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saintseeker · 2 days ago

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bsf!abby headcanons pt2.

notes; abby is still the same as the last part ^-^. both of you are cheesing for each other so hard but still oblivious. reader is wlw but not specified otherwise. butch!abby. abby trying to quell her ache for u with other girls. both of you are in college now. kind of angsty buttt...abby's dad dies a bit later in the story than he does in actual TLOU franchise; trigger warning for that; not descriptive.

-◌ on your birthday, you and her go to the ocean. it's a bit cloudy, but it smells like sea salt and sweetness, and honestly? abby can't focus on anything but you and the way you look dressed in your swimsuit, how your skin seems to glow underneath the dim sun. the trip takes an hour or two to get to, and you spend the whole time karaokeing and talking about sentimental topics. she doesn't like small talk; and you seem to return the sentiment.

-◌ everything's going well until she mentions a girl. abby talks about her like she's some kind of goddamn...sweetheart, or something. your stomach aches and you stifle the hurt in your voice with a false sweetness. abby sees right through you; she always did. she never brings her up after; your saddened smile makes her heart stop in her chest, her eyes shut.

-◌ abby doesn't know why she's dating other girls. by now, she's well over her fear of liking girls publicly; almost a bit too much, you think, a little salt in your thoughts. the ocean is beautiful, and so is she; skin tan, eyelashes fluttering, her muscles making her look like some ancient statue, shining, how those sculptors made each and every sinew visible, each and every lock of hair worth noticing.

-◌ you fall asleep against her. even though it hurts every atom of you to be next to her, your head ends up against her shoulder, hair tracing her skin. abby swallows. this isn't the way it's supposed to go. you're supposed to...separate after high school (you never did), move on to college...you'd find some cool lookin' girl there, marry her. she'd be everything abby wasn't. but you're here, mouth turned into a little pout, breath coming in hot little puffs against her jugular.

-◌ a month later, she breaks up with that girl. when you get word, you try not to celebrate, but it's hard not to when abby doesn't look particularly saddened by this occasion. it gets even weirder when the ex starts sending you glares from across the lecture hall, so sharp, like a sword. she's not even supposed to know who you are; just a friend. just a friend.

-◌ it's weird. it begins to be a...pattern. abby dates a girl. girl and abby make your stomach hurt and your pillow wet with tears for a week, two, a month if you're lucky (or unlucky). abby breaks up with her, first, all the time; you'd be lying if you said that you never told abby that her dating habits were...futile. abby'd be lying if she said that your honesty wasn't part of what made her fall in love with you.

-◌ abby starts to break. at first this was a fun little childhood crush; her gay awakening, as one might put. then she got in her feels. now, completely and utterly in love with you. she starts going to the gym more often; scoffing at your silly jokes instead of belly-laughing at them like she used to. you start to retreat inwards, eyes falling shut, mouth closing up. it kills abby, but it's what has to be done.

-◌ you haven't talked for days until you hear a knock at your door. it's 2am, and you're still awake, so maybe this is for the better. you open it to see abby in tears; hair down and messy, and it looks like she's shattered. a couple of hours later, she's stopped crying in your arms. you learn that her dad's passed away. she doesn't leave from your lap for the whole day.

-◌ it's hard for her to regain her spark for a while; the only positive thing to come out is that she stopped dating and overworking herself. you help her with grief; you found a support group, made her meals, braided her hair. you switch roomies; living together in one dorm. sometimes, abby wakes up so fast and quick you blearily open your eyes to see that she's had a bad dream again. you hold her until she's asleep.

-◌ slowly, abby realizes that maybe her feelings for you aren't as bad as she once thought.

#creds to divider to fairytopea!!#wlw yearning #abby tlou #wlw #tlou #abby anderson #tlou2 #tlou abby #abby x you #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x you #the last of us 2

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theshadowriter · 2 days ago

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No Strings, Just Fire

One emotionally unavailable football queen

One dangerously flirtatious heartbreaker

One mischievous lesbian mastermind with a matchmaking agenda

Smut*, Romance, Slow Burn

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Chapter One: Sparks on the Rooftop

The Barcelona skyline glittered like a smirking secret, the hum of music floating above the city from Mapi León’s infamous rooftop parties. It wasn’t just a party—it was the party. If you didn’t get an invite, you either weren’t cool enough or you pissed Mapi off. Sometimes both.

Tonight, Y/N was neither. They showed up fashionably late—designer jacket draped carelessly over one shoulder, sunglasses still perched on their head like they’d forgotten the sun had set hours ago. Rich, flirtatious, and charismatic in a way that made people do things they swore they’d never do. Twice.

Alexia Putellas didn’t do parties. She did control. Strategy. Clean exits.

But from the moment Y/N walked in, that control unraveled like a slow, luxurious ribbon tugged free.

“Who’s that?” she asked, her voice low as she watched Y/N laugh at something the bartender said.

“That,” Mapi grinned, appearing at her side like a matchmaking gremlin, “is Y/N. And if I were you, I’d stretch first. You’re gonna need flexibility.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Mapi smirked, sipping her drink. “But your pulse did.”

Across the rooftop, Y/N locked eyes with Alexia. A smirk curled at the edge of their mouth like they’d just caught the scent of something they wanted to chase. They made their way over slowly, like they were savoring the moment.

“Didn’t know angels came in football kits,” Y/N said, stopping in front of her. “Or are you just here to make mortals nervous?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “That’s a strong opener.”

