t him. When was the last time you wrote a #1 hit single?”

“Never,” Aegon readily admits. “Although I got into the Top 5 in Norway once.” No, everyone knows that Aemond was Comet’s Louis Tomlinson: their best songwriter, their relatively unproblematic and grounded team captain, their protector, their compass. And now he has no official place in the band at all.

When the elevator doors open, Criston leads you and Aegon down the hallway to a bustling suite. Inside there are white leather couches and gold-colored lounge chairs, a bar, a staircase that leads up to the loft bedroom, people wandering in and out of air that is hazy with whispers and cigarette smoke. There are men in suits, women in short tight dresses, leather and velvet and sequins. You are woefully underdressed. Fortunately, so is Aegon. He is greeted with a dizzying array of cheers, waves, and toasts. Someone shoves an emerald green bottle of Peroni into his grasp. Kesha’s Your Love Is My Drug is vibrating through the speakers mounted on the wall: “What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find, I think about it all the time…”

“Hey, hey, listen up!” Aegon shouts, stepping on top of an ottoman, and the chatter lowers in volume like a radio being turned down.

You scan the smokey room until you’ve located all five current Comet Donati members: Aegon the disaster playboy, Luke the sensitive and kindhearted one, Daeron the energetic ray of sunshine, Jace the heir apparent in the power vacuum created by Aemond’s departure, Cregan the brooding, mysterious, sexy Northern Englishman. You know them, and yet you don’t. You know the characters they play, their reputations, their public personas…but that doesn’t mean you know them. Aegon is the only man you spoke to at the rooftop bar that night in Kansas City a year ago. So far, the mythical version of him seems quite consistent with reality.

Cregan is slumped at one end of the couch by the window and knocking back shots of what appears to be straight vodka. In the night sky beyond the glass, you can see stars and the illuminated Rome skyline: modern skyscrapers, ancient rubble. At the other end of the couch is Aemond. He’s smoking, drinking something iced and bloody pink, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, all in black like he’s trying to disappear. His left eye, the blind one, is an ethereal cloudy blue that reminds you of renderings you’ve seen of Neptune, Uranus, exoplanets, the Earth from space. He glances up at you and holds your gaze for just a few seconds too long. Then he looks away, bewildered, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Aegon introduces you to the room as you stand beside the ottoman, awkward and ashamed in your Louis Tomlinson hoodie. “She’s a friend,” Aegon says. “And she’s also a therapist.”

“Good, you need one!” Jace shouts through cupped hands, and there are tipsy titters and guffaws.

“Not for me,” Aegon snaps. “For you deranged bitches.”

As Aegon descends from the ottoman—klutzily, stumbling, clutching onto Criston like a baby lemur to its mother—Luke approaches to present himself. He has a mess of dark curly hair that falls over his face and large, honest eyes. There’s a black spiral notebook and a white gel pen in his left hand. He offers you his right. “Hi! I’m Luke Velaryon.”

“Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time on Comet’s Spotify page.”

He groans. “I look so bad in that header photo.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the nose. I have a pug nose. The label has been trying to convince me to get it fixed for years.” He turns to a girl who is practically hiding behind him: arrestingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way, gentle like a doe. “Maybe you can help Rhaena talk to people.”

“I have social anxiety,” she explains apologetically. Her voice is very quiet yet lyrical. There are weights tied to her confession, years of shame and despair. Luke throws an arm across her shoulders and hugs her to him, touching his forehead briefly to hers.

“That’s okay.” You give Rhaena a reassuring smile. “It’s super common, and there are a lot of strategies you can try that might make it more manageable.”

“It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know?” Rhaena says. It comes out in a rush like water through a cracked dam. Luke looks astonished but pleased. You have been known to have this effect upon people, a compulsive sort of disclosure that drains, empties, unburdens. Aegon is watching from several feet away, beaming between swigs of Peroni. “Luke and I met before he got famous and we could just hang out around the neighborhood. Ice cream, public parks, Pret a Manger, riding the Tube together. But now…now he’s always meeting new people and there are all these events I’m supposed to go to with him, and I can’t sleep properly for days leading up to each one, and half the time I end up hiding in the bathroom or being too nauseous to eat anything, and…”

Jace is at the bar and slurping a vesper: shoulder-length curls, flashy blazer with nothing underneath it, a contemplative appraisal of you. There’s a stunning girl sitting beside him that he’s not listening to.

As you are explaining the potential benefits of exposure therapy to Rhaena and Luke, Daeron bursts through the crowd to greet you. He’s their Niall Horan: warm, uncomplicated, disarmingly friendly, beachy blond hair, a golden retriever on two legs. He hugs you—spiritedly, like Aegon did—and then compliments your flip flops.

“So you’re our new therapist?” Daeron says eagerly, like this is something he knows they’ve needed.

“Well, I’m a therapist, but I’m not really your therapist. Because I can’t hang out with you guys all the time and also be your therapist. It’s unethical. But Aegon thought I might have some good ideas, I guess. In a strictly unofficial capacity.”

