#cotton camisoles

[lovelyburninginternet]

cotton warm up bodysuit and long sweater bodysuit 

[anmolsmsblog]

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[graphictee2024]

Buy Basic Tank Top

[cinnammonfairy]

poly141 x f! reader <3 | slight somno, smut, squirting, a whole lotta cum

"pretty thing welcoming us home like this."

"been teasing us so much 'fore we left, 's only right that we fuck you good now hm?"

barely comprehending your situation in your state of lethargy, your bones still weary with sleep, your eyes blinked open to price sitting next to your curled frame on the spacious couch. his hands grabbing your flimsy camisole to push the cotton fabric down, exposing your tits. you gasped as you lumbered slowly awake to gaz peeling your shorts off and down your legs, price lifting your upper body to rest your head upon his lap.

"w-what?"

"s okay darling, we'll take good care of you."

simon manhandles you up on your knees on the soft cushion, your knees pressed open wide by gaz revealing your panty clad cunt to his and soap's gaze. you blinked up at price, tears now pooling in your eyes. he smirks and presses a soft kiss upon your forehead, strong fingers cupping your cheek to keep your gaze firmly on his, he must find your reactions to this unexpected foray amusing.

"i- i didn't know you guys would be home s-so soon!"

you exclaimed exasperatedly, tone rising in pitch when soap takes hold of your panties and pulls to reveal your pussy lips, the minuscule fabric now only covering and pressing tightly against your clit.

"and what a pretty gift we got waiting for us here at home."

"we've been waiting so long to fuck you baby, and we come home to you like this sweetheart..."

tears spill from your eyes, as john chortles and rubs them slowly away.

"nothing to be 'fraid of darling"

you jerk in simon's grasp as you feel fingers slip your panties to the side, baring your pussy to the cool air. fingers that are wending it's way to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the nub as your legs trembled at the unexpected yet pleasant stimulation.

"can see your little hole clenching sweetheart, does she need something baby? she want my fingers and my cock yeah?"

gaz dips his fingers slowly in your now weeping hole, and thrusts shallowly, johnny's thumb now engulfing your clit rubbing firmly, drenching gaz's fingers with more of your slick.

"already so wet darling, so ready for my cock."

tears cling to your lashes as you feel the blunt head of gaz's cock rubbing over your slit, gathering your wetness and tapping harshly against your clit. your face still held in price's grip, looser now that you can turn your head to watch gaz as the head of his cock enters your hole, easing his way in one thrust, engulfing his cock in your tight, wet hole. he groans at the warmth suffusing his cock, your pussy's grip on his thick cock tight as a vice. you moan at the intrusion, your hole stretched to forcibly take the entirety of his manhood in a solid thrust.

price brings your face up to his as gaz starts thrusting, bottoming out in every thrust, the wet sounds of your pussy accommodating his cock and the plap of skin against skin, price slotting his lips over yours to get a taste of you an effort to appease you, to get you even more pliable than you already currently were. your pussy clenches tightly gripping gaz's cock as price pries his tongue into your mouth, johnny's fingers back on your clit as if impatient to witness your release.

"go on darling, come on my cock sweet girl."

"such a good lass."

you felt the twitch of gaz's cock as you came, him following not long after, his milky cum gathering on your hole and dripping down his balls with the force of your orgasm and his continued thrusts to ride out both your highs. pressing a kiss on your shoulder he eases his cock out of your cunt, the spill of his cum obscenely pooling out of your hole and down your thighs, making a mess of the couch.

your legs still firmly in place by simon, who's bulge is at your eye level, your eyes widened at the sudden feel of another cock, undoubtedly johnny's if the sudden handful of your ass that he was currently grabbing to pull you and fill you with his cock was anything to go by. the frantic thrusts and fingers that never left your clit and continued toying with your pebbled nipples, grabbing every inch of your skin that he could fondle. his moans a surprising delight as you mewled when his cock reached particularly deep parts of you in his eagerness. drenching his cock in your cum, he didn't hesitate to pump you full of his in return.

now limp yet still alert in simon's hold, he handed you over to price his fingers digging into your hips, his pants and boxers open just enough for his cock to be out. sinking you down on his cock and elevating you so he could thrust from below, deep into your pussy.

"good girl baby, such a good girl f' me."

"taking my cock so well yeah? pretty pussy feels like it was made just for us baby."

price's thrusts were slower, making a point to reach your more sensitive spots that made you moan so pretty on top of him. you cried out in overstimulation, the mess of cum spilling from your messy hole lubricating his fat cock, the filling stretch making you whimper and wail, docile on his chest.

"oh don't cry baby, just a little bit more. pretty pussy gonna make me cum. gonna fill you up sweetheart."

you came at the rough scratch of his happy trail over your clit, a quivering mess on his chest as he pumped you full of his cum.

you were a disarray who was put back together again the moment simon stuffed you full of his cock in a mating press, his cock the thickest and most filling of them all, you felt stretched wide yet he was ever so patient in feeding you every inch. kissing you, as his heavy balls slapped against your ass with every deep thrust of his cock, the vulgar stretch of your hole to take his cock. it was no wonder that you squirted over the sheer stimulation of his thrusts, making a mess of his abdomen at your release over his thrusts, the slick pool of cum a lewdly gathering mess over his cock and your cunt.

"such a pretty girl squirting on me like that, pretty cunt loved my cock so much she couldn't help but make a cute mess."

the mess of cum and squirt dribbling out of your gushing hole they'd contend was their greatest masterpiece.

ᡣ𐭩 idk guys .... i was just itching to write smth even though i know this probably isn't the best i hope you guys will enjoy it all the same though <3 should have a longer fic up sooonnn! this was mostly written for those who were looking for gaz in my other drabble actually hhehe

© cinnammonfairy.

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[emilys-bangs]

lethargic | e.p

Tags: fluff, established relationship, stubborn (and sleepy) reader, use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: anon prompt - R is a wee bit sleep deprived-- perhaps they're working hard on a case, and Em just drags them off to go cuddle and sleep

Word count: 1k

The cold air is a sharp contrast to Emily’s steaming skin as she walks out of the bathroom. Her skimpy attire of a cotton camisole and short shorts hardly defends against the cold; goosebumps rise on her bare arms, a small shiver going through her as she shuts the bathroom door behind her and glances around her room. 

You’re not on the bed like she expected you to be. Emily frowns.

“Babe?” She calls out as she leaves the room, padding into the hallway where the lights are still on.

“Here,” you answer, your voice audibly distracted. And a fair bit drowsy, too.

Emily’s bare feet are silent on the floor as she follows the sound of your voice, finally finding you when she walks into the living room. You’re on the couch, bent over the open files on the coffee table.

“Hey,” she frowns, “what are you doing? It’s late.”

You tiredly rub your eye. “Jus’ wanted to finish this,” you mumble, not looking up at her as your pen flies across the page. Emily walks over to the couch and peers down into the file, frowning deeper when she finds a half-finished report for the case you just came back from an hour ago.

She’s surprised, but she honestly shouldn’t be. Your work ethic is intense and—to her—ridiculous at times, so situations like these are not uncommon every once in a while.

“It’s not the time for that, hon.” She bends to kiss your temple, placing her hand on top of yours and gently stalling your writing. Her wet hair drapes over your head, skimming your cheek, “With me, c’mon.” She murmurs into your skin.

You shake your head. “Wanna do it while it’s still fresh.” The words twist around a yawn you try—in vain—to conceal.

Emily’s lips leave your forehead as she looks down at you. She gently hooks her finger under your chin and tilts your face up, stifling a smile when you blink at her with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.

“I hardly think it’s fresh when you can barely see ten paces in front of you. C’mon, chérie, did you body-swap with Hotch or something? Up.” She pulls the pen from your fingers and tosses it somewhere on the floor. You frown and Emily ignores it, wrapping both hands around your own and forcefully tugging you up.

You resist, but she digs her heels into the floor and pulls harder, forcing you to stumble up from the couch. She steadies you when you half-crash into her. 

“Emily, I need’ta finish it,” you protest as she links her fingers through yours.

“You will finish it,” she drags you to the bedroom, not even bothering to turn off the living room lights, “tomorrow. Now we need to sleep. God knows we’ve been awake long enough.” Her words escape in a low mutter. The case was long and tiring; all her weary bones want to do is sink into your embrace, curl around you so tight she can’t tell where she ends and you begin. Instead you’re doing paperwork. 

Paperwork that can very much wait until tomorrow.

Emily drags you into the room and very firmly shuts the door. You’re grumbling under your breath so she turns, drops your hand, and surges forward to wrap her arms around your neck.

“Cuddle me,” she demands.

A low chuckle tickles the skin of her neck. Emily stifles the urge to shiver as you hold her back, tightly despite your reluctance.

“So demanding,” you yawn, your face falling into her collarbone. Your lashes flutter against her skin; you sink into her, your chest brushing hers, and she doesn’t know who’s holding who up.

“And you’re so stubborn.” She returns, tilting her head to catch your lips with hers. You sigh into the kiss, your fingers digging into the warm skin of her midriff. The soft cotton of her camisole scrapes against your harsh work button-down. “I don’t think even Hotch has his own report done.” She mumbles against your lips. 

“Please,” you scoff, “he writes them on the plane.”

“Well, he’s Unit Chief. You’re,”—kiss—“not.” Emily’s lips trace yours. Another kiss goes to the corner of your mouth, “And thank fuck for that.”

You hum, the vibrations of it traveling from your mouth to hers. “’M so tired.” The confession comes out slurred, adorably so. 

Emily bites back a smile. 

“Are you?” She brushes the hair away from your sleepy eyes. “I hadn’t noticed. Sit down.” She nudges you backward in the direction of the bed, dropping a soft kiss on your lips, “I’ll get you your pjs.”

Thankfully, you don’t protest. Not even when she starts unbuttoning your shirt and not when she helps you wriggle into your pajamas. When you slide beneath the sheets with no complaints, Emily lets out a low sigh, both relieved and content as she nestles right into your arms.