Y/N’s grin sharpened. “Want stronger? Give me ten minutes and a dance floor.”

“Oh?” Alexia tilted her head. “You promise not to fall in love?”

“I don’t make promises I plan to keep.”

Alexia laughed—an actual laugh, caught off guard. “Careful. You keep talking like that, and I might let you buy me a drink.”

Y/N leaned closer. “Who said I needed permission?”

Two cava flutes were ordered. One accidental brush of hands. One very intentional one that lingered longer than it needed to.

“You have a tell,” Alexia said, sipping her drink, eyes locked on them.

“I have a lot of things,” Y/N replied. “A tell’s just the one I’ll admit to.”

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I know you’re going home thinking about me.”

Alexia’s smile faltered for half a second—just enough to confirm the truth of it. “You think you’re a challenge?”

“I know I’m your favorite mistake waiting to happen.”

Another laugh, this one low and almost reluctant. Alexia looked away for half a breath, regrouping, before turning back with a look that could disarm armies.

“Come on,” she said, nodding to the small area where a few couples danced under fairy lights. “Let’s see if you dance as well as you flirt.”

Y/N offered a hand, cocky and graceful. “I do everything better than I flirt.”

The slow burn began in the sway of their bodies, in the way Y/N’s hand settled at Alexia’s waist like it belonged there, fingers lightly tapping to the beat. Alexia’s hand found Y/N’s shoulder. Close. Closer. Foreheads nearly brushing.

“So,” Y/N whispered near her ear, “do you always dance with strangers or am I special?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They didn’t kiss—not yet. But every glance, every breath shared under those rooftop lights said it was only a matter of time. The fire was already lit. They just hadn’t decided who would strike first.

The beat pulsed softly around them, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Y/N’s hand was warm at Alexia’s waist, fingers resting lightly, as if they weren’t sure if they were allowed to be there or if they simply belonged. Alexia’s own hand trailed lazily from Y/N’s shoulder down their arm, deliberate and slow—like she was pretending it was casual, but her touch lingered just a second too long to be innocent.

They moved in rhythm, not quite pressed together, but close enough that every sway of their hips brought them into brief contact. A thigh grazing. A shoulder brushing. A shared smirk between steps.

“You’re good at this,” Alexia murmured, her eyes dipping to Y/N’s lips and back up again.

Y/N leaned in, their lips brushing the shell of her ear—not quite touching, but sending a shiver anyway. “You should see me when I’m trying.”

Alexia’s smile was slow and wicked. “So you’re not trying now?”

“Darling,” Y/N said, voice low and flirt-slick, “if I tried, we’d be back at mine already.”

Alexia’s breath caught—just slightly. She pulled back enough to look at them, head tilted in amusement. “Confident.”

“I told you.”

They kept dancing, slower now. The music faded into something sultry, a bassline that throbbed like a heartbeat. Y/N’s thumb traced a soft circle at Alexia’s waist. Alexia’s fingers slipped to the back of Y/N’s neck, featherlight, barely there—just enough to draw goosebumps.

“So what’s your deal?” Alexia asked, her voice curious but guarded. “You flirt like it’s your second language.”

“It’s not,” Y/N said. “It’s my first. But I speak fluent heartbreak too, if you’re interested.”

Alexia laughed again—quiet, genuine, the kind that slipped past her defenses when she wasn’t looking. “And here I thought I was the emotionally complicated one.”

“Oh, you are,” Y/N teased, twirling her lightly before pulling her close again. “But you hide it behind killer footwork and that whole ‘I don’t do feelings’ act. Very convincing. Almost.”

Alexia didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Because her fingers were now toying with the collar of Y/N’s shirt, absent-minded. And Y/N’s hand had drifted from her waist to the small of her back, holding her just a little tighter.

Their foreheads brushed. Just barely. Like a secret exchanged between two people who didn’t yet know how much they wanted to tell each other.

“You’re trouble,” Alexia whispered.

Y/N smiled. “Only if you want me to be.”

There was a pause.

Not tension.

Anticipation.

Then—

Alexia pulled away.

Not far. Just a step.

But it was enough.

“Buy me another drink,” she said with a smirk that gave nothing away.

Y/N raised a brow. “Is that a yes to coming home with me?”

Alexia’s smile was slow, sly, devastating.

“It’s a maybe.”

Alexia slid back onto the barstool with practiced ease, legs crossed, arms resting lightly on the counter like she hadn’t just left a dancefloor where she’d nearly melted into a stranger’s touch.

Y/N signaled to the bartender with two fingers and a smirk. “Another cava for the lady who thinks she’s in control.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “And for you?”

Y/N winked. “Whatever gets me your number.”

She huffed a laugh—trying to hide how charming she found that. Spoiler alert: she failed.

“Persistent,” she murmured, accepting the glass with a clink.

“You like it.”

“Do I?”

Y/N leaned in, not touching, but close enough to tempt gravity. “You haven’t walked away yet.”

Alexia met their gaze, and for a second—just a second—her guard slipped. She looked at Y/N like they were trouble, like they were temptation, like she wanted so badly to pretend this was still just a game.

Then she drank, slow and smooth. “You’re lucky I’m in the mood to make mistakes tonight.”

Y/N tilted their head, playful but entirely focused. “Who said this is a mistake?”

Alexia stared at them for a heartbeat. Then:

“Let’s get out of here.”

No drawn-out goodbyes. No waiting for the party to end. No permission slips from Mapi—who saw them leave from across the rooftop and immediately grinned like a villain in a rom-com.