“Okay! Cool! And you and Aegon are…friends?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of.”

“Remember that show in Kansas City last summer?” Aegon tells Daeron. He’s supernaturally gifted at making everything sound blissfully casual, like there couldn’t possibly be more to the story. “I met her at the bar we went to afterwards.”

“Totally,” Daeron says. “Great city. Awesome barbeque.”

Criston asks him: “So, uh, how’s your mom doing?”

Daeron is puzzled. “Fine…?”

“Criston, please stop asking about my mom,” Aegon says. “It’s getting weird. It’s been weird. It was weird four years ago and it’s weird now. She has a husband.”

“Yeah, but is that…you know…is that still going well?”

“Yes, Criston.”

“Fantastic,” Criston mutters, pouring himself a Scotch. He uses the glass to gesture to you. “So what the hell am I supposed to bill her as? Aegon’s friend?”

“She’s a…” Aegon considers this, waving his Peroni around in the air. “Human resources mental health consultant.”

“She’s a what?”

“She helps resolve both intra and interpersonal conflict.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“Well then you figure something out!” Aegon says, exasperated. “Isn’t this what you get paid for? To make problems go away? To keep us happy? To stop us from killing each other? You figure it out.” He saunters off to grace the drunken masses with his presence. Criston sighs and goes to stand by the wall with a herd of stone-faced businessmen in suits, record label guys, guys who only know how to see the world in terms of contract clauses and account balances.

Rhaena goes to stand by Jace’s companion, who—as you conjure up vague recollections of celebrity gossip sites—is named something like Bella or Bailey. Daeron is commandeered by a gaggle of adoring Italian women. Luke is showing Aemond something in his notebook: black pages, sparkly white ink. Aemond is nodding and giving critique, not that saccharine, generic, brainless kind of praise but authentic encouragement: try to think of a more specific word here, move that line up to the first verse, I love the use of this metaphor. Aemond’s voice dredges up memories you didn’t know you had of him on talk shows, in YouTube compilations, in songs you’ve been streaming on Spotify for years. Smoke drifts from his lips. Ice jangles in his organ-pink cocktail. And again, he looks up at you, inhaling poison as Luke makes his opal-ink edits.

“What’s that drink called?” you ask the bartender, and he squints across the room to where Aemond is seated on the snow-colored leather couch to discern it.

“A Bramble,” he says. “It’s named after blackberry bushes.”

“Can I get one?”

“Sure.”

You procure your drink and when Luke leaves the couch, you whizz past him like a meteor as you walk towards it.

“Hey,” Cregan flings impassively, not knowing why you’re here, not caring either.

“Hey,” you return.

And then you sit down next to Aemond, deliberately on his blind side. He glances over at you, his brow crinkling with confusion. Because—surely, undoubtedly—no one ever speaks about his injury, but it’s veined through everything they do, it’s a perpetual undercurrent that steers his life and yet cannot be voiced without breaching those vigilantly constructed levees of propriety. It’s the elephant in every room. It’s a ghost rattling doorknobs and tapping on windows. And sometimes the only way to free yourself of something is to throw the cage door wide open and set it loose.

“I accidentally wore your competitor’s merch,” you say. “I didn’t want you to have a good view.”

Aemond laughs, and the strangest thing happens: everyone in the room turns to look. On their faces are expressions of shock, bafflement, relief, wonder. Aemond shifts so he’s facing you, one elbow propped on the back of the couch. He sips the Bramble in his right hand, puffs on the cigarette in his left. And there it is, what people like to call a spark, but it’s something deeper than that: organic chemistry, neurotransmitter plumes, wells of marrow that sing to each other from beneath the darkness.

You nod to his cigarette, Benson & Hedges according to the shimmery gold pack that lays open on the glass coffee table. “You think that makes you cool?”

“I know it does,” he says. His gaze flicks down to your Louis Tomlinson hoodie…or what’s under it, perhaps. “Wouldn’t work on you though. Too far gone.”

You hold out your hand. After a few seconds, Aemond passes you his cigarette. You—very stoically, very nonchalantly—take a single drag and then erupt into a coughing fit, eyes watering, lungs gasping, surrendering the cigarette emphatically. Humiliating! Irredeemable!

“Told you,” Aemond notes. But he’s rubbing your back with a hand that is large and strong and yet careful. You smile at him. Aemond smiles too.

Criston pulls one of the suit guys aside and says: “Get her on the payroll.”

[vidavalor]

Ok but...

Crowley channeling his 1967/inner secret agent for this whole turtleneck look for the scene with Mr. Brown in The Dirty Donkey when tied to Aziraphale losing his damn mind and re-costuming everybody during The Ball is cracking me up.