The slip of the cold sheets is soothing on her bare skin. She hooks a leg over your hip, sliding her hand into your hair when you nuzzle into her neck. Her finger lazily twists around a lock of hair.

“You smell nice,” you say, your voice muffled and drowsy.

Emily smiles at the compliment. “Just showered. Like you should’ve been doing.”

“Hmm. T’morrow,” you mumble.

“Tomorrow.” she kisses your forehead. Once, then twice, for good measure. “Goodnight, chérie.”

“Love you.” You whisper.

“Love you back.”

As you curl into her, your hand slipping under her camisole to rest on her skin and your lashes gently fluttering closed against her jaw, both Emily’s wishes are fulfilled. She stays awake only a little longer than you do, taking a few brief minutes to soak in the warmth of your body against hers. A few more ghostly kisses to your forehead, a twirl or two of your hair around her index finger, and soon after that she’s tumbling into the swift darkness of sleep.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ touya-nii + his nasty habit of sneaking into your bedroom

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest, noncon, a slight bit of degradation, implied size difference words: 1.2k

he’s always careful when he starts. careful when he creeps into your room in the middle of the night, sock clad feet quiet against the hardwood; careful to keep the doorhandles latch from catching on the strike plate as he closes it behind him; careful not to wake you as he slinks into your frilly little bed, knocking stuffed animals and extra pillows onto the floor, as he worms his way beneath your pink-piped comforter and slithers his hand between your silky thighs—ah, good girl, you’re not wearing those pesky sleep shorts, just like he told you not to (good little sisters only wear panties to bed; and sometimes, they don’t even wear those, he had informed you)—and then wiggles his fingers under your lacy undies.

that’s when he stops being careful. 

because he loves that sharp gasp of surprise, that sheer unadulterated bolt that courses through your body—shock in the purest, prettiest form—that jolts you from your blissful slumber almost violently; skin shuddering, eyes snapping open, when he shoves two dirty fingers into your ill-prepped cunt. 

it’s his favourite sound in the world, he swears it is, swears he would bottle it up and keep it close to his heart if he could, swears he would wear it around his neck like the cutest, daintiest little noose, tethering him to you. 

but this is the next best thing, he supposes. 

your eyes slip shut again, so tightly they crinkle the corners and furrow your brow, and a whine of his name spills from your lips; first in frustration, then again all wispy and dumb when he curls his knuckles against that plush spot buried deep inside of you—that spot he knows so well, that spot he discovered, then claimed as his own. 

yeah, not so irritated now, are ya, y’little brat. 

no, you’re not. you’re sighing out his name in time with the pumps of his fingers, all melty and stupid and oh-so-cute, knotted with his honorific and seeping into your lace-trimmed pillows in little threads of drool. you’re grinding your ass back against his hard cock as you pathetically hump his palm, indulging him as his hips rut into your plush flesh, pre-cum steadily leaking through his thin pyjama pants, staining plaid in dark wet patches.

“touya-nii,” you whimper, back arching a little, nipples peaked through the thin cotton of your camisole. “stop, stop.” 

this is the routine almost every time, practiced and perfected through night after night of rehearsals, and you play your part flawlessly; effortless and enticing and full of emphasis, because you know he gets off on it—the no!s and wait!s and don’t!s, sometimes spit from your lips, sometimes dribbling out the corner of your mouth, only heightening the whole sordid affair.

because you’re just as fucking sick as your big brother is. 

he can’t stop, don’t you know?

it’s all your fault, he’s telling you, voice caught somewhere between accusatory and mocking. if you weren’t such a slutty little tease, nii-chan wouldn’t have to do this. 

but it’s all just a game; he knows you love it just as much as he does, knows you’re just as depraved as he is, because your actions don’t match your words, you bad girl, the rolling of your hips encouraging the rocking of his own, one of your free hands threading itself over his and guiding it to your breast, bony knuckles pressing into a soft palm as his fingers flex around supple flesh.

if you didn’t love it, if you didn’t want it, then why would you prance around the house in those short, short little dresses? the ones that fan out when you twirl to your music in the living room or ride up when you bend over while cooking in the kitchen, gifting anyone within the immediate vicinity (your vile siblings and their prying eyes) a coveted glimpse of the silk and lace clinging delicately to your cheeks; the ones that are an inch or two too short to be considered wholly decent, and the ones Daddy has repeatedly told you to stop wearing around your big brothers—especially the eldest. 

“m’sorry, touya-nii, m’sorry, m’sorry.”

no, you’re not, but that’s okay. he isn’t, either. 

at least you have each other.

your other hand snakes between your tensing thighs, cupping his own, little fingers layering larger ones as they try to speed up his motions, push his digits deeper, fuck you harder, give you more. 

these trysts never last long enough, though; no matter how hard he tries to lengthen them, to savour them, you’re both too eager, too hungry for one another, cumming too quickly in the dead of night as your bodies tremble together, as names shatter on tongues in sharp whispers and limbs seize and tangle and fuse into one.

it’s always so fucking messy, your cunt clenching around your conjoined fingers, slick dribbling down his knuckles in thick dollops to pool in his hand, to settle in the lines of his palm and streak his inner wrist in pretty shimmering streams.

it’s always so fucking messy, his grunts hot and humid against the nape of your neck, forehead pressed to the crown of your head as his cock throbs, filling flannel with copious amounts of burning, sticky cum—so much it seeps through the material to soak your scrunched panties, so much it dries in a hard glaze, welding lace to your ass. 

you don’t ever dare to wash it off, clean it away, eradicate the evidence, instead allowing each other’s pleasure to stain your skins, wearing it like a mark of honour, a claim of ownership, barely visible when it dries into something firm and translucent, but there nonetheless. 

his fingertips continue to flutter against that swollen spot until ripples of overstimulation are shuddering through your flesh, until your little hand is wreathing around his syrupy wrist and nails are biting into his flesh and tugging, tears beginning to bead your lashes.

only then does he chuckle and pull his hand free, knuckles hooking in an attempt to scrape your walls, a heavy coat of your arousal glistening on his fingers. 

“you cum so fucking much for your big brother,” he growls in your ear, lips wet against the cartilage, voice tapering off into a whine. “look at how wet you get for me.” 

two of his fingers flatten against your cheek and then swipe, slow and hard and thorough, smearing a thick film of your slick across your face, from the tip of your temple to the corner of your mouth, back and forth and back and forth until it’s been rubbed into your skin. 

callused fingertips push past your parted lips, weighing down on your tongue and cramming themselves into your throat, forcing you to taste yourself—to taste him, painted in you; spicy nicotine and heady salt.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” he pants out, but his pupils are gaping, watching as your gorge yourself on your big brother’s flesh, lips puckering and cheeks hollowing as your tongue curls around his knuckles and tries to siphon him further down your throat. 

a whine splinters in his chest as he pulls his extremities free from your voracious grip, slathered in spit, viscous cords strung between his knuckles as he spreads them apart. 

“yeah, you’re real fucking sick, y’know that?” 

“you made me like this, nii-chan,” you breathe out dreamily, already drifting back into sleep’s welcoming embrace, body going lax in his arms and snuggling back against his chest. 

yeah, he fucking did. 

and neither of you would have it any other way. 

[lilacxquartz]

part 18 of 19 of kinktober: voyeurism

L x f!reader

plot: L liked to keep tabs on you, often in privacy breaching ways and one night, he caught on more than he had anticipated — themes: yandere L, stalking, voyeurism, spying, warning for unaware reader, masturbation, webcams — w.c: 700ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

L sat all alone in his dimly lit bedroom, surrounded by multiple monitors panelled across his elusive set up. He remained perched over a desk chair that had long seen better days with his knees tucked in tight against his chest, fixated on one screen in particular.

Or rather one person in particular—you.

He caught sight of you completely by accident once, accidentally tuning into your webcam while on the search for something else. It was silly in a way, because he had forgotten what it even was by now, but one thing was clear and it was that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and you alone.

Almost to the point where it was unhealthy.

L’s fingers flew over the components of his desk, navigating himself hurriedly towards towards a hopeful glimpse of you. It was almost dangerously easy, knowing that you were just one measly quick away. That you were perfectly unaware, allowing him to spy on you again and again.

It wasn’t like he was doing this to be malicious though. Definitely not. He just wanted to know more about you, but being locked into his hermit lifestyle, he had no idea where to start exactly. L therefore watched on with wide, focused eyes as you entered your bedroom, wearing nothing except an old camisole with some loose gym shorts. Your hair was partially damp, hinting at a recent shower, which was made especially evident with just how tight the soft cotton clung and rode up your torso.

L stiffened as he watched you settle into your own desk chair with a hint of lust in his stare. His eyes followed your hand down to slip under the waistband of your shorts and as your chin tilted back to indicate the start of your own self pleasure. Unable to turn his sights away, he continued to glue his gaze onto the screen, watching as you spread your legs and steadied them wide over the table.

There was a split moment where he wondered if he should look away, if he should just stop the spying for once and to just leave you to it…

…But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He was far too invested for it all to simply just end.

All the while you were perfectly unaware, allowing the pads of your fingertips to swirl around the bud of your clit as you read over a few alluring words on the screen. A nice little relaxing ritual of sorts, so desperately pent up and longing for a release, completely ignorant to the fact that you were currently performing for an audience of one.

The material on the screen is just enough to work with to make your mind wander in the direction you would rather have it go; allowing you to on occasion close your eyes and drift off to explore all sorts of possibilities. At a steady pace you ran tantalising circles across your sensitive flesh, feeling the arousing heat simmer and boil into a rising peak.

You were almost close at this point; feeling the shuddering crescendo of uttered gasps and strangled moans rolling out to meet at the impending climax. Your lower stomach tightened as your own touch sent your senses over the edge, finally melting away as a warm, sweeping sensation flooded through your core.