Downstairs, the black Range Rover gleamed under the streetlights, sleek and menacing. Y/N opened the passenger door like a gentleman and a troublemaker rolled into one.

Alexia climbed in without a word, crossed her legs, and only looked at Y/N once the door shut.

“Nice ride,” she said casually, fingers brushing the leather.

Y/N slid into the driver’s seat, glanced over, and gave her a crooked smile. “If you think this is nice, wait till you see the view from my living room.”

Alexia bit her lip. “Is that what you tell all the girls?”

Y/N pulled out of the lot and onto the main road, the city slipping past in streaks of gold and crimson. “Only the ones I want to kiss before we even make it up the elevator.”

Alexia turned to the window, hiding the amused twitch of her lips. “Bold.”

Y/N’s hand casually draped over the gearshift, their pinky grazing her thigh. Definitely not an accident. Alexia didn’t move away.

In fact, she shifted just slightly closer.

“So,” she said, voice like velvet laced with mischief, “are you always like this? Charming. Flirty. A little bit dangerous?”

Y/N glanced at her, their voice low. “No. You bring out the dangerous part.”

“Oh?” she mused, her tone dipped in curiosity. “And what are you planning to do with that energy?”

Y/N smiled, eyes still on the road. “Depends. How fast do you want me to drive?”

Alexia’s laugh filled the car, rich and real. Then she leaned over, resting her hand lightly on Y/N’s arm. “I don’t need fast.”

Their eyes met at a red light.

“I want intense.”

The elevator ride up was silent—but not quiet.

It was the kind of silence filled with looks. With glances that lingered a beat too long. With the soft sound of Alexia crossing one leg over the other, of Y/N’s knuckles tapping once, twice against their thigh as they tried to keep their hands to themselves.

Alexia watched the glowing numbers tick up, but her eyes flicked sideways every few seconds, catching Y/N watching her first.

“Nice building,” she murmured.

Y/N turned to her, smiling like they had a secret. “Wait till you see the inside.”

The doors opened with a soft ding. Y/N led the way, holding the door open like a tease in human form. “After you. So I can check out the view.”

Alexia walked past, her perfume trailing behind—subtle, warm, expensive. “Smooth.”

“I haven’t even started.”

The apartment was… exactly what you’d expect from someone like Y/N.

Minimalist. Expensive. Clean lines, dark wood, dim lighting. And windows—floor-to-ceiling—showing off the Barcelona skyline like a painting come to life. Soft jazz was already playing, because of course it was. A touch of class. A layer of mood.

Alexia stepped inside slowly, surveying everything. “You live like someone who never has to ask twice.”

Y/N’s voice came from behind her, lower now. “I rarely do.”

Alexia turned around—only to find them closer than before.

Not touching. Not yet. Just standing there, like gravity was a negotiation and both were considering surrender.

“Want a drink?” Y/N offered, nodding toward the sleek kitchen.

Alexia didn’t move. “You’re trying very hard to impress me.”

Y/N smirked. “You think this is effort?”

That earned a soft, genuine laugh. “Okay, I walked into that one.”

Y/N stepped around her, brushing past—accidentally-on-purpose. Their hand grazed her back, low and featherlight, like a promise. “Make yourself at home. Unless you prefer mischief over comfort.”

Alexia’s voice followed them. “Mischief is comfort.”

Y/N poured two glasses—whisky for them, red wine for her. They handed it to her with a little bow. “For the woman who walked off the dancefloor like a cliffhanger.”

Alexia took the glass, letting her fingers graze Y/N’s on purpose this time. “You like cliffhangers?”

“I prefer slow burns.”

They moved to the living room, sitting close on the velvet sofa that curved just enough to make “accidental touching” a design feature. They talked. Joked. Flirted. The kind that didn’t shout—it whispered. It leaned in. It let a hand rest on a thigh just a second longer than necessary.

Alexia’s wine glass dangled from her fingertips. Her knee touched Y/N’s.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft now, “I don’t usually do this.”

“Come home with strangers?”

She gave a small nod.

Y/N reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not asking you to.”

Alexia’s breath hitched.

Then—then—she smiled.

“But I’m not leaving, either.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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pjmxtra · 2 days ago

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perfect in my eyes‧₊˚ ⋅

paring: 니키 x fmr

warning: smut, angst, & fluff | bullying by the other members, itty bitty committee, p in v, reader is thin and described as small (if that makes you uncomfortable pls block me!)

an: another request by my fav anon!! Ily like sm you make my creative juices flow (´ε｀ )♡ I cried while writing it so pls enjoy!!

You padded down the hallway in one of Niki’s shirts, the hem nearly brushing your knees. It swallowed your frame completely—soft fabric drowning your shoulders, sleeves hanging past your fingertips. Only your bare legs peeked out beneath it, small and pale against the oversized tee. The dorm was quiet aside from the occasional rustle of movement and low chatter from the living room. You shuffled into the kitchen, retrieving snacks with quiet precision before heading back.

The guys were draped across the couches, voices low with whatever conversation they’d been having—until they saw you..

Jake snorted. “Whoa. That shirt’s practically a dress on you.”

You paused mid-step, hands full of snacks, blinking toward them. “It’s like you just came out of the laundry hamper with the shirt still wrapped around you,” Sunoo joked, laughing softly.

“I could fold you up in it and still have room to spare,” Jake added, his tone light, teasing—but you still felt your stomach drop.