To unnecessarily jog your memory lol, here's Crowley looking like a whole snack in the pub:

Turtleneck and the vest under the blazer, right? And here's Mr. Brown in the same scene, during which he was refusing to take Aziraphale's every damn hint of disinterest:

Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets is wearing-- *in theory* lol-- the same set of clothes as Crowley, furthering the comparison between them. He's wearing a shirt, a tie, a vest, and a jacket over pants. It's just that he's wearing a far less sexy version of what Crowley has on and the shirt is a different kind. Mr. Brown has on a burnt orange shirt that would look far better with a brown suit than the black he has on and a truly garish tie. (So, we're saying Mr. Brown's look-- and the life it suggests-- would improve if he'd just own his brown-ness instead of trying to wear too much black aka to try to take over Crowley's role in Aziraphale's life.) His blazer is black and brown and doesn't fit him well and doesn't really work with his vest, which is brown. When Crowley snaps Mr. Brown back after The Ball and puts him into line for coffee at Nina's, he is wearing this same outfit, implying that he probably wore this to the Whickber Street meeting. This means that the outfit Mr. Brown has on during The Ball is the one Aziraphale made for him.

Without diving into exactly how horrifying a thing it is that Aziraphale is exerting this much control over the neighbors at The Ball here, we know that the idea is that Aziraphale was changing clothes of people at The Ball to reflect what he thought they should be wearing. Maggie got that beautiful blue silk blouse, reflecting how Aziraphale thought she should vary her record shop wardrobe a bit to catch Nina's eye. Mrs. Sandwich got a whole glow up from her tracksuit into the fabulous madam that she is. Jim... yeah, that's another meta lol. Crowley's only wardrobe change is one that happens prior to The Ball and that he made himself and has been wearing for most of the afternoon already. He is wearing a collarless black dress shirt with a few buttons undone, dressing up a little for his husband's work party thing.

Crowley, as we all know, was exempted from Aziraphale's Jane Austen influence and that's because a) Aziraphale seems to understand the concept of consent when it comes to his partner at least here and doesn't ever try to influence him but also b) Aziraphale thinks Crowley is perfect as he is. Aziraphale's assessment of Crowley's whole situation here is 10/10 no notes hey baby you wanna dance?

So it's then even funnier when Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets gets Queer Angel Eye for the Schulbby Human Guy-d into a late 1960s-inspired outfit with a turtleneck and a fitted blazer that coordinates with his vest and so does what the whole vest-blazer situation is supposed to do for his body and that whole godawful tie is just gone and the burnt orange blended into his jacket. He looks much better-- I won't disagree with Aziraphale here lol-- but he does because Aziraphale just literally dressed him up in a brown & brown plaid version of Crowley's look in the pub scene when Mr. Brown couldn't take the hints Aziraphale was hurling at him that he's not interested and that Crowley is his partner. Mr. Brown is no longer wearing a shred of black-- just different shades of brown lol. The black is the sex that is Crowley while the brown is, well, the Mr. Brown that is of the Brown's World of Carpets.

[gothiccharmschool]

Hey Auntie,

I've been in a corporate office job with a very strict dress code (think suits, no colored hair, minimal accessories) for a while. I like my job, but other than small things like my pearl skull earrings and my band posters on my cubicle walls, I'm feeling bummed out that I can't really rock my usual goth stuff at work. Do you have any resources/info on small ways to incorporate goth stuff into your work wardrobe? I'm looking for ideas to make things feel a little more me instead of a costume.

Wellllll, here's this article I wrote about CorpGoth.

For a job with a really strict dress code, my immediate suggestions are:

It's easier to fold romantigoth styles into corpgoth. Ruffled blouses in black or dark jewel tones, slightly fuller skirts with a decorative ruffle or lace trim, and jackets or blazers with interesting silhouettes. (Scarlet Darkness has some items that would work for strict corporate wear.)

(I realize I am assuming you're femme -presenting. I apologize if you're not.)

As much as I realize shopping at Amazon or Shien is Not Great (ugh, the rise of fast fashion, I will not rant), if you comb through the sites you can find some interesting suit jackets that are not just, how do I put this, lawyer corporate drone -wear.

Accessories! I know you said minimal accessories, but maybe a men's dress shirt with a subtly gothy necktie would help sooth your spooky soul. Cufflinks. Stickpins. Gothy socks or tights.

I'm sorry your work wardrobe makes you feel less yourself. I hope some of my suggestions help.

[strwbrry-lmnade]

ℙℝ𝔼𝕋𝕋𝕐

⤷ Dabi - Touya Todoroki

x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➤ genre § fluff

✎ word count § 4.2k

⊱ warnings § mentions of alcohol

You carefully rotated the little whiskey glass, as you wiped. You were so focused on the way it reflected the unnecessarily bright, flashing lights surrounding you. You blinked twice and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. You've been up all night, and everything was stress inducing. The blouse which had the first two buttons torn, or the vest you wore over it that suddenly became too tight. Maybe it's the tie you were wearing, it's incredibly annoying.

You put the glass down, next to the similar crystal pieces. Letting out another sigh, as you leaned on the counter, lowering your head to try and drown the music out.

Too much people. Too much music. Too little air.

You watched a man, slam on the chair in front of you, a lady on hand, flopping down on the chair next to him. Chuckling and giggling, swaying and shuddering, and the reddening tips of their ears couldn't hide how shit drunk they were.