L watched all the while with his own arousal building from the sight of yours, unable to tear himself away the almost hypnotic bliss evident on your face. In an attempt to savour this forbidden sort of thrill further, he saved a long series of screenshots capturing you in various stages of undress and pleasure alike.

Perhaps it was sick of him to do, but he printed off the images, sticking them into a journal filled with various artefacts portraying you during the moments he simply couldn’t look away from, almost entirely filling up the book.

The journal at this point was a treasured possession for him; a dirty little secret that he had appointed for his eyes only because you were surely that special.

And maybe, just maybe, he would have to see what you’re like in real life for real sometime too, because if he was being frank, it wasn’t quite the same when you were just pixels on the screen.

One day—he thought as he logged off at long last—one day he might just see it through.

[ni-kisno1fan14007]

stressed out

pairings: bf!riki x fembodied!reader

warnings: smut, suggestive, nudity, size kink, blowjob

Riki was a busy man. Always so hardworking and passionate he pushed himself as far as he could, cause he had only one goal. As the maknae of Enhypen, he was overworked.. from the back to back schedules that had his mind going crazy and body pushing to brink of exhaustion. But Riki didn’t care, he wanted to achieve and be the best. But at the end of the day, all he wanted was to be with you.. you helped him unwind, and relax after a long day and he wanted you so so bad. You waited for your boyfriend to come back to the dorm, curled up on his bed in his room. Your mind growing hazy and calm at the scent of his cologne that was lingering on the sheets, traces of blackberry and orange blossom stuck to the cotton fabric. You lay on the sheets, hugging his pillow, wearing a thin camisole and panties as pyjamas ready to cuddle with love of your life and the help him relax after a long day. God you missed him so much. After about half an hour, you could hear the door rattling, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. Your boyfriend was here. And all Riki could do was groan at the sight... the most beautiful girl he had ever met was now on his curled up on his bed, wearing nothing but some skimpy clothing. He swore he almost choked on air seeing the way the black cotton panties stretch over your ass, to the way your breasts strained against the thin fabric of your lace trimmed camisole. Sparks immediately shooting to his crotch at the lewd sight.. all the exhaustion from his day leaving his body. You pat the bed signalling him to sit next to you. The moment he sat on the bed you straddled his lap.. his strong arms immediately wrapping around your waist.. as small gasps leave his lips. He was down.. so so bad for you, just the sight of you in your underwear was enough to get him painfully hard.

You giggle softly at the sight of his flushed face.. hips rocking teasingly against his crotch trying to get him to admit to what he wanted from you. “Please.. please! Don’t tease me love”.. his deep voice groans out, face buried into your neck. Soft hisses of pleasure leaving his lips at the flickers of pleasure that your movement gave him. "What do you want baby?", you ask softly grinding your hips against his hard bulge, all he could do was let out soft moans of pleasure. "y- you.. I want you!", he manages to croak out, it was all you needed to press your lips against his in a heated kiss, bodies pressing together in all consuming need, as Riki's mind grow hazier. You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips as Riki whines at the loss of contact.

The moment your lips connect to his neck he swore he saw heaven, eyes closing and head thrown back in bliss, if only he knew what you had in store for him, as your kisses make their way down to his collarbones.

He eagerly takes off his shirt, wanting to expose more of his skin to your delicate, pleasurable touch. You can't help but bite your lip as you look down his toned chest, to his abs, lean and built to perfection after a lifetime of dancing. Your kisses travel down to his chest, to his abs as you kneel between his legs, batting your eyelashes in feigned innocence as you undo his belt. He swore he could almost come from the sight. HIs hands tangle in your hair as you pull down his trousers, exposing his hard large bulge to the cold air covered in thin boxers. His pupils dilate in anticipation as you gently pull on his boxers letting his large thick member dripping with precum spring free, making you almost salivate at the sight. You wrap your small hands around the thick base, making a deep moan escape Riki's lips, he was putty in your hands, and he almost lost his mind, his hold in your hair tightening as your lick at the tip, tasting him. "Y.. You are s.. so so good for me", he hisses softly the feeling of your tongue teasing him setting his skin on fire. You could feel heat pooling in your panties at the sounds he made. You slowly take him in your mouth, gagging and drooling as his member stretched out your mouth fully, the tip hitting the back of your throat, eyes tearing up as you look up at him. He was huge, and you were struggling to say the least, but the dirtiest parts in his brain loved it. A deep whisper leaves his lips as he looks down at the erotic, dirty sight in front of him, his normally innocent, sweet lover on her knees pleasing him with her mouth as she looked up at him, a sight that had him cursing in his mind, "F.. fucking hell".

With each swallow and bob of your head, Riki could feel him getting closer to release, the coil in his lower abdomen begging to snap and show him heaven that his stressed out mind oh so craved. And as you hollowed out your cheeks around him, he came, his mind exploding with overwhelming pleasure as he shoots his semen down your tight little throat. His head thrown back in utter bliss.

[citrustan]

hi, drabble request! hope this reaches you too 💌

yoongi & reader domestic fluff spice 🫣

hii thanks for this! i'm kinda rusty so i'm assuming domestic is when they're in a relationship and share a home (?)

this is not an original scenario, i simply can't remember where i first saw/read this or something similar. i know 'himym' introduced the 'olive theory' so let's just say this is based on that!

mushroom theory (myg)

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, boyfriend!yoongi x girlfriend!reader, smut but not all the way. + i picture yoongi to be older than the reader.

warnings: some tit stuff bec if you haven't already realised by now, i love boob, yoongi gropes reader, some grinding and finger stuff. boyfriend loves being called oppa. < i might've overdone that 🤐

You barge into your home, pushing Yoongi out of the way, "I can't believe I didn't know you liked mushrooms. Why did you let me eat them every time?"

Yoongi follows you in and shrugs, "I thought you liked them."

Flabbergasted, you almost screech, "I hate mushrooms! They're.... fungus and gross and I can't believe you made me eat them all these months."

How is he so nonchalant about it?

You step out of your heels and balance yourself on each foot, one at a time, as you pull your socks off of them.

Yoongi wants to laugh but he knows this is serious for you, "I don't know what to say, babe, you never asked."

"Because I thought," you emphasise on your subjects, "I was doing you a favour."

"By eating every mushroom you see?" Yoongi finally grins.

Abruptly turning, you chuck a sock at him (which he dodges swiftly) and frown, "You're laughing. I stuff myself, FOR YOU, with the only food I hate and you're laughing."

Slowly making his way over to you, Yoongi sighs, "It's not that serious, _____. You never have to eat one again, ever."

Unwilling to let it go, you interrogate him, "Riddle me this; why did you push all those mushrooms to the side on our first date? You picked every single one out."

He walks past you to the couch, where your other sock lay. "I was saving them for the end."

"But you let me eat them," your brows scrunch in confusion, "Why didn't you stop me?"

He beacons you over with a 'come closer' motion of his finger.

Yoongi pulls the oversized sweater over your head. "Well, you put them all in your mouth before I could stop you. Sorry. I thought you'd hurt me if I said anything."

You swat him with your sleeve, "I just didn't want to condone food wastage."

The rant is endless. "I mean, I've never seen you serve yourself mushrooms either! Your friends are evil too. They waited all this time to tell me you loved mushrooms. You people just watched on as I suffered."

"_____, we're going in circles." With his finger, Yoongi directed you to turn around and you happily comply.

You exasperate, "Sorry! I just can't believe I could've gone all those months without secretly gagging during every meal."

Yoongi presses himself against your back enveloping you in a hug, and suggests, "Why don't we make a list of the foods we like and dislike?"

Leaning back into him, you slur, "Maybe..."

More like sulk.

Yoongi drags his large hands up and down your arms and across your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in pursuit.

When he feels you lax, Yoongi sneakily inches under your white cotton camisole, prodding at and caressing your underboob, enjoying the softness of your skin.

You lock your arms down so he wouldn't pull away easily.

His fingers work their way towards your perked nipples. You help him out a little and pull the flimsy neckline of your top lower to free your breasts.

He wets the pads of his fingers with his tongue and skillfully circles them all over your areola, avoiding your nipples.

You fidget a little as Yoongi teases you, holding off on *actual* foreplay.

"Stop moving, _____." Yoongi scolds.

You squirm more, grinding back against his crotch, letting out small moans of frustration and pleasure.

Indirectly, you motivate him to continue messing with you. He gets off on your bratty yet submissive demeanour.

"Oppa, please..." you whine, "I'm gonna cry..."

Yoongi nearly laughs at how eager you were.

Not wanting to torture you any longer, he spins you around to face him and dives in, tonguing your nipples. At first, he uses his hands to squeeze your tits together, giving him access to both nipples at once. He wets both your nipples, lickng and sucking on them.

"Oppa! More! Please!" You squeal a few incoherent words along the lines of 'harder' 'yes' and 'more'.

You grab onto his almost shoulder-length hair and push your chest harder against his mouth.

One of his giant hands is now wrapped around your lower back to support your wobbly-self, and the other is busied with rubbing, pressing on and gently pinching your free nipple while the other is caught in his mouth.

The cool air attacks your nipples, hardening them even more, each time he pulls them out of his warm, and wet mouth. It's never-ending.

Yoongi kisses, licks and sucks on your nipples as his hands travel down to grope your ass. You desperately grind your aching pussy on him.

You're seeing stars at this point.

Catching on to it, Yoongi spins you around yet again, making your back face him.

It's an everyday thing for the two of you. Your boyfriend was obsessed with your breasts.

Almost every night, after Yoongi's back home from a tiring day at work, he demands to make out with your tits and you've never skipped out on that opportunity.

Sometimes it even helps you sleep better after he's done suckling and slobbering all over your chest. (Or maybe it's the orgasm that helps.)

You begin to sway, with your back still pressed against Yoongi's front, to imaginary music as he struggles to undo your skirt.

Playfully, you condescend, "Does oppa need help taking a teensy skirt off?"