Jay tilted his head from where he lounged against the cushions. “Seriously, where are your limbs? You look like a floating head with legs.”

Your grip tightened around the bag of chips. You tried to smile, tried to brush it off with a small shrug. “I like it. It’s comfortable…”

“Comfortable?” Jake laughed again. “It’s practically eating you alive.”

“Yeah,” Jay chimed in, smirking. “You gotta put some meat on those bones or the wind’s gonna blow you away.”

The words stung sharper than they probably meant them to. You felt exposed. Your body, already something you’d been quietly insecure about, now felt like a spotlight had been thrown on it. You shifted on your feet, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and let you vanish back into Niki’s room without another word.

You lowered your head, eyes fixed on the snack bag, heart thudding. You hated that they’d noticed. Hated that your body never looked the way others expected it to. You weren’t curvy, soft, or womanly in the way you assumed Niki’s bandmates preferred.

Your silence must have lingered too long, because then— “Hey,” a voice behind you said, low and firm. “Let’s stop with the jokes, Hyung.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Niki’s voice was deep, calm, a grounding presence that wrapped around your spine and steadied your breath. He appeared beside you a moment later, his large hand sliding around your waist effortlessly, his fingers nearly touching in front as he held you close to his towering frame.

Jake gave a nervous chuckle. “It was just a joke—she’s tiny. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, we didn’t mean anything by it,” Sunoo offered quickly.

“She’s just small, and you’re… well, you know…” Jay trailed off, trying to smile.

Niki didn’t look at them. His voice was low, cool. “You guys are pathetic.”

Then, without another glance at the others, he guided you away—back into the safety of his room, shutting the door behind you with a thud that seemed to mark the end of the conversation.

You sat at the edge of the bed, quiet. His shirt swallowed you even more when you hunched your shoulders. You picked at the hem, lost in your thoughts. Were they right? Did he secretly wish you were different? Softer, curvier—less… fragile?

“Kii,” you whispered, your voice barely there.

He stood at the door, back straight, eyes unreadable.

“Hm?”

You hesitated, then breathed out your doubt like it stung. “Do you think… I should change?”

He blinked, confused at first. Then—his expression tightened. “Are you serious?” he asked, crossing the room in three long strides. You didn’t answer, but the way your eyes shimmered said enough. Your lips trembled. You looked breakable—and it made his chest twist in frustration.

He knelt in front of you, gently pulling your small hands into his much larger ones. He pressed soft kisses to your knuckles, each one slow and steady. Then, looking up, he said, “You’re my girl. My beautiful girl. You don’t have to change for anyone—not even me. I love you.”

Your breath hitched. Niki stood and eased you into the bed like you weighed nothing. You clung to the warmth of his words, wanting to sink into them completely.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I have no problem showing you what I see when I look at you." Your heart stuttered. How could he say things like that? So easily, so surely?

Your hands reached up to him, brushing his hair back. “Show me,” you whispered against his lips, barely audible. “Please.”

His lips captured yours in a kiss as gentle as it was grounding. His hands traveled your body—slow, firm, claiming. His knee slipped between your thighs, spreading them apart like it was second nature. His mouth trailed from your lips to your neck, marking you softly but deliberately.

The shirt came off. Your shorts followed. Left in nothing but a lace set that looked like it belonged on a doll, your arms instinctively came up to shield yourself.

Niki’s hands slid over yours, pulling them away. “No, baby,” he murmured, eyes dark and soft. “Let me see my girl.”

You dropped your arms, heart pounding. His eyes roamed your body like you were art, a reverence in his gaze that made you want to cry. “So fucking pretty,” he breathed, cheeks tinted pink.

He sat you up, unclasping your bra with ease and tossing it aside. His palms covered your breasts, so much larger than you they completely hid you from view. You whimpered at the contact, already sensitive.

He grinned, leaning in to close his lips around a nipple, licking and sucking as his free hand squeezed the other. Your breath hitched and your hand curled into his hair, tugging gently. He pulled back with a pop, staring at the glisten he left behind.

He gathered you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly and settling you in his lap. His hands held your tiny frame like you were precious—and his to worship.

His hands explored your body with a reverence that made your breath catch in your throat. There was no hesitation in his touch—no flicker of doubt, no holding back.

His hands roamed the dips and bones of your form like they were familiar territory, but still sacred. With every graze, every stroke of his fingertips, he was learning you again—reminding you that he saw beauty in every line and angle.

His body eclipsed yours completely, long limbs bracketing you on either side as he hovered above, and when he settled down, pressing his chest against yours, it was like being wrapped in a weighted blanket of warmth and muscle and protection.

Niki’s lips moved to your collarbone, mouthing the fragile ridges he found there. “So delicate,” he whispered between kisses, voice thick with something between awe and frustration. “I don’t understand how anyone could say anything about this body except how perfect it is.”

You whimpered as his tongue flicked out to taste your skin, hot and wet against the sensitive spots only he seemed to know. His hands slid down your sides, fingers curling around your tiny waist, spanning it like it was nothing in his grasp. He could probably lift you with one arm if he wanted to—and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can hold all of you like this,” he murmured, voice gravelly against your ear, his breath hot. “You’re so small I could keep you in my lap forever. Would you like that, baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your face buried in his shoulder as your hands clung to the fabric still stretched over his broad back. He sat up with you easily, guiding you to straddle his thighs as he rested back against the headboard. Your knees barely reached the edge of the bed beside him. His hands cradled your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles into your skin, soothing and possessive.