"Two Mojitos!" The man said, and the woman just giggled.

You winked with an out-of-habit smile, snapping your fingers as you pulled out a bottle of rum, and some fresh limes. Hopefully, it's the last drinks of the night. 2 less individuals to worry about.

Your eyes were half-closed as you did a bunch of tricks with the fruit and mint leaves, which no one paid attention to, but it made your work a little less boring. You pulled out two glasses, as you shook the metallic container to mix the rum and sugar inside. Placing the mint leaves in the glasses, and tossing the metallic bottle from a hand to another, before pouring the liquid into the glass, finally cutting the lime into slices, placing a bunch inside the liquid, and a single slice on the tip of the glass for that dramatically decorative effect.

"Two Mojitos." You sang sheepishly, as he gave you the money.

"Keep the change!"

You walked to another empty part of the counter, starring at the blonde D.J. who couldn't possibly make the music any louder. You stared at the people dancing in the big nightclub, a redhead in a short silver dress, a blondie in a tight purple dress, a guy in all black, a guy in black and white, white and blue, too many colors. You briefly rubbed your eyes, and turned around, facing the dull colors of bottles of cheap alcohols, rum, wine and champagne, they made your eyes relax, feel a little more comfortable in their sockets.

"One Blue Blazer." You heard a whisper too close to your ear, it made your body jolt.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you turned around and stepped away, almost but not bumping into the other counter of glasses and a quick heater.

"Scared 'ya? My bad, sweetheart."

He leaned back to sit on his chair with a chuckle, as he placed a dollar bill on the counter, the tip of it between his index and middle finger.

"Right.. Blue Blazer.." You watched his hands, your cheeks slightly flushed as you rubbed your nape.

"In a funny glass, myeah?"

You coughed to fix your throat, closing your eyes for a moment to get rid of the fire on your cheeks, as you opened them and turned around to get his drink ready. You turned on the kettle on the inner counter to let the water boil, as you pulled out a whiskey bottle and two lemons. You skill-fully opened the whiskey bottle with one hand, poured some into a metallic bottle, added garnish then started playing around with the bottle to mix the solution while waiting for the water to boil. It was a habit at this point, even if you felt a certain pair of eyes on you, which wasn't a first, you were so confident with your skills.. mainly because you're bored.

"You enjoy what you do?"

You froze for a moment, and looked at him over your shoulder. You looked at the bottle, threw it in the air, nudged it again into the air with your elbow before catching it.

"No, just adaptive mechanisms." You giggled, pulling a funny glass to his request and poured the contents of the bottle in.

You added some boiled water, traced the tip of the glass with lemon nectar for the spice, and grabbed a platinum purple lighter.

"Flaming?" You lit the lighter and looked at him for consent.

He closed his eyes with one head shake, as he dragged the glass towards him by the base. You closed the lighter, spun it between your fingers before putting it back in your pocket. You watched him trace his fingertip on the tip of the glass, before dragging it across his tongue.

"You don't strike me as someone who smokes."

You raised an eyebrow for a moment, he must be referring to the lighter you tucked in your shorts.

"My co-worker keeps misplacing it and it sucks." You huffed and grabbed a nearby finished glass, taking the bill underneath and letting it join the lighter.

"So you don't like what you do."

He wants to chit chat.

You huffed, cleaning the glass in your hand with a cloth, as you chose your words carefully.

"Won't say no to income."

He hummed, taking a sip of his drink. He then placed it back down, letting his cheekbone rest on his knuckle as he watched you. You placed the glass next to it's clones, tugging the cloth in your empty pocket. You then leaned back on the counter, crossed your arms and held eye contact for a good while. His eyes were such a pretty shade of the sky, you could stare at them for hours. You've seen many colorful eyes, bright, deep, whatever, and you've held many intense eye contact, but oh boy, those pair of blues are definitely your favourite now.

"I love your eyes."

He gave you quite a sly smirk, your eyes were fairly pretty, but not enough for a stranger to compliment them. You dragged your index finger across your bottom lip, looking away for a moment as you felt your cheeks flush again.

"Get glasses."

"Don't do that."

You watched him lick the tip of the glass and take a sip with your eyebrows furrowed, one of your eyes squinting in a confused expression, much to your dismay he didn't elaborate.

You took a deep breath, your eyes making a triangle shape across his face, from an eye to another, a brief glance at his lips then slow repeat, and for just a moment you forgot how loud the music was, until he swiftly turned around, giving you his back as he set his drink down, letting you stare at his nape. You were surprised for a moment, but you've been here before, just never this lost. Another little eye flirt, another customer. You sighed, and moved to an empty part of the bar, waiting for the next customer, or perhaps the next guy to stare at you for moments before giving you his nape.

You gave the whole bar a check, collecting some change, cleaning glasses, giving refills and giving out a couple of orders. By the time you went back to where mister pretty-boy was, he was gone, with his glass empty resting on some change.

You grabbed the glass to clean it, and as you picked up the money, you saw a tissue with something written on it.