Yoongi looks taken aback. Scoffing, he roughly lifts your skirt, pulling it up higher and revealing your painfully regular, unsexy, washed-out blue cotton panties. You gasp mischievously, "Oppa, be gentle!"

Wasting no time, he grabs you by the waist and drags you to his recliner chair, walking backwards. You pout, feigning offense, "Oppa, you're so harsh..."

Yoongi scoffs in amusement and plops on the comfortable chair, pulling you down on his lap. You squeak an apology when your back harshly smacks into his face (although by no fault of yours.)

Yoongi groans and pulls your knees apart, elevating and pulling them back towards your heads, exposing your still clothed centre.

Yoongi wishes he had a mirror in front of the two of you so he could watch your expressions as he teases you. Maybe he'd bribe you to tag along to IKEA with him the very next day.

You're dripping through your panties, halfway to an orgasm. All because of Yoongi's mouth on your tits. It's only a little humiliating.

Your breathing stabilizes as Yoongi gives you time to steady yourself.

That doesn't last too long after Yoongi's finger traces your sensitive, puffy lips. You jerk and shiver involuntarily, but he holds you in place. The shielded, tiny bundle of nerves yearning to be played with makes you clench around nothing.

Yoongi stuffs his hand inside your panties and begins palming your pussy, getting your essence all over his palm. Your head instantly lolls back as you thank him profusely.

Yoongi groans, his fingers instantly finding your clit, "Fuck... _____, you're so wet. Didn't even have to use my spit. So fucking slippery already..." His throaty tone making you hornier by the second, you moan in delight, "Mm! Oppa... please don't stop..."

Yoongi feels like a pervert getting off on being called 'oppa' by you as he continues teasing your clit, lightly drawing circles on the hood.

"Oppa, please I need your cock in me. Want you to creampie me..."

A little surprised, he scoffs, "What a desperate slut."

You moan (whine) in agreement.

He's unbelievably hard but he won't give in just yet. He kisses the back of your shoulder instead.

Yoongi's middle and ring fingers tease your tight, wet entrance while he thumbs your clit (a little harder this time.)

"Show me your hands." Yoongi's demand confuses your already-dazed self but you comply, lifting both your open palms up close to your faces.

With his free hand, one at a time, Yoongi pulls your hands to his mouth and licks your fingers, "Play with your tits."

You obey and begin tenderly squeezing your breasts, feeling all around and over your areola, rubbing Yoongi's spit on them while gradually building up to toying with your perked nipples.

Never taking his thumb off your clit, he speeds up, now drawing tight circles on your ultra sensitive sweet spot. Your legs spread themselves wider and your fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they mindlessly pinch and soothe your sensitive nubs.

You're unapologetically leaking on Yoongi's very expensive trousers. He doesn't mind though. Yoongi wouldn't mind even if you peed on him. HIS words, not yours.

"Yoongi. Oh, Yoon- Yoonie..." Your whines and moans get breathier and (variations of) his name frequents your tongue as you begin to squirm harder in his lap.

Torturous, his digits continue their assault on your puffy little cunt.

Still barely penetrating you with two of his fingers, Yoongi presses his thumb down harder on your clit flicking it side to side, earning high-pitched cries from you.

Your breathing quickens and your hips lift involuntarily. Your orgasm's so close you can smell it. As can your boyfriend.

Yoongi's face twists in pleasure, watching only his fingers pull these reactions out of you.

"Please, faster, Yoonie... I'll be so good for you, oppa." Letting go off your breasts, you grip the arm of the recliner and your boyfriend's too. You begin grinding down on Yoongi's stiff cock, still hidden in his pants, as you near your climax.

Your somewhat coherent moans turn into nonsensical cries and babbles as Yoongi rubs your pussy faster every second.

The back of your head slams into Yoongi's shoulder. Taking advantage of the change in your posture, he leans in to kiss you, muffling your borderline screams, still playing with your clit.

"Mmmffhp...!!" A specific, very intentional, graze of Yoongi's finger on your other, tight hole sends you through the roof.

Yoongi vocalises in content and satisfaction as you begin to writhe uncontrollably on his lap as your orgasm takes over your entire body.

He palms your pussy to distribute the pressure and help you avoid overstimulation.

You force your tongue into his mouth and suck on his own as he brings you back down on Earth.

The muscles of your lips hurt from kissing so hard.

Reluctantly, Yoongi's the one who pulls away first.

He draws your legs shut and lays you across his lap, as well as the chair could accommodate it, supporting your upper back and head with his arms.

Yoongi smiles and watches your tummy move up and down as you breathe, thinking you'd be falling into slumber anytime now.

After lying motionless for another few minutes, your eyes open and focus on the fond expression on your boyfriend's face.

Your smile comes naturally as you decide to straddle him. All things innocent, of course.

Six months ago, Yoongi most likely wouldn't have known you. If he had somehow noticed you, he probably only knew you as just another girl from his friend's workplace who invited herself to every one of their group hangouts to stare at Yoongi. Not that he ever complained. But now, you're one of, if not the most important people in his life without whom he'd be incomplete.

As cheesy as it sounds, he can't rephrase it. You complete him. You're 'it' for him.

Resting your cheek on top of Yoongi's head, you sigh dreamily, "Thank you."

"Mm." Yoongi simply vocalised in response and held you in an embrace, planting innocent kisses across your breasts.

A peaceful moment passes. Then you gasp in realisation, "Oppa!" You cheer, "We have the whole 'olive theory' thing going!"

Yoongi pulls away to look up at you. The red 'afterglow' tinge on Yoongi's face darkens just a little, thoroughly endeared by your usage of the affectionate term. Almost to the point where he nearly misses everything it was followed by.

He catches himself, "We do?"

"It's this theory that tests how compatible a couple is." You explain, "If one likes olives and the other doesn't, they'd be the perfect match!"

Ah.

"So you're saying we're a perfect match?" Yoongi smirks, feeling smug.

You blink down at him, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would." He nods, "I love you."

Placing a chaste kiss on Yoongi's lips, you smile, "Good." It's sort of an unspoken 'I love you too'.

note: im sooo sorry it took so long! this was like one of the first requests i received so thanks again!

i'm still learning to write smut ok be nicE

this is unedited too 🫣 srry

[teaboot]

thank you for answering my question about switching the tags! Follow-up question: What do you mean by the item on camera doesn't match the tag? If for example, you try one two similar looking tops (blue tank for the ex) and u switch the tag entirely, would that flag the system or do you mean switching a bra tag for a shirt tag on sale? I had no idea that the cameras are able to pick up if the item you're scanning matches the tag itself on the computer.

it's true that similar items are harder to spot, but if you're hoping to rely on poor camera quality, don't. I have personally operated CCTV cameras before and can tell you right now that technology has improve beyond what we see on TV- If I could read the bumper sticker on the back of a utility van a full block away using an exterior surveillance cam, there are DEFINITELY cameras that can see the difference between a cotton tank top and a camisole of the same color.

And again, its different from place to place- an old gas station might have stationary cams in grainy black and white, but if it's owned by a larger corporation or has been robbed a lot in the past, they might be phone-camera quality.

Also, anyone reviewing footage can rewind back and see WHERE you picked up whatever you have, and what you've put back- and if you happen to swap tags or slap one of your own on top of the original somewhere a camera can see you, you're boned, 'cause nobody will see that and think it was accidental or a computer error- it'll go down in court as deliberate intent p much immediately

Also, do keep in mind, places like Target won't nail you the first time they see you- they'll keep your face on file and wait until you come back and do it again until they have a high enough dollar value to ensure criminal charges. Places like that, you won't know you're fucked 'til it's too late.

I have personal reasons for not stealing or frauding, and I'm not about to claim judgement or approval for anyone who does either, but fraud especially is fucking risky and yall gotta know

[shalotttower]

Title: A Shoe Made for Walking Notes: yandere!Chrollo, coercion, kidnapped Reader, forced relationship, obsessive behaviour.

He started taking you clothes shopping lately, for reasons unknown.

Not that you're in desperate need of anything new. You've got enough things to last through the month twice, and the closet is bursting at seams with pretty silk tops, camisoles and skirts of various lengths, plus some cardigans on the side. Chrollo enjoys dressing you up as much as he enjoys undressing you, and since you're not a fan of either, it's an endless game of push and pull.

You're not sure how to feel about it.

If this is his way of getting you to spend time with him, if he's finally lost his mind altogether, or if this is just another one of his sudden whims.

"What's the point of this?" you ask while he browses through a rack of summer dresses, flowy and floral ones with delicate straps. They look like they would melt in your hands in a puddle of cotton candy.

He looks up. "Hm?"

"This," you repeat. "It's not like I'm going to wear any of them."

Chrollo stops sifting through the fabrics to focus on you. He does that often. Stares. Sometimes you think he simply forgets that he should blink once in a while.

"No," he hums. "Not now."

It sounds so simple, so easy, and a bit too much like 'later' for your liking.

There's a tightness in your throat which comes with these words and stays there until you manage to swallow it back down. You're not naive enough to believe that what he means is 'once you're comfortable.'

There's something sick about how normal Chrollo can make this look.

You, him, a mall in a nice part of the city.

Something must slip onto your face, because he leans to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't look so forlorn, dear," Chrollo says and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "It won't be long."

You're not sure what's worse ─ this gentle reassurance, or the fact that his fingers find yours, and entwine with them without resistance.

"Let's find some shoes to match."

[miasmaghoul]

miasma do u have forcefem thoughts 👀

It's the tail end of his lunch break in the infirmary when Aether's phone vibrates against his thigh, a quick double buzz. He brushes sandwich crumbs from his hands and tie, licks a stray drop of basil mayo from the corner of his mouth while he pulls the device from his pocket. Aether straightens his glasses just as the screen lights up again, a pair of texts greeting him.

🦇: got a surprise for u

🦇: think ur gonna like it

Aether quirks an eyebrow. It's the middle of the night where they all are, if his math is right, and knowing Aeon that surprise could be damn near anything. He starts tapping out a response when the three dots telling him Aeon's typing pop up, and he pauses.