The lace underwear remained, the last barrier between you and him. He looked down at you, at your exposed chest, at the curve of your ribs, the way your bones created gentle shadows beneath your skin. “You’re art,” he said quietly, running a hand up your spine until you arched into him like instinct. “Not everyone can see it, but I do.”

Then, he leaned in, and his lips wrapped around the other breast, tongue swirling slow circles around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You gasped, hips jerking forward into his abdomen. You were so sensitive—so reactive—and he loved every second of it.

You let your head fall back, lips parted, breath coming out in soft, needy gasps. He pulled away only to trail his mouth down your torso, kissing down your ribs, each press of his lips purposeful. He made sure not to skip a single inch of you.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he looked at you—eyes dark but soft, searching your expression. “Can I?” he asked, his fingers already hooked gently into the lace.

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. “Please…”

He slid them down slowly, savoring the moment like he was unwrapping something fragile and rare. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, making you feel more seen than you ever had in your life. When the last scrap of fabric was gone, he leaned back to take you in fully.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, hand ghosting over your hipbone. “You’re unreal. I didn’t know something this beautiful could fit in my hands.”

His fingers curled deep inside you, slow and deliberate, each stroke drawing a louder moan from your lips. You were soaked—your body clinging to him so tightly, slick and warm, trembling in his lap. Niki groaned low, watching your thighs twitch around his hand.

“You’re fucking soaked, baby,” he breathed, fingers working deeper, his palm grinding against your clit just right. “And all of it’s for me. Just me.”

You were barely holding on, jaw slack, head tilted back. You weren’t hiding the sounds anymore—couldn’t if you tried. Each thrust of his fingers pulled raw, high-pitched moans from your throat, and it only seemed to make him more possessive.

“You’re such a loud little thing now, huh?” he muttered, his tone dark with pride. “What happened to my shy girl?”

You whimpered, hips jerking into his hand, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

His fingers slid from your core, slick and glistening, and he watched the way your thighs trembled, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, voice husky. “I could taste you for hours.”

Heat bloomed across your chest, but before you could respond, he gently cupped your waist and guided you to shift. There was no urgency, just warmth and care in his touch as he helped you climb into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You were trembling, both from what you’d already felt and what you knew was coming.

“You okay?” he asked, hands resting soft and sure on your hips, thumbs brushing circles into your skin.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, your tiny frame looking even smaller straddling his tall, broad figure. “Yeah… I just…”

His hands moved to cradle your face, tilting it up so you’d look at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be anything else. I love you just like this.”

Your throat tightened, and before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I want you to take me, just like this,” he whispered. “I want to feel you.”

You bit your lip and reached between you, fingers trembling as you guided him to your entrance. He hissed softly when he felt your heat, his hands never leaving your waist.

And then, slowly—gently—you sank down onto him.

Your mouth parted in a breathy moan as he stretched you open inch by inch. You could feel every part of him, thick and warm and deep inside you. You clung to his shoulders, head falling against his as you tried to catch your breath.

“Shh,” he whispered, hands sliding up your back. “You’re doing so good, baby. You feel like heaven.”

You whimpered softly, voice catching. “It’s so much…”

“I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “But you’re perfect. You’re taking me so well. Just go slow.”

You moved slowly on his lap, hips rolling as you took him deeper with each breath. Niki’s hands never stopped moving—tracing your spine, your waist, brushing over the soft skin of your thighs like he was memorizing every inch of you. His thumbs caressed the dips of your hips like they were his favorite place on earth.

You rested your forehead against his, your small frame trembling with the effort, and he wrapped his arms around you tighter—supporting your weight as you moved.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “Just let me feel you. Let me love you.”

He took over the rhythm, fucking up into you gently while holding you against him. Every roll of his hips was smooth and unhurried, dragging a soft moan from your throat. The way he filled you—so completely—made you ache in the sweetest way.

Niki’s lips found your neck, pressing kisses there as your hands threaded into his hair. His tongue traced along your pulse point, then lower—his mouth open, warm, leaving soft marks along your collarbone.

Your legs tightened around him, trying to pull him closer even though there was no space left between your bodies. You buried your face in his neck, your gasps louder now—needy and open, every sound echoing off the walls.

And he wanted them to echo.

“Let them hear,” he said, voice rough with desire. “Let them know how good I take care of you. How good you feel when you’re mine.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep, swallowing your moans as he kept moving. His hands slid up your back, curling around your ribs, his fingertips reverent as they explored the curves of your small body. You were everything to him—he couldn’t stop telling you, couldn’t stop showing you.

You gasped as he shifted slightly, the angle hitting that spot inside you just right, your nails digging gently into his skin. His hands came up to cradle your face again, kissing you through every sound you made, soaking up every part of you like he couldn’t get enough.

You felt the pleasure build slowly, beautifully, your body growing tighter around him as your movements grew sloppier, more desperate.

“I’m close,” you whispered, breathless.

“I know, baby. I feel it—let go for me.”

With one deep thrust and a soft cry, you unraveled, clinging to him as your body pulsed around his. Niki held you close, whispering soft praises against your lips.

He chased his own release only after yours had quieted, thrusting up into you with slow, deep rolls, his mouth open against your shoulder.

“Inside you,” he whispered. “I want to finish inside you.”

You nodded, whispering his name, and seconds later he groaned low and deep, spilling into you with a trembling breath. He held you there, buried in your warmth, his body shaking gently from the intensity.

Neither of you moved for a while.