Meet me when your shift's over, pretty. -Dabi

Pretty, and Dabi. At least now you know the owner of your favorite blue eyes, but what the hell? No number, no place, no nothing, how would he even know when your shift ends? How would you meet him? The note was so messy, but something is incredibly hot about mystery. It's always the anonymous ones who are more attractive, as long as they're not a giant neon sign that screams kidnapper, you were in for a ride.

You spent the rest of the shift on autopilot, serving everyone while you questioned a literal paper tissue. You'd see a guy hit on a girl, and as they leave the bar together you think how this date could be a portal into something beautiful, but then you see a girl slapping a man, or a girl suddenly yelling at a man, and you realize, that this person, Dabi, should have made more effort. How will you even find him? What if you don't even want to date him? All these questions made you gaslight yourself into thinking you were just too pretty for him to ask you for a date up straight, and so you've decided to just go on about your everyday after shift routine. If he happened to be a part of it, sure, if not because of his misleading, info-lacking proposal, then it sucks to suck on his part.

Hours later, maybe two or three. The place wasn't any less empty, if not more crowded, but for the sake of your eyeballs, your shift was finally over.

You stared at the single tissue in your hand in the changing room, reading the words over again. Let's say for one moment you were oh so eager to meet him, your answer was an immediate yes, what are you to do now?? How would he even know your shift is over? Would he really be willing to wait for you for 3 hours??

With a sigh you threw the tissue away, removing your tie and unbuttoning your vest to disregard it as well. You wore a simple jacket over your white blouse and shorts, bid farewell to your co-workers, and slowly made your way through the red alleys to the back door. It may have been a staff-only area, but you have a couple making out, and someone smoking in the corner nonetheless. You opened the door, breathing in the slightly polluted night air, and letting it out.

"Good evening, sweet thing!"

You had pepper spray for a reason.

"Ohh, aren't you the bartender?"

It was one of those nights. You occasionally left the night club to be met with a person or two, who were just hanging, and wouldn't say no to fun.. or wouldn't take no for an answer either. You had security guards escort you out sometimes, but not all times, you should see what happens to the strippers or pole dancers in there.

With a sigh you turned around, eyeing over two men who weren't so awful looking, but reeked off of alcohol, and definitely some substances.

"Good evening to you too.."

You smiled, not so brightly, your hand tugging in your bag as your fingers wrapper around your precious can of pepper spray.

"You really shouldn't go home alone, you know!"

"Oh yeah, who's gonna take care of you?"

They swayed left and right, slowly walking to you. They must have been either throwing out whatever drunken leftovers, or just smoking more substances.. or possibly just waiting for the night club's employees.

You took a single step back, guarded. You have an idea how this scenario would go both ways, but they 2 pairs of eyes, not just one, and the moment you aim at one of them, the other would probably prepare to dodge your attack while you spray the first one. Maybe spray one's eyes, and kick the other's nuts? Yeah. That should probably be the safest-

"She's with me."

There it was again. That odd whisper.

A gentle hand wrapped around your hip, pulling you to the side. Your shoulder was pressed against someone's chest, and it made your breath hitch. You didn't need to look up to make sure he's the owner of your favorite blues, he smelled awfully nice for a man. Something sour, and something spicy, with the stinky sting of the scent of cigarettes.

"She doesn't seem to mind."

You hate men for a reason.

"She does, get lost."

It was just his fingers, his whole hand cupped the curve of your hip, his fingers grazing the belt around your shorts, and just one of them, touched your skin through the small gap between your shirt and your shorts. His other hand was out of your vision, because you were looking straight ahead, slightly downwards, but you were able to make out he must be smoking a cigarette because he was holding something to his mouth.

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart banged against your ribcage as your fingers trembled softly. You hate physical contact, you hate when someone touches you, especially without asking first, but fuck, what is this?

"Don't be so selfish, the pretty lady hasn't said a thing."

You can't-

"She doesn't need to."

With that, he flicked the leftover of the cigarette with his middle finger, letting it land at their feet, before turning you around and walking away. You implied. He may be doing this for selfish purposes for later, but for now, you needed an upper hand, and 3 against 1 or 2 against 1 is further from that.

The moment you got out of their sight, his hand caressed your back from your hip up to your nape, letting his arm rest around your shoulders. Your breath hitched in your throat at the closeness, your fingers still tight around the pepper spray can almost crushing it, as his heart bounded against your shoulder, and you hoped he couldn't feel the banging of your own.

He soon enough slowed down in front of a dark blue motorcycle, unwrapping his arm around your shoulder and walking to it. He grabbed the half-face helmet dangling from one of the bike's handles and held it out for you.

You stared at it for a moment, taking a half-step back, before looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He seemed safe, but this was all too suspicious.

After a moment of another intense eye contact, his smirk widened, before he stepped closer and held the helmet out above your head to make you wear it. You slightly flinched back from the movement, but slowly stepped back in place under the helmet so he can put it on your head, to which he did, and adjusted a strap under your chin.

"Relax, pretty. I'm no kidnapper."

You huffed, and pulled the glass thing up to glare at him. He just smirked at you, the way he would a child.