🦇: maybe wait til ur alone to open it

Another message follows a second later, a video file, and Aether blinks at the screen until its preview image loads. The pale visage of a slender back, decorated with thin straps of shimmering fabric, and a hand he recognizes as Aeon's resting between their shoulder blades. At first glance Aether thinks it's Aurora on the screen, dressed in one of her lovely little camisoles and arching under Aeon's touch. His dick gives an interested twitch at the idea - a pleasant surprise indeed.

But then his eyes drift upward, expecting cotton candy curls only to find long strands of ashy blonde instead, and his cock downright throbs.

"Oh, Lucifer."

Heedless of Aeon's warning, Aether smashes his thumb to the screen and shifts in his squeaky office chair while the video loads. Immediately rests his free hand over his crotch when it opens up to Aeon and Dew standing in a hotel bathroom, Aeon recording their reflection from where he stands behind the smaller ghoul. Dew's leaning over the sink in what is definitely one of Aurora's lovely little camisoles - shiny gold satin with shimmery lace across the bodice and two sets of crisscrossed straps. It hangs noticeably loose around Dew's chest, and Aether squeezes himself. Does it again when Dew leans in close to the mirror, swaying just a little while he uncaps a tube of candy red lipstick. Aeon moves the phone closer to the mirror, his other hand sliding around Dew's slight waist, and Aether thinks he's never been so jealous.

"Smile for the camera, pretty girl," Aeon coos, leaning in to nuzzle his messy bun. "Say hi to daddy."

Aether chokes when he says it, and stops breathing entirely when Dew tips his gaze towards the reflection of the phone. When he fixes Aether with a smile that lets his tongue poke through his teeth.

When he blinks and Aether catches the faintest swirls of lilac decorating his amber irises, the rush of heat to his gut is nothing short of paralyzing.

"Hi daddy."

Dew trills it in the soft, shy way that always wrecks Aether the most, makes him stupid and possessive. The little ghoul applies the lipstick with an unskilled hand, a messy swipe over lips that have clearly been sucked on for a while, and Aether wants nothing more than to to see it smeared all over his fat, heavy -

"Aether?"

A sharp rap on the door makes Aether jump in his seat, fumbling the phone and wincing when it clatters to the ground.

"Y-yes?" When did his throat get so dry? Aether takes a quick swig of his now-cold lunchtime tea. He grabs his phone and turns the screen off before he can see any more of Dew in that state. "Uh - what is it?"

"Brother Angelo is in Exam 2," one of the human nurses calls through the door. "Slammed his fingers in the chapel doors again."

"Be right there," he calls, but his eyes remain glued to the dark surface of his phone. The image of Dew's painted lips dances through his mind, and Aether can't help himself. "Just a minute."

He turns the phone back on the moment her footsteps retreat, palms his cock where it sits thick and pulsing at his hip. He's greeted by the groan-inducing sight of Dew leaning back against Aeon's bare chest, head tilted so the other ghoul can mouth at his elegant neck. Aeon hits a good spot and Dew reaches a hand back to grab at his hair, sucks air through his teeth, and Aether leaks into his boxer briefs.

Aeon unlatches after a few seconds, nuzzling Dew's jaw while he looks into the camera. The hand on the little ghoul's hip glides over his stomach, drags the fabric just high enough for Aether to get the tiniest glimpse of the purple lace covered bulge between his legs.

"Tell daddy what you came to me for, Dew," Aeon lilts, nipping at his ear. "Tell him why you're all dressed up."

Dew sighs, lifts his head just enough to look at the camera. There isn't enough quintessence in him to make him look woozy or lost - just enough to act as a confidence boost, Aether imagines. That's what Dew usually asks for when he wants to be treated like the pretty little thing he is.

The lipstick makes him look like a whore and Aether would worship the ground he walked on.

"Because I want you to fuck my pussy," Dew breathes, that wide mouth stretching into a lascivious grin. "And I want daddy to watch."

It's less than ten seconds before Aether's pulling his cock through his zipper and shooting a fat load directly into the trash can, stomach clenching and thighs twitching. It leaves him dizzy for a solid thirty seconds afterwards, the ghoul idly fidgeting with his softening length while he recovers.

He shakes himself, huffs out a disbelieving chuckle before he tucks his still sensitive dick away and stands. Hums to himself while he washes his hands in his small sink, tossing the paper towel he dries with over his mess. Aether straightens his coat and steels himself to go deal with Brother Angelo for the third time this month. He grabs his phone from the desk and turns to leave, but before he does Aether decides he needs to see one more thing. He pulls the video up one more time and -

One minute and thirteen seconds.

He'd made it barely a single minute in before needing to empty his balls. Aether can hardly believe it. Well, no, he can absolutely believe it. Dew regularly manages to dismantle him like this, it's just never been from a distance. Never been recorded. Mostly he can't believe that he has six hours left of his shift before he can watch the remaining -

Twenty five minutes?

Aether's going to give them both anything they want when they get back, he swears it.

[jjasen]

sleepless nights

summary: the happenings of when you and Rafe are the only ones up late at night

warnings: smut, minors do not interact, 18+

word count: 1.5k

a/n: reader is Sarah’s best friend; so sorry i’ve been mia for a bit!! i hope you all enjoy ❀

It’s late when you pad into the kitchen of Tannyhill. The sound of water filling your glass almost echoes throughout the house and you hope that nobody wakes up. Before returning to Sarah’s room, you settle atop the marble counter of the kitchen island. It’s peaceful at this time of night, when everybody but you is dead to the world, and you can have a few moments of silence to yourself.

Until you hear someone else traipse into the kitchen. “What are you doing up?” Rafe asks. He leans back on the counter opposite you and gives you a lazy smile.

You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep,” you whisper. He nods, and a few moments pass in quiet companionship before he steps closer to you. 

“You know what helps me fall asleep?” he asks. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes you shiver despite the warm summer night, as if he sees you, suddenly, for more than just his little sister’s best friend. You’re painfully conscious of the fact that you’re wearing only a thin cotton camisole and sleep shorts as Rafe stares at you unabashedly.

You bite your bottom lip nervously. “What?”

He grins and leans over you, his long arms on either side of your body, caging you in. He smells good, like sandalwood and something warm, some sort of spice, maybe. 

“Sex,” he answers. 

You intake a breath sharply and can feel your heart pounding, a flustered warmth blooming in your chest. His hand is on your thigh, rubbing circles with his fingertips, and you feel sparks fly over your skin at his light touch.

“Rafe,” you whisper, “we shouldn’t.” It’s a half-hearted attempt, really, you know that he won’t stop until he gets his way. He moves his hand even further up your leg to brush his fingers over the softness of your inner thigh, and you gasp, but make no bid to move away.

“I know you’re just as desperate to touch me as I am,” he whispers, his gaze intense, lustful. “Tell me I’m wrong. Look me in my eyes and tell me I’m wrong.” You exhale slowly and allow him to brush his thumb over your jaw, peering up at him from under your lashes. Your eyes down flit to his lips, and a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. “That’s what I thought,” he says, before leaning down to kiss you.

He’s insistent and rough. Possessive, even. He kisses you as if he wants to consume you, as if it isn’t enough to just touch you, as if he must devour you whole. It’s strangely arousing, the way his carnal desire makes your core stir sinfully. His teeth skim along your skin as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, and his hands run over your waist down to your thighs. You part them instinctually, your hands tangled into his hair, and you gasp shallowly for air.

Rafe pulls back to admire you. Your mouth is parted and deliciously swollen, your hair is mussed, your eyes glazed over, and reddened marks are beginning to bloom across your neck in a way that makes him achingly hard. You sigh his name and he hardens further still. The heat of his skin searing, sparks shiver down your spine when Rafe shimmies the lace of your panties down your thigh. He runs his fingers between your legs over your slick entrance and grasps your waist, gazing intently into your eyes. The brilliant blue of his stare has heat flushing up to your cheeks and your teeth sinking into your lower lip. You rock your hips against his hand.

“Do you like this?” he asks. He brushes over your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you breathe, trembling. 

“Good, because I like it too,” he says roughly, thrusting his fingers in. You gasp and throw your head back, moaning in pleasure and trembling, your hands scratching along his broad back. His thumb grazes teasingly over your clit and with his other hand he cups your breast, dragging his fingers over your nipples under the thin cotton of your camisole. Kissing up the column of your neck, Rafe runs his tongue along your jawline as he tastes your skin, salty-sweet. With each dip of his fingers curling into just the right spot, you gasp louder and louder until you come all over him. Quaking in your orgasm as pure bliss radiates up your spine, the sight of Rafe’s smug smile and his warm, heavy-lidded stare is almost too much and you clench around his fingers again.

Sliding his fingers out of you and into his mouth, the way he’s gazing at you whilst tasting you on his tongue, sinfully, a wicked gleam in his eyes, has you squirming beneath him, heat blooming into your cheeks. You look away, embarrassed, and he uses his free hand to tilt your chin up.

“Eyes on me,” he rasps, “I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

You are at a loss for how to respond to his words, the pure filth of his desire causing a shiver of excitement to run down your spine. “Okay,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. Your innocuous, doe-eyed gaze only serves to increase Rafe’s lust, and he palms his cock before allowing you to slip your fingers beneath the band of his boxers.

You stroke his length gently, a little intimidated by his size and circumference, your hand barely able to wrap around its delicious warmth. He hisses, drawing air between his teeth, and grabs your wrist, forcing you to relinquish your grasp on his cock.

“Keep doing that and I’ll come right here,” he says, his breath hot on your cheek, before sliding on a condom and thrusting into you.

Rafe is no gentleman. He’s hungry, greedy, as he pounds into you roughly, his thick cock stretching you deliciously, all the while whispering filthy encouragements into your ear. The cool marble of the kitchen island is punishingly hard against your back, and yet you have never felt such intense pleasure.