Your head stayed nestled in the curve of his neck, his arms cradling you with quiet reverence. The world outside the room faded—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Gently, he lifted you in his arms and shifted onto the bed, still holding you close as he eased both of you under the blankets. He cleaned you up with careful, tender hands, kissing your thighs, your wrists, your chest—anywhere that had been marked by your love.

You lay against him, tucked into his side under the sheets, still wearing the hoodie he slipped over your head—his scent wrapped around you like the warmth of his arms. Your body was sore in the best ways, skin flushed, lips swollen, and yet your heart was heavier than you thought it would be.

He felt it—knew it, even before you said anything. His hand traced idle patterns on your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin with reverence.

“Talk to me,” he murmured into your hair. You hesitated, pressing your face into his chest. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this. Like… someone could want me like this. Like this body is enough.”

Niki leaned back just enough to look at you, his brows drawn, lips parted like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. One of his hands moved down, cupping your thigh, holding it in his palm like it was something delicate and sacred.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said, low and steady. “You have no idea what it does to me—seeing you like this, knowing you are mine.”

He sat up, pulling you with him gently until you were straddling his lap again. This time it wasn’t frantic or rough—it was slow and quiet, his eyes burning into yours with nothing but awe.

“You’re perfect,” he said, fingers running over your waist, where his hands nearly wrapped around your entire frame. “Your hips… the way they fit in my hands—it drives me insane.”

He let his palms slide up, thumbs brushing over your ribs. “You don’t even realize what it does to me, do you? Every time I see you in my clothes—bare legs out, drowning in my shirt—it’s all I can think about.”

Your breath caught, his words soaking into your skin deeper than any touch.

He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “You’re not ‘too small.’ You’re mine. Every inch of you—from these soft thighs…” his hands squeezed them gently, “to this little waist…” he dragged his palms up your sides again, slower this time, making you shiver, “to these gorgeous tits—” his thumbs brushed over them through the hoodie, making your breath hitch.

“I love your body,” he said, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “I love how I can lift you, move you. How your whole body reacts when I touch you. And how you feel—wrapped around me, so tight and perfect…”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

You stared at him, barely breathing, your heart clenching in your chest. He meant it. Every word.

“ki…” you whispered, voice breaking.

His lips touched your forehead. “You’re everything I want. Exactly as you are. I’ll keep showing you that until you believe it.”

And he did.

He kissed you again, soft and slow, and let his hands explore your body like he was memorizing it all over again—every dip, every bone, every shiver. His touches were gentler now but no less intense. Worshipful. Patient.

He didn’t need to prove anything—not anymore. You were already his. And he was going to make sure you never forgot how deeply he adored every inch of you.

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

Text

LA VIE EN ROSE | kon el kent x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, swearing

imagine this; Kon finds his girlfriend in lingerie and absolutely malfunctions—hard, fast, desperate, and completely hers.

It started with a harmless trip to the garage.

Kon was looking for a charger. Not the futuristic kind he could get from S.T.A.R. Labs, just the old blocky one that fit that one backup communicator. He was humming some random pop song under his breath, shirtless, hair a bit tousled from flying in earlier. That’s when he saw it—tucked behind an old box of Halloween decorations and a cooler that hadn’t been used since last summer.

A Victoria’s Secret bag. And not just that.

Right next to it, a La Vie en Rose one, the soft pink peeking through the white tissue paper like a secret waiting to be unwrapped.

His heart stopped.

No way.

Kon’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned, teeth flashing. “No way,” he muttered again, grabbing the bag carefully like it was sacred treasure.

You had never worn lingerie before—not that he minded. You in one of his t-shirts, bare-legged and sleepy-eyed, was enough to short-circuit his brain. But this? This felt like a sign from the heavens. Maybe you’d been planning a surprise. Maybe you were finally leaning into the whole “sexy superhero’s girlfriend” thing. Maybe—

He hovered into the house like a man on a mission.

“Babe!” he called, practically bouncing into the kitchen where you were sipping iced coffee and scrolling your phone. “Were you gonna tell me about this? Or were you planning on sneak attacking me with it?”

You blinked. “Tell you about what?”

He plopped the bags onto the counter with the most dramatic flair. “This. The finest kind of ambush.”

Your eyes widened when you saw the bags. “Oh my god. Where did you find those?”

“The garage,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Behind the cooler. Are we talking lace? Silk? Something red?”

You burst into laughter. Not a giggle, a full-body, can’t-breathe kind of laugh. Kon frowned, confused and a little concerned his dream was slipping away.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “Those aren’t mine, babe. That’s stuff I bought for my cousin’s bridal shower. I hid them in the garage because she lives two doors down and comes over unannounced.”

Kon’s expression cracked. “Wait… seriously?”

You nodded, still chuckling.

He looked at the bags like they betrayed him personally. “So you’re not gonna randomly show up in red lace and heels?”

You leaned in, smirking as you slid your arms around his waist. “Sorry, Superboy. Not today.”

He groaned dramatically, flopping his head back. “You hate me.”

“I do not hate you.”

“You’re denying me character development!”

You kissed his cheek. “Maybe I just like the way your brain malfunctions when I wear your flannel.”

That got him smiling again. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay… but if you ever want to malfunction me harder…”

You grinned. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“…and I’m allowed to keep hoping?”

“Sure.”

Kon smirked. “Cool. I’ll just be in the garage. Checking behind every box. Just in case.”

It had been a week since The Great Lingerie Letdown, and Kon hadn’t let it go.