"Sounds like something a kidnapper would say."

"Would a kidnapper let you keep a pepper spray?"

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, hoping on the back of the motorcycle. Leaving him room to sit in front of you. The back seat was high, so you briefly placed your hands between your legs to hoist yourself up. He walked over to you, leaning back on the driver seat with his hands in his pockets.

"Where'd you wanna go?"

You moved your bottom lip, tilting your head slightly as you looked up for a moment.

"Not home."

He blinked, his smirk unfaltering as he stayed silent.

"Take me somewhere."

He smirked only wider, showing some teeth. As he hoisted himself off his bike, and threw a leg over it.

You slowly wrapped your arms around his waist, laying your palms flat on his trunk. You could feel he was toned as shit underneath that shirt, you can vividly imagine him shirtless which was quite unholy.

He started his bike and took off.

The air didn't hit you, but it blew his hair back and you caught more than a few glimpses of his sliver industrial piercing on one of his ears. You rested your head between his shoulder blades, your arms tightening for a second, with each bump, each turn, and each stop.

"Relax, pretty. You're not gonna fall." He yelled, and you groaned.

He must've felt the vibrations of your face against his back because he chuckled.

"Stand up."

"Are you crazy?!" You tugged on his shirt with your fingers, as a form of nudging him.

"Trust meeee, pretty. You can still hold on to me, but stand up."

You didn't comply, and just slammed your forehead on his back.

"Real cockblock"

"That's mean.."

"Then stand up, pretty. I promise I won't go so fast." His voice softened, the moment your hold on him loosened up.

You were into risky shit, but there's a difference between risky and deadly, however the line between them was extremely thin.

He stopped at a red light and you felt him let go off of one of the handles and pat your thigh. His hand was so cold, almost icy against your skin, his pinkie even caressed your skin under your thigh high for a moment.

"You'll like it."

You stared at his hand for a moment, taking a deep breathe before unwrapping your arms from around his waist. You held on to his sides before slowly standing up, resting your hands on his shoulders, or more likely holding on for dear life. He wasn't even moving but your heart was already pounding so fast. You leaned on his back, pressing your knees each against his side.

"Hold on." Just as the light turned green, he took off in the blink of an eye.

The momentum pushed you back, making you clench around his shoulders, and he used one hand to hold your knee till you leaned forward again and got used to the speed.

He was right, you liked it.

The air didn't hit your face because of the helmet, but it had your jacket flying around you almost like wings. You'd hang out of your friend's car window often, or so, but this was wilder. So much unsafer, but wilder, and somehow you felt safe holding on to Dabi.

"Told you, ya'll like it."

You broke out into a laughing fit, wrapping one arm around his neck from the back, while you stretched the other one above your head.

"This is amazing!"

He took a sharp turn, leaning left, dangerously a little closer to the ground, and you just wooed leaning right to keep balance.

He laughed, leaning back in place and speeding up out of the city.

"You better not take me somewhere haunted, I like you!"

You tugged playfully at his hair, as he drove through a road in the forest.

"Don't worry, if you liked that you'll love this!"

He laughed, and got on a mountain road. The air got colder, wilder, and so did his speed. You yelled into the air, making him laugh, and race against the wind to the top.

He started slowing down nearing the end of the road, as you were met with a white fence. He parked his bike, and got off, holding out his hand. You took it, in giggles and chuckles leftover from your laughing fit and the adrenaline, as you took your leg off the bike, taking his other hand when he held it out too as he helped you hop off. He had a wide smirk, as he watched you laugh off the adrenaline. He looked you in the eyes as he undid the helmet strap under your chin, his fingers caressing your jawline unnecessarily, which made your cheeks flush slightly, and giggle some more.

"What?" You asked.

He smiled, freezing for a moment before removing the helmet off of your head, and letting it hang on his bike handle, before walking to the fence and jumping over it.

"Whaaat!" You giggled again as you followed him, and he helped you get over the fence like he did with his bike.

"I don't see why you don't think you're eyes are pretty." He murmured.

After he helped you get over the fence, by holding one hand, then your other hand, letting you throw your legs over, he kept his hold on one of your hands as he walked down the leap, almost dragging you with him. He stood on the edge of a steep he needed to slide down, and looked at you.

"Com'ere."

You silently obeyed, taking a step closer to him. He slid down the steep, then held a hand out as he leaned close to catch you.

"I'm not jumping..."

You raised an eyebrow, taking off your jacket and wrapping it around your waist, to let it cover your butt and the back of your thighs as you slide down just like him, but in a more of a sitting position. He chuckled, as you stood up and almost fell forward from the moment but he caught you, of course he did.

"You're no better than an average man." You scoffed and nudged him off playfully.

He simply snickered in response, and walked ahead of you.

"Okay, pretty. Think you can close your eyes for your average black head?"

You stared at him suspiciously, and crossed your arms.

"Alright, just look at me then."

He stepped closer, filling your entire view on purpose, as he placed his fingers around each of your wrists. You hummed in disapproval as you stared at him, and he stared right back at you. His pupils slowly expanded, as he started walking backwards, and your eyes flickered behind him.