You claw at the rippling muscles of his biceps with your free hand, the other frantically circling your clit. His arms cage you in as he holds himself up with one flexing forearm, the other curled so that his hand tangles into your hair. His eyelids flutter with pleasure and he almost has to force them open so that he doesn’t miss a moment of your arousal. The way you part your lips and bite down on your lower lip to muffle your lustful whimpers has him dangerously close to his release, and he fucks into you faster, harder.

“You wanna come, sweetheart?” Rafe pants, his thrusts getting sloppier, but still pounding into that spot that has your eyes rolling up to the back of your head.

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine, so close to the edge.

“I’m not going to. But we both know that you would do it if I told you too.” He’s smirking into the searing kisses he’s pressing to your collarbone, all too pleased with himself. You shake your head at him as best as you can manage while getting thoroughly fucked, but you know he’s right. 

With a final, shallow thrust and a cry of, “Oh, shit!”, Rafe comes, biting down into your neck to muffle his groans. At the sensation of his teeth piercing your skin, the searing pain rapturous to your nerve endings, your orgasm washes over you in a haze of euphoric bliss. You can feel his spent cock twitch inside of you as you clench around his length over and over again, pure pleasure rocketing up your spine. 

Panting softly, Rafe pulls out of you and briefly rests his forehead on yours, this  inconsequential action somehow more intimate than the sex. All too soon, he gets up to tread back upstairs to his room, leaving you to clean up your mess alone. His absence makes the kitchen feel even larger, the house more quiet, and there’s an ache of disappointment in your chest. Only then do you begin to worry about what will happen if Sarah finds out, what you will tell her. When you return to her room, she is still fast asleep. Relieved, you slip back under the covers.

Sun streams through the window and it’s so late you aren’t sure it’s morning anymore when you awaken. Stretching and yawning, the throbbing ache in your legs is a harsh reminder of the events of last night. Sarah is already up; she’s running a brush through her honey-blonde hair in the bathroom adjoined to her room.

“Someone slept in,” she remarks nonchalantly. “Rafe made crêpes, I saved you a few.” You smile despite yourself, and drag yourself out of bed to wash your face. Running a hand through your hair, you pull it back into a ponytail and accidentally brush over the bite Rafe left on your neck and wince. Sarah notices from the mirror and glances at you, frowning slightly.

“Is that...a bite mark?” 

Shit.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 50

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't sleep, you just lay in an achy stupour. The sun limns the door as Loki's shadow darkens beneath it. He sat there all night, you could hear him, leaning against it, sighing, sometimes pleading for you to come out.

He groans as the door shifts with him. He exhales and you hear some cracking as he moves. He must be just as stiff as you. 

“Pet,” he taps on the wood, “are you over your tantrum?”

His words sting. He speaks to you like a child. You wish he'd leave you alone, let you out, just disappear!

He stands with another long groan and you feel him leaning on the door. He jiggles the handle then hits the wood in frustration. He hisses. Good, you hope it hurts.

Tears spring as you feel guilty just as quickly as that spiteful thought rose. You don't want to hurt anyone. You never have. You just want to be.

“You cannot lock me out forever. I must clean up,” he demands.

You don't argue. You don't mention he has another bathroom. Two even. You don't have the energy.

“Must you persist in this stubbornness?” He snaps. 

All he ever has for you is criticism. Just like your father. And you're just the same useless girl.

You don’t answer. You get up, keeping your back to the door. You tell him over and over to leave you alone. It doesn’t work. So you’ll just ignore him.

You go to the tub and crank on the faucet, the water splashing down loudly as you flinch as the sudden gush. You hear a thump on the door but focus on testing the temperature of the water with your fingers. You don’t listen to see if he goes, to you he’s just not there.

You strip off the camisole nightie and step into the tub before it fills. You lay in the burgeoning depths as it slowly rises over you. Goosebumps rise on your body yet the water offers little warmth for you. Even as it steams up to your shoulders.

You sit forward to twist off the tap and lay back with a sigh. You wet your hands and drag them over your forehead, the water trickling down to dampen the bandage across your nose. You don’t know what you’re doing or what to do. You never really did have much of a plan. Life was always just day to day. Survival.

Your lashes close as dampness lingers on them, fueled by a new flow from within. Your tears trickle out and you sniffle. Your mind wanders to a woman you never knew.

Was this what it was like for her? Confusing? Scary? Or did she love your father? Was he different when it was only her?

How can you even begin to know her when you don’t even know yourself? You are not your mother’s daughter. You are no one’s. You are no one.

You don’t languish long in the tub. You drain it and sit shivering on the toilet lid, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. You stare at your hands and think but you’re empty. You can’t live inside your mind, just like you can’t live inside this room.

You stand up and storm towards the door. You stop short and gulp. You won’t let him lock you up. Not any longer. Maybe your mother was a brave woman and maybe you can be too.

You flip back the lock and pull the door open. The bedroom is empty. He’s gone. You deflate. Just as you found a semblance of courage. 

You cross to the other door. The handle won’t turn. You expect as much, just like you should’ve expected him to leave before he could hear you.

You back up and peer around. Your eyes narrow on the window and you tilt your head. You can go too. 

You rush over to the closet and push the door open. You search through the hanging garments clumsily, hangers whining on the bar. You pull down a plain black blouse and equally simple pants. You dress as you peek over and over at the door. You don’t have shoes but you don’t care. You double up socks and go to the window.

What do you even care about shoes? You don’t have anything.

You hook your fingers into the notches along the bottom of the window and lift. It doesn’t budge. You whimper as your knuckles ache from the effort. You pout at the glass, contemplating the best way to shatter it. Your gaze wanders up to the latch at the top. Oh, it’s locked!

You slide the lock back and try again. It opens. You can barely believe it. A way out, but what comes after. You don’t have to think of that now.

You poke your head out and peek around the green lawn. The birds tweet and the trees sway with the breeze. You stick your arms out next and rest your stomach against the sill. You lift one knee and haul yourself over the ledge, dragging your other leg out awkwardly.

The roof is steep and offers little traction. As you manage to crawl onto the slope, your head spins from the drop just below the eaves. Don’t look down, that’s the first rule right. You search for a safer descent than the vision of yourself plummeting to the ground.

Just along the far side of the house, just at the corner, the ivy lines a faded trellis. You can try to ladder down on that and if not, you’ll turn back and act like nothing happened at all. No, there’s no going back. Just go.

You move carefully, turning to face the house. Your fingers grip beneath the bricks as you place your feet against the shingles, little grip through the socks. That was a bad idea.

As you inch along, flush to the roof, wriggling bit by bit, you hear the low hum of an engine. You don’t think much of it, it’s probably just a passerby. You focus on your own flight. You won’t have a car, just your feet. How far can you get?

The sudden ring of the gate frightens you. You jerk and nearly lose your bearing. You whimper and slide down to the eaves. The metal trough is tenuous as best as you feel your weight testing the bolts. Your heart pounds in your ears.

The bell rings again but you don’t let it faze you again. You’re nearly there, just a little further.

“What on earth–” Loki’s voice makes you flinch. 

The eaves creak and tremble under you as you curl your fingers over the shingles. You glance over fearfully, surprised by your discovery and all too aware of your treacherous escape. Loki’s nostrils flare as he glares out the window at you.

“Get back here! Are you mad, you’re going to get–”

The gate bell once more pierces the air and a sudden crack sounds from behind you. You slip down the shingles with a yelp, grasping at the roof as your feet meet only air. Your catch yourself on the edge, just barely, and whine as you dangle over the grass.

“Gods!” Loki blusters as you hang perilously.

Your heartbeat blocks out the noises all around you. The birds’ songs fade and the rippling leaves quiet. It’s only you and the horrid drop below. Don’t look down, you repeat. You’ve seen the movies, that’s the worst mistake you can make.

“Pet, don’t panic,” Loki clambers down the front steps as he calls to you, “just hang on. I have you, darling.”

You squeak as your arms burn and your fingers throb. You’re not that strong. You don’t think you can hold yourself. You hear him running as a car door shuts. 

“Hello?” Frigga’s voice carries over the lawn, “is everything alr–” She gasps, “oh, dear, what is going on? Loki, let me in.”

“Mother, one thing at a time,” Loki’s voice fades away as you hear him running.

“Oh my,” Frigga remarks, “dear, you just want to hold on. Try not to move too much, you’ll lose your grip.”

You close your eyes and focus on just that. Her advice is little help but you don’t even have the ability to tell her that. You’re terrified and weak. You feel your fingers about to give. You wrestle with your own mind, it would be easier to just let go and let what happens happen.

“Here, here,” Loki hollers as a metal rattle accompanies him.

Your eyes stay sealed as you fear even a glimpse of your ground. You whimper and whine, eyes once more wet and leaking. Something hits the roof not far from you and you hear a strange tempo, steady but harried. A hand closes around your wrist.

“He’s got you, honey,” Frigga shouts from the gate.

You don’t react. Loki grunts and his arm wraps around your back. You let your eyes open just a crack and look over at him. He urges you to him as he leans over the side of a ladder.

“Get your foot here,” he directs you to the rung above his own feet, “come, darling, come, I’ve got you.”

You follow his direction. Your adrenaline swells over and leaves you hollow. He gets you onto the ladder, just in front of him, and he takes a step down. You cling to the rungs as he continues until he’s stood on the grass.

“Go on, I’ve got a hold on the ladder,” he assures you.

You push your foot back and shakily dip it down. You put it on the next step before you dare to move the other. Your descent is slow and shaky. He helps you onto solid ground with his hands on your hips.

As you pull away and face him, you find his expression pinched. You push your lips out and mop up your tears, “I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now, I must deal with my mother first,” he hisses.

You wince and nod, pressing your tight fists to your cheeks. He gives you a long look and he rolls his shoulders. “Straighten yourself up, pet. Do you want her to see you in such a state?”

You shake your head and heave. He spins on his heel and marches away. You swipe away the last of your tears and swallow your sobs. You follow him, jittering as your legs move at a staggered pace. It’s almost as if they aren’t your own.