Every so often, he’d toss out lines like, “Wonder what’s behind the rice cooker in the pantry…” or “Just gonna go check under the bed. You know. For science.”

You always rolled your eyes. But you were thinking. Planning. He did deserve a little malfunction.

You timed it perfectly. He was out late helping Nightwing track a rogue android in the city. The sun was down, the lights in the apartment dimmed, and you’d set the scene with soft music and warm lighting in the bedroom. Not too much—just enough glow to catch the shimmer of the little number you’d picked out just for him.

Silky black lace. A tiny bow at the center. Straps that sat high on your hips and a matching robe that slid off your shoulders like a whisper.

It wasn’t about the lingerie. It was about the look on his face you were hoping for.

So you waited, sitting casually on the bed with a book in hand, legs crossed like this was just another normal night.

You heard the familiar rush of air before the door even clicked open.

“Babe? I’m home. You wouldn’t believe how annoying androids are—”

He froze in the doorway.

Dead. Silent.

He blinked once. Then twice. His eyes trailed slowly down your figure like his brain couldn’t quite process what it was seeing.

You lowered your book and met his wide-eyed stare. “Hey, Kon. You find anything behind the rice cooker yet?”

He made a sound you couldn’t quite classify—part choke, part laugh, part whimper.

You stood up slowly, taking your time with each step as you walked toward him, the heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or drop to his knees in reverence.

When you stopped in front of him, you brushed your fingers lightly over his chest. “You gonna say something?”

“…I think I forgot how to talk,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Then shut up and let me make you malfunction.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He didn’t even try to hide the way his hands found your waist, fingers twitching against the delicate fabric. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, like he was afraid one wrong move would make the vision in front of him disappear.

“Holy crap,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse. “You’re real. This is real. You—this is for me?”

You smirked, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck, leaning in close enough that your lips barely brushed his. “Took you long enough to find the secret stash.”

Kon’s breath hitched. You could feel the tension radiating off him—pure, electrified restraint.

“I’m trying so hard not to break the sound barrier right now,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t even understand.”

“Then stop trying.”

That was all it took.

His mouth found yours with a sudden, desperate heat—like he’d been starving and you were the first taste of something real. His hands slid down, cupping the curve of your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, walking the few steps to the bed without breaking the kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, body arching into him instinctively.

“You feel so…” he whispered against your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, your throat, down the curve of your collarbone. “God, baby. You’re unreal.”

You tugged at his shirt. “Then take this off. I want to feel you.”

He practically ripped it off. You made a mental note to stop buying him shirts—he clearly had a vendetta against them.

Once the fabric was gone, all you could do was admire the way his muscles moved under your hands—taut, warm, real. He laid you down gently, like you were something precious. Sacred. But his eyes? They were hungry. Wild. Focused. His fingers traced along the lace at your hips. “Can I…?”

“You can do anything you want, sweetheart.” That was it. That was all he needed.

The second you whispered “You can do anything you want,” it was like flipping a switch inside him.

Gone was the flustered, wide-eyed boyfriend who couldn’t believe his luck.

Now, his hands were everywhere—strong, possessive, like he needed to touch every part of you to believe you were real. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, your sighs, the way you whispered his name when his palm slid under the lace of your panties and found just how ready you were for him.

“Shit,” he hissed, lips brushing your ear as his fingers teased you—slow, patient at first, then with a growing confidence that made your thighs tremble around him. “You’re soaked. You did all this for me?”

“For you,” you breathed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping his bicep like a lifeline. “Just you.”

Kon groaned—a low, filthy sound that came from deep in his chest—and then he was pulling the lace down your thighs, dragging his tongue slowly along your inner thigh as he went.

“Wanna take my time,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Wanna taste you first.”

And he did.

God, he did.

He buried his face between your thighs like he’d been dreaming about it since the first time he met you. His tongue moved in slow, devastating circles, his hands pinning your hips down when you tried to squirm. And when you cried out his name, tugging hard on his hair? He groaned against you like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“You’re not gonna last long like this,” he teased, voice husky, smug.

“I don’t care—Kon—”

He didn’t stop until your whole body arched, trembling, crying out his name like a prayer and a curse in one breath. He watched you ride it out with a wild, starstruck look on his face, licking his lips like he’d found the sweetest thing in the world.

Then he was back up—rising from between your thighs with that same wild look in his eyes, lips wet, flushed and swollen from everything he’d just done to you. His mouth found yours in an instant, kissing you deep and messy, tongue sliding against yours, letting you taste yourself on him. You whimpered into the kiss, overwhelmed, electric, your whole body still pulsing from his mouth.

He groaned at the way you kissed him back, your fingers threading into his thick black hair, tugging like you wanted him even closer—deeper. His hips rutted against yours in a slow, grinding roll, and you felt it: hard, hot, pressing against your center through the fabric of his jeans, so thick and heavy it made your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“Kon,” you gasped against his lips, your voice trembling. “I need you—now.”

Your fingers fumbled at his belt, frantic, clawing and tugging with shaking hands. You couldn’t get the buckle undone fast enough and let out a frustrated little sound that only made him grin—cocky, flushed, and barely holding back.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered, breath ghosting over your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He kissed you again, softer this time—slower—and his hands moved to yours, helping you unbuckle his belt, popping open the button, dragging the zipper down with agonizing ease. You pushed at the denim, desperate to feel him without the barrier, and he chuckled low in his throat, voice thick with restraint.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, breathless, needy. “I don’t care.”