"Ah, eyes on me."

He tapped your temple, and you looked back at his eyes almost immediately.

"If you do end up kidnapping me, it'd make for a.. very interesting documentary.."

You whispered, staring at your reflection in his own orbs. His fingertips were so soft when they trailed down your temple, and pushed back a misplaced strand of your bangs back in place, before caressing your cheek softly. He smiled quietly, didn't even respond, just walking backwards, and you following on his trail.

"Gosh, your eyes are so lovely.."

He whispered, before turning around and stepping aside, to let you see a view of the city. He did this at that timing on purpose, to leave you speechless on both ends. It was typical, of course it was a sighting scene, but wow. Those are as lovely in real life, as they are in one's head when reading a book. The awful pitch black of the sky was a pretty purple because of the stars and moon, as the gentle city lights of a busy city twinkled on the ground. The breeze was just as great, and the smell of mud and leaves was so refreshing compared to the pollution of the smoke, alcohol and sweat you smell everyday.

"O-oh wow.."

You whispered, your hand still around his. As he stared at your face for a moment, before watching his step to pull you forward, and you just stepped towards him. Something about this creepy man was just so assuring enough to allure you.

"Watch your step."

He whispered so softly, as he pulled you to a bench and sat down, untying your now dirty jacket from around your waist and tossing it at the end of the bench before patting your hip, motioning you to sit down. You blinked, looking away from the city, to meet his beautiful blue orbs, they were a lot more prettier than any city lights. You stared at the bench before sitting down, right next to him, thigh to thigh.

His smile widened when his cheeks flushed so slightly, as he took a deep breathe and threw his hands behind his head, stretching one of them behind you, as he crossed his legs.

"You... want my jacket? It doesn't seem cold, but like..."

You giggled, and huddled up to his chest, the arm behind you just barely curling up to rest on your shoulders.

"Nah, the wind's amazing."

"Yeah... thought so too.."

You two just watched the lights sparkle, cars moving, or rooms turning on and off, and what not. More than strangers, less than friends, but this comfort was like nothing before.

"Dabi, huh?"

"It's a signature name, in case ya' didn't show up." He chuckled.

You turned to him then, and he was already looking at you with a smile. His eyes scanned a triangle shape on your face, from your right eye to the left, then briefly to your lips before looking back up at your eyes.

"What's your real name then?"

"Touya Todoroki."

"Hm... Touya.."

His eyebrows barely twitched when you said his real name.

"Touya... you do look like a Touya, Touya." You patted his knee, breaking eye contact to look back at the city.

"You're gonna make me ask?"

You turned back to him again, and he was staring at you still.

"I'm (Y/N)."

He used the arm around your shoulders to lay his hand on your head, his fingers stroking your hair gently although his palm didn't touch your head.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Oh shut up, it's not as pretty as Touya."

You huffed and crossed your arms.

"But it's pretty because it's yours."

You smiled again, a flush covering your cheeks, as you stared at his lips and he stared back at yours.

"Nice to meet you, Touya."

"Pleasure's all mine."

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ✧˖° ₊˚⊹ ᰔ༉‧₊˚.

[pretty-good-girl]

forcefem x forcebutch relationship

i catch my cute little tomboy lesbian partner staring at the flannels in clothing stores, clicking a carabiner just a few too many times, eyeing up the cologne bottles at the pharmacy, and casually mention how good they would look in a blazer, how handsome they would be with cropped hair, how hot they'd be with a packer.

meanwhile, they're buying me dresses, but not normal dresses that i'd wear anyway, if there was an occasion that specifically called for it, but 50s housewife type things with frilly skirts and florals all over them to wear on a daily basis. they give me a spa package for my birthday, a salon voucher every payday, packets and packets of makeup just because they thought i'd like it.

i take them to the barbers and when the man asks them what they want, i answer for them. they sit meekly in the chair and give me a few bank notes, sending me to the nail salon across the street for a full set of acrylics.

we both have an idea of what the other one is doing, but we're both too focused on our own plan to care.

the few pairs of boxers and baggy t shirts i keep for sleeping slowly disappear, replaced with lacy negligee, and all shoes i own that aren't heels mysteriously vanish. i replace their leggings with cargo shorts, their blouses for button downs, their briefs for boxers.

we lie in bed, his head on my breast, and i run my newly buffed nails through his newly buzzed hair while i shop online for his new cock

[anonymouspuzzler]

silly little doodle page i've been chipping away at the past few months! what if Habits in an Outfits...

Original reference links for: Emoticon T-Shirt | Sheer Daisy Shirt | Fluffy Coat | Lily Sweater | Foopball Sweatshirt | Coat & Beret Outfit | Hairy Jewish Guy Hooters

[Full image description under cut!]