“Mother, you weren’t invited,” Loki accuses, “and we are not currently receiving guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is going on here? Why was she hanging from the roof like a cat on a clothesline, Loki?”

“It is my concern, I don’t need you sticking your nose in–”

“Don’t speak to me as such, I am your mother,” her tone sharpens as you wobble towards them, “now you let me in, that poor thing must be frightened and you’re not even comforting her.”

“She is not yours to worry about,” he rebuffs.

“Nonsense, you left so fast, you didn’t let us the chance–”

“Go,” he snarls.

“Loki,” you babble as your legs fold, your sight splotchy and off kilter. As you crumble into the gravel he turns. He rushes towards you as you hold yourself up on your hands, slumping over the drive.

“Pet, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he hooks his arm around you, “you should go inside.”

“Please… I don’t feel good,” you utter.

“Let me in, son,” Frigga demands urgently, “I can help her.”

“Just like you helped her before–”

“You know we had no idea,” she barks, more viciously than you could ever imagine her sounding.

“Loki, please,” you lean into him and tilt your head up, it lolls dangerously on your neck, “please, let her in.”

He considers you, his features drawn but no longer in anger. You see the fear he’s been holding onto. You reach to touch his shoulder and wilt into him.

“Please, I’ll stay,” you sniffle, “if you let her in. I won’t try to run again.”

He sucks in a breath and looks over his shoulder. He huffs and turns back to you. He scoops you off the ground and stands with a grunt.

“Mother, I trust you can wait until I get her somewhere safe?”

“Not long or I shall knock this gate down,” she sneers, “but perhaps I’ll let him take the wheel. Your father won’t hesitate.”

“Father…” Loki echoes.

“Oh, he’s here too, I told him to stay in the car thinking I might talk some sense into you,” she bites out, “imagine if I told him what I’ve walked up upon.”

“Let me get her inside,” Loki says tersely.

He carries you towards the house. You drone and sink into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking. You don’t know what came over you. You need sleep, your temples are like drums; boom, boom, boom.

“I’m tired,” your murmur.

“I know, pet, I know,” he brings you up the steps and through the front door. As he comes to the stairs, you reach out and grab the banister, latching on with all your strength. He stops.

“Please, don’t,” you bat your eyes and pout at him, a glisten in your vision, “don’t lock me away or I’ll jump next time.”

He waves and his throat tightens, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” you eke out. “I only… I only ever wanted to see the garden, you know?”

He lowers his eyes guiltily and frowns. He backs away from the stairs and instead, carries you into the den. He lays you on the sofa and puts a pillow behind your head. You relax, happy to at least be out of the room. Still, your prison remains.

“We will talk later but first, my parents,” he strokes your forehead before he stands straight.

“I could make tea,” you offer and try to sit up.

“You will not move,” he points a long finger at you, “not one inch. Do you want tea?”

You look at him. Is he really asking? 

“Yes,” you squeak.

He nods, “very well, you will have tea. Stay,” he wags his finger again, “first, I will fetch my mother and father, then tea.”

You try to smile, “thank you.”

“Hm, curse the hour,” he sneers under his breath, “I could do with something a bit stronger.”

He leaves you with that remark, striding out rigidly as his fingers twiddle at his side. You feel the same dread as him about your guest. You’re in no state to receive them, and in less to be reminded of the last time you met.

[evolnoomym]

2. Million Dollar Man

Sugar-Daddy!Joel Miller x f!OC

General Masterlist | “Runaway Butterfly 🦋” Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: A look at your daily routine, a little friend gets introduced, 1st Date jitters and Joel Miller enters the game.

Rating: 18+ explicit content mdni!!!!

Word count: 3.5 k

Warnings: no y/n, f!reader, working out, pills (Silica), mentions of eating, struggles to eat in front of others, shaving, allusions to sa, Mommy issues, panic attack, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, flirting, bantering, Moon is not a blank slate (sorry)

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: Here we go Chapter 2 for y’all, I hope you enjoy 🩵

Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers 🫶🏻

Big thank you to @lady-bess for beta reading 🫂🌙

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 👌🏻

It was a normal day for you just the same as always. Waking up at around 9 am, you continue to roll around for another hour slowly getting more acclimated with being up, until you decide it’s time. Sitting on the edge for a moment you roll your shoulders and lightly stretch that aching back of yours, the most will be dealt with later.

The first thing after swapping your sleeping gown with a black cotton camisole and some black cozy shorts, is to make your bed. It's a routine, almost always exactly the same as a way to feel secure, it brings you comfort. You start by shaking out the three blankets, two regular sized and one large blanket. One after another, followed by all your pillows, which at this point must be in the double digits region. You like to practically swaddle yourself. Next you meticulously put the pillows at their designated places and after folding the blankets those get the same treatment. One final sweep of your hand to even out some creases and it’s on to the next step.

Every night before going to sleep you prepare a tall glass of water alongside two Silica supplement pills on your dresser across from your bed, downing them is the next step of the routine. Afterwards it’s time for some plant caretaking which consists of checking if any of your baby’s produced a new leaf or need some water. Since you spent the entirety of yesterday, from morning to evening watering all of them, they are in perfectly healthy condition.

Though your most treasured plant, the monstera deliciosa, gets a little extra attention, you take her out onto the tiny balcony attached to the bedroom and generously spray each leaf with water. Maybe it does nothing but you’d like to believe that the effort is appreciated and repaid by continually birthing bigger and bigger sliced leafs. She gets to soak up the water, enjoy the fresh air as you leave the door open to also get some air flowing throughout the room and once the bedroom opens the rest of the tiny apartment.

You slip on your black loafers, take the empty glass, your iPhone and go to the kitchen which is situated outside your bedroom on the left. You have one of those pearl curtains attached to the wood panel above the walkthrough. It's oldschool and sometimes a little inconvenient but you like the beautiful blue colors it adds. You reach up into the cupboard for a shot glass which gets filled with a horrific tasting immune shot, a concoction of turmeric, ginger, lemon, orange and apple juice - burns like hell on the way down but at least it’s supposed to be good for you.

You down another glass of water immediately after which soothes your esophagus, it washes away any bitter taste left and when you brush your teeth the overpowering minty taste does the rest.

Karl Jr. -your beautiful black fur baby- would then get his breakfast served. Followed by some more morning stretches as well as a watered down version of your usual evening workout routine to help your back pain be less severe. Once your done it’s quite calming to just sit on the rolled out yoga mat placed in front of the open balcony door, you enjoy to feel the breeze passing over your face along with the early morning sun rays, it’s peaceful.

If it would be just an ordinary day you would now sit at the tiny desk in your living room with your grinder and long papers, preparing a morning j, which after smoking would be followed by breakfast.

But today is different. You have a “Date”. Well it might not be the right word to describe the occasion but a business meeting sounds too formal for a walk through the nearby park.

“Joel Miller wants to meet you”, that’s what the message read that was atomically sent by the Sugar-Daddy website and after some rather tame exchange of words with him it was decided to meet up in person. He suggested a restaurant but you declined that offer quickly, eating in front of him and most of all eating with so many people surrounding you, watching you, judging you? No that would be uncomfortable, so you pitched the idea of walking through the park just a short 15 min walk from your apartment. The two of you decided to meet at 3 pm, at the entrance of the park and go from there.

Through some weird intuition you luckily had taken a “everything” shower yesterday, before going to bed. You spend 2 hours scrubbing every nook and cranny on your body, shaving your legs and armpits. It was just a meet up so there was no reason to go crazy on your downstairs area, you didn’t plan on taking him home. Besides you were never one for taking the other person to bed on the first meeting, not that you didn’t try, you did. Seeing everyone around you having those casual encounters with no trouble, made you think you had to do the same and be like them. To feel like you fit in that’s what you tried, but it never went past some awkward kisses, they would try for more which you always brushed off as it just didn’t feel right and that’s where it would end.

You wondered why casual hookups never worked out until one day you did. Dating became less important after those discoveries, you could not open up that way anymore, it always felt like playing a character, pretending to be something you’re not.

A facade can only be kept for so long until it all falls apart or they discover the truth and they always do. The last date you went on was almost 2 years ago and the last time you had sex was at 17 which was losing your virginity to him. Now looking back it makes sense why you couldn’t be like the others.

Even in the 8 months of living here you did not make moves to really meet anyone on a romantic or platonic level. Well except Theresa your neighbor, she’s the only friend you made since moving here. She is 34 years old, single -which you don’t understand as she’s very gorgeous- and has two cats.Theresa takes care of you in the form of making sure you get up, eat and don’t succumb to the pressure in your mind. Almost like a Mother would.

Sitting at your make up table you decided on a simple makeup look, just a bit concealer, blush, bronzer, mascara and peach gloss. Of course you also wear your favorite jewelry set containing moon shaped earrings and a necklace with a moon pendant. Gifted by Theresa after she learned of your fondness for the moon and the story surrounding your name.

Next up was the outfit, which again, was not anything special. A black tank top, flowy black pants and well worn black converse. Before leaving you put on your vanilla perfume and mango scented body spray.

After locking your own door you stop at Theresa‘s apartment door, raise your right hand, knock and wait. She opens up appearing to have just woken up.

“Do I look okay?”

You do a twirl on wobbly knees.

“You look more than okay sweetheart,” she gives you one of her rare soft smiles “I know you’re nervous but you got this,yeah?”

“I got this,” deep breath in and out “I’m okay and I got this.” You reaffirm.

“Atta girl, if he does anything weird I’ll come get you and rip his balls off.” She’s joking but you know she would do it for you.

“I’m sure one day you’ll get the chance to live out this little dreams of yours, but this guy actually seems nice.”

You quickly glance down at your phone, realizing you have to get going you say goodbye to Theresa.

“Shit, I gotta go or else I’ll be late. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Of ‘course go get him kiddo, you better tell me everything later. Be careful, yeah?”