Image ID: A full page, black-and-white, digital ink drawing of Boris Habit from the game Smile For Me, wearing various outfits. There is an off-white paper texture in the background. Going roughly clockwise from the top left corner, the drawings are as follows:

A full-body drawing with an outfit consisting of a knee-length dress with a pointed collar and pleated skirt, a loose striped tie, a long open coat with a pointed collar and trim along the collar and inner edges, knee-length socks, Mary Jane style shoes, and a beret with a pom-pom. Habit's hair is tied up in a loose bun, with his bangs loose. He is smiling and looking off to the side, posing with one arm to the side and the other holding up a lily, one leg crossed over the other as if mid-twirl.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of dark pants, a turtleneck sweater with a large lily flower and stem embroidered on the front, and a kitted hat with a large pom-pom. Habit's hair is loose under the hat and he is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking off to the side with a casual expression.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of dark pants and a sheer, long-sleeved blouse with a frilly collar and cuffs, and embroidered daisies patterned all over. Habit's hair is down and has a flower tucked behind one ear. He stands with his hands braced in front of him as if leaning against a counter or table, and he is looking off to the side and winking with a goofy grin.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a low-cut shirt, a dark collared blazer, and a long simple scarf. Habit's hair is also braided, with the bangs loose. A bit of chest hair is visible over the collar of the shirt. There is wind blowing in his face, sending the braid and scarf blowing back behind him. He is braced against the wind with his eyes closed and a big goofy grin with his tongue sticking out.

Two three-quarters-body drawings (from roughly knees up) showing the same outfit from the front and back. The front view shows Habit leaning back as if sitting on a surface, with a wink and goofy grin with his tongue sticking out. He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a large, sideways winking emoticon printed on the front. His hair is down. The back view shows him standing with left arm to his side, pulling his hair over his right shoulder, revealing the same shirt with a sideways surprised emoticon printed on the back.

A half-body drawing (from roughly hips up) with an outfit consisting of a blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a Peter Pan-style collar with scalloped trim, a loose, sleeveless flower-pattern top over it, round sunglasses, and a large floppy sunhat with flowers lining the brim. Habit's hair is loose under the hat, and his mouth is open as if in the middle of talking. He has one hand roughly at his hip, and the other is holding up a glass with an icy drink and a little paper umbrella decoration.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly knees up) with an outfit consisting of a sleeveless collared blouse, jeans, a belt with a square buckle, and a small ascot tied around Habit's neck. His hair is tied in a ponytail while his bangs are loose. His hands are held behind his back and he looks off to the side with his mouth slightly open, as if in the middle of talking.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a frilly, off-the-shoulder, flower-patterned blouse that is tied into a bow on the back. Habit is slouched forward over a table or counter with his head peeking out over his folded, hairy arms, with his loose hair spilling forward. He is looking up curiously, sticking his tongue out.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly knees up) with an outfit consisting of jeans and a printed sweatshirt with a graphic of a football, reading above the graphic "FOOPBALL", and below, "AMERICA'S SPORNT". Habit's hair is tied back in a ponytail with his bangs loose. He is giving double thumbs-up and has a silly expression with dot eyes and a big, open-mouthed smile.

A half-body drawing (from roughly stomach up) with an outfit consisting of a dark, baggy top slipping off Habit's shoulder, as seen from behind. Habit's hair is tied up in a big, sloppy bun with the bangs loose, and he has very light, patchy stubble on his face. He is looking off to the side with a sleepy expression, as if he's just woken up.

A full-body drawing with an outfit consisting of a long, open coat with thick frilly trim along all the edges, a low-cut top tucked into flower-patterned bell-bottom pants, and chunky platform boots. Habit's hair is tied up in a messy bun with the bangs loose, and he is wearing round sunglasses. A bit of chest hair is visible over the edge of the low-cut top. His legs are crossed and one arm is swinging behind him as if he's in the middle of dancing, and he is smiling wide with a little cat-mouth grin.

A small drawing of the puppet Habit. He is seen from behind with his hair tied in a ponytail, looking up and smiling wide.

A three-quarters-body drawing (from roughly thighs up) with an outfit consisting of very short, roughly cropped jorts and a similarly roughly-cropped tank top reading "HAIRY JEWISH GUY HOOTERS", with the last word being the Hooters restaurant logo. Habit's hair is down and quite a bit of body hair is visible on his arms, tummy, and chest. He is posing with one hand on his hip and the other in a V-sign, leaning forwards, with a silly expression with dot eyes and a big, open-mouthed smile.

A full-body drawing (from roughly ankles up) with an outfit consisting of denim overalls with cuffed legs, and a ringer-neck t-shirt with cuffed sleeves. Habit's hair is tied back in a ponytail and he looks off to the side with a neutral expression, standing with one hand at his side and the other at his hip.

A full-body drawing (from roughly ankles up) with an outfit consisting of roughly-cropped jorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top. Habit's hair is tied up in a ponytail, and he is also wearing simple round stud earrings. He is seen from behind mid-walk, one hand on his hip, leaning his head back to look over his shoulder with a big smile.

A small drawing of the puppet Habit. He is sitting on the ground with his hands splayed at his sides, wearing round sunglasses with frames that makes them resemble flowers.

End ID.