As you are already almost halfway down the stairs you exclaim a loud affirmative yes.

Off you go.

The park is unusually crowded for a Sunday afternoon. A bunch of kids are loudly playing on the playground near by and there’s a baby crying in its stroller alongside the mother trying to quickly soothe her baby. People are walking by having their own conversations. You can hear cars driving around and occasionally a honk. It’s overwhelming, so many things happening at once and you’re immediately reminded of why you avoid going outside.

Today however all these people are also a protection shield in case something goes wrong. You’re more careful these days than back then, you learned from what happened.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement,no, not even smoking before leaving helped to calm you down. These tricks may have helped you then but now it’s a different story.

You remember that day years ago vividly, it was supposed to be the second date with the significantly older police apprentice which inevitably would also be the last time seeing him. The plan beforehand was to meet friends at the park, there you would hang out, smoke weed and drink cherry liqueur to make yourself more pliant before getting picked up by that man. It was so stupid, he drove so far away to a lake and by the time you got there it was already dark. So much could’ve happened. He set up a Picnic, with strawberries and a whole bottle of wine for you to finish on your own, which you did. Back then you fortunately still had your luck, nothing bad happened and he just drove you back home after not getting into your pants.

Sitting on this bench now feels just like 6 years ago. Even though now it might be worse you’re shaking and the air leaves you in panicked little huffs. The ringing in your ears gets steadily louder, black spots are clouding your vision and the pressure forces you to close your eyes. That’s when you hear it, a voice, a deep octave fighting its way through the ringing.

“S’cuse me, Hello Darlin’ I thin…-“ he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before you immediately shoot up from the bench coming to a halt right before him. That spurt of energy however didn’t last long, almost immediately you feel your legs giving out and you would’ve collapsed weren’t it for those big strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling.

“Woahh hold ‘ya horses darlin easy, breathe ‘kay, in an out…can you do tha’ for me?” his voice makes you open your eyes to see nothing but a very nice lookin yellow Lakers shirt. You couldn’t lift your head up just yet. Instead you wanted to try to make this less embarrassing “I-I…I’m okay, ughh” a wheezing sound left you, breathing so much after basically slowly suffocating was a bit derailing. You wanted to open your mouth again to say something but he cut you off “No, Shhh, just breathe don’t worry but anythin’ right now.”

And that you did, after approximately 5 minutes which felt like lifetime you felt good enough to finally look at him. Now you felt breathless for an entirely different reason, that being the tall Texas glass of water right in front of you. His hair was nicely combed back, he wore thick black glasses, a gorgeous smile peeking at you from under his mustache and the best thing, his hands were still on your shoulders even though his grip got softer.

After looking him up and down you just stared at his face and probably looked like a fish out of water with your gasping at a rapid speed. The whole situation caught up with you, making you take a step back. His hands slide down your arms till he no longer touches you. Shanking your head you started to apologize “I’m so sorry, this so embarrassing..-fuck I’m really sorry you had to witness this.”

He just looks at you like you said something ridiculous “Darlin’ you don’t need to apologize for havin a panic attack or anythin. Alright?”

“Yeah you’re right, thank you, for helping with the breathing and stuff.” You nod

“Don’t mention it, you wanna sit down again or-?”

“No need to sit down again, moving around is probably the best, there’s a pond just a short walk from here. It’s a little more secluded,” you look around “, than here.”

He nods “You lead the way M’lady,” giving you a cheeky smile.

“Keep up Mr.Miller,” you retort and swivel past him with a cheeky smile of your own.

It was a quick 5 minute walk, which was spent in comfortable silence, allowing you to recover from the panic attack. Luckily your favorite spot is free, a wooden bench placed only a few feet away from a cute little pond surrounded by trees and lushes green bushes.

“There we go, please have a seat,” you motion for him to sit down.

You can’t help but watch him get comfortable and spread his meaty thighs. It’s an invitation for your gaze to go directly to his crotch. Images of what a guy like him must be packing flood your brain, most of all what he could do with that.

“Darlin’ did ya not learn that staring is impolite,” that certainly snaps you back into reality quickly, eyes going back to his face. You can feel your cheeks get warm at being caught, you surely must be looking like a tomato.

You sit down next to him and start to apologize “I..I am so so..sorry,” you don’t even dare to look at him.

“Hey sweetheart,” two of his thick fingers tip your chin up “look at me, s’ all good okay?” the look in his eyes is expecting. “Yes it’s all okay,” you nod and his expression turns into a pleased smile.

“That’s a good girl,” those specific words, in that deep molasses tone momentarily stun you. Is he doing this on purpose or is it just who he is?

His deep chuckle let’s you know that he’s well aware of the effect those words have on you. Cheeky.

The short silence is broken by you first.

“Sooo, have you done this before?” What a stupid question, he most likely has done this before, he’s gorgeous, who wouldn’t want him as their Sugar-Daddy ?

“Yes, I have done this before, have you?”

Now this makes you let out a genuine laugh.

“What’s so funny sweet girl, huh?” He inquires.

“Look at me, do I seem like the kinda girl that catches the attention of a Sugar-Daddy?” Pointing at yourself, completely ignoring what he just called you.

“You got my attention, don’t ya?” The smile he gives you makes you realize that this is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen and those cute dimples will never leave your mind. “Also let’s not kid ourselves you're breathtaking, pretty girl.” The final nail in your coffin is the wink he sends you.

For a moment you just stare at him.

“Anyway,” you have to look away from his smug face towards the pond to hide your reaction, you try hard to contain your blush “i have never done this before. Though I have thought about trying this.”

He appears to process that answer.

“What’dya want out of this arrangement?”

A good question, but calling this an arrangement sounds so clinical and cold. Shouldn’t it be more than that? Isn’t your body part of this deal?

“Best case scenario I get a genuine connection out of it, someone to call home, to rely on, something real you know?” He nods in understanding.

“Obviously the money is an aspect too, it’s security, it means not having to worry about making ends meet and just living carefree.”

A shaky breath leaves you after dumping everything on him.

He scratches his scruffy jaw looking deep in thought “What would that carefree life look like?”

You know exactly how to answer, maybe you shouldn’t be so honest but you feel like that will get you plus points. Besides you got not much to lose.

“I’d like to travel, see a bit of the world, take photos of all the majestic sights I’ll come across. Live in a secluded house, close to the nature. I’d wake up paint, take care of my plants, try out delicious recipes and I’d be happy.” It might sound simple to him but that’s all you’d need. A safe warm home.

“I can make that happen for ya sweetheart,” he sounds serious, too serious and you don’t want to get your hope’s up, so you switch the topic.

“Why didn’t it work out with the previous two women?” You interested why neither worked out, how could you fumble a man like Joel.

“The expectations in the arrangement didn’t align, they wanted a quick dime, not really interested in interpersonal relations and I got bored.” He says it with such a nonchalance.

“Where they my age?”

“No, they were both older than you,” you are not sure how to feel about that answer, is it better or is it worse?

“Why don’t you just try normal dating, you’re clearly attractive so it shouldn’t be hard, right?” He could have anyone in the world, yet he sits here on this old bench with you.

“ ‘s harder than it might seem darlin’, the company keeps me busy, the people I interact with most are business acquaintances and that’s not a good mix.” Yeah don’t mix business with pleasure, but isn’t that what you two will do?

“What do you expect of me, what do i have to do to make this work. I..I mean in case you want me,” the nervous stuttering will definitely be something you’ll think about for the next couple days. Why must you sound so desperate for anything?

You’re relieved that he doesn’t acknowledges your nervous word salad.

“ ‘s not a whole lot I expect, but I need flexibility” your eyebrows shoot up “not that kind of, time-wise I need ya to be…bendable,” he can’t help but laugh now “ I’m not making it any better am i?”

“No you’re not, but that’s fine i know what you are trying to say”

“Could you live with that, sometimes there’s gonna be a short notice to go somewhere which might mean flying and I want ya with me,” He explains the conditions.

“I could, it’s okay” you nod confidently “do you also want me to play your eye-candy at those fancy functions rich people have?” Again honest curiosity, you’ve never done this before.

He shakes his head “I don’t want ya to play eye-candy, you would be my partner and my equal.” His goddamn smile will be your downfall. You are about to open your mouth when a loud ring cuts you off, it’s not your phone, it’s his.

He looks apologetic and mouths a “sorry” before picking up the call.

You only get bits and pieces.

“Yes - Tommy ya know I’m busy - hmm - seriously how could that happen - yeah I’m on my way.” His voice took on an angry tone and his smile disappeared.

After hanging up he closes his eyes, squeezes the bridge of his strong nose in annoyance and takes one deep breath.

“Everything alright?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, no,” he opens his eyes and the tense expression switches to an apologetic one “something at our current construction site must’ve gone absolutely wrong and I need to fix it.” He sighs loudly.

“I’m sorry darlin’, this is why I need ya to be -“

“Flexible,” you finish for him and he nods.

“I’m real sorry that our conversation gets cut short,” he leans in and his hand lands just above your knee squeezing lightly “I’d like to continue this “getting to know each other” perhaps when ya visit my office, then you see me looking more professional.” Adding another wink to finish off.

“I’d like that too, Mr. Miller.” You note how his pupils dilate when you call him by that name, already loving the effect you have on him.

When the two of you get up, you immediately start to miss his hand on your leg, but as you walk to the entrance of the park he places said hand on your lower back, to guide you.

“Well here we are, I had a -” he speaks up first but gets cut off yet again by a loud honking.

The source is a black Mercedes Benz.

“Uh, that’s my driver,” he pulls you in for a hug and a quick peg on the cheek “listen I had a great time and can’t wait to see ya again. Please text me when ya get home, okay?”

When he pulls away you nod “I will,” you almost promise and off he goes. Quick strides towards the car, slipping in and taking off with squealing tires that make you think it might be more serious than he let on.

Your phone chiming takes you out of your stupor, a message from Joel, something sweet yet simple.

J: Get home safely, Moon Girl ;)

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