His jeans hit the floor. The moment your hand wrapped around him through the thin fabric of his briefs, he shuddered, hips twitching into your touch.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, jaw clenched tight. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And when you slid those briefs down and he sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip—you sucked in a breath. He was perfect. And he was yours.

“Kon,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in. “Please. Don’t tease. Just—please.”

He didn’t make you wait.

He grabbed your thigh with one hand, the other guiding himself to your entrance. And with one deep, slow thrust, he slid inside you—inch by thick inch—until your breath caught and your back arched against the sheets, overwhelmed by the fullness, the heat, the connection. His jaw clenching, your nails digging into his back. He was big, thick, the stretch just enough to make your back arch and your breath catch.

Kon groaned like the feeling physically broke him.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, panting against your neck. “So warm—fuck, baby. I’m never gonna get enough of this.”

He paused for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, letting you both breathe, letting you adjust, and then—

Then he started to move—slow at first, a steady roll of his hips that let you feel every inch dragging against your walls. But that didn’t last long. The moment your nails dug into his back and you gasped his name like it burned, Kon snapped.

His control shattered.

He pulled back and thrust in hard—deep—drawing a strangled cry from your throat as your back arched. You clung to him, breath ragged, every inch of your body sparking under his touch. “God, baby…” he groaned, voice rough, breaking against your ear. “You feel so good—too good—I can’t—” Another thrust, faster, harder “I can’t stop.” You didn’t want him to. You didn’t need him to.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and moaning into each other’s mouths. His pace picked up, hips pistoning into you with the kind of desperate rhythm that made the bed creak and the headboard slam softly against the wall.

You were soaked, your body welcoming him with each stroke, your legs locking tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Skin slapped against skin, sweat slick between you, the only sounds filling the room were your moans, his grunts, and the wet, filthy rhythm of him ruining you in the best way.

“You like this?” he panted, one hand gripping the headboard, the other squeezing your thigh as he fucked into you like he needed it to survive. “You want it harder? Say it, Y/N.”

You cried out, head thrown back. “Yes, Kon—harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop!” That flipped something in him.

He grunted, teeth gritted, and slammed into you harder, faster, rougher—every thrust making your breath hitch, every stroke hitting that perfect spot. You felt yourself building again, spiraling up fast, your body coiling like a wire about to snap. And Kon? He could feel it. “I can feel you, baby—shit, you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yes—I’m—”

“Come on,” he growled, slamming into you with punishing force, his voice thick and shaky. “Come for me. Let me feel you—now.”

“Fuck, baby…” Kon swore under his breath, hips stuttering before finding a rhythm that had your eyes rolling back. “You feel like heaven.”

He made love to you like he was trying to burn the moment into time—deep, slow, grinding into you with each thrust like he needed you to feel how much he wanted you. But the longer it went on, the rougher he got—hips snapping, teeth grazing your neck, growling things like:

“No one else gets you like this.”

“You’re mine.”

“You wear this kind of thing again and I swear I’m never letting you leave the bed.”

“Say my name—let me hear it.”

You came with a cry—loud, raw, legs shaking around his waist as your whole body clenched around him. He groaned, deep and desperate, and after a few more stuttering thrusts, he was right there with you, cursing under his breath as he spilled inside you, hips jerking until he couldn’t move anymore. You stayed tangled together, skin on skin, his fingers lazily tracing your thigh as your breathing slowly synced.

He leaned down, kissing every inch he could reach, his touch turning from careful to confident—trailing fire across your skin. Every sigh you let out only pushed him further, until he was murmuring things you could barely register between gasps:

You arched up into him, your hand tangled in his hair, lips finding his again, softer this time. Slower. The kind of kiss that said: I love you. The kind that held trust, not just heat.

“You,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder, “are evil.”

You laughed, running a hand through his messy black hair. “Told you you’d malfunction.”

“…holy shit,” he whispered after a long beat, voice dazed and hoarse. “You definitely malfunctioned me.”

You laughed breathlessly, arms wrapped around him, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick lines of his back. “That was the plan.”

He smirked against your skin. “You’re gonna have to reboot me tomorrow morning.”

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sugardollcurse · 3 days ago

Text

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓

꒰ pairing ꒱ george harrison x reader

꒰ summary ꒱ you’re a florist’s apprentice. the boys stop in to buy flowers for an interview shoot. george asks you what the meanings of the flowers are, and listens. really listens.

꒰ note ꒱ i'm so proud of this i think

The bell above the shop door jingled with a sound so familiar you didn’t bother to look up. It was the middle of a Thursday, early spring, and the windows were still a little fogged from the morning's chill. Your hands were buried in a bucket of cool water and daffodil stems, fingertips tingling from the cold, when you heard a chorus of vaguely familiar voices. “No, Paul, it’s not for you. It’s fer the camera. You don’t need to pick the pinkest ones.”

“‘Course I do, don’t want my complexion lookin’ grey in that shot.”

“Oh, sod off, you’re always hoggin’ the spotlight.”

You blinked. Froze a moment. Looked up... slowly.

They were there. Not just people. Them.

The Beatles.

Real. In your shop. Or at least, the shop you apprenticed at, tucked on the corner of a street just shy of town center. They looked like they'd just wandered in off the street, which, well, they had. No entourage, no screaming fans. Just four young men in tailored coats and those mop-top haircuts you'd seen in magazines and on telly and... right there. In front of the hydrangeas.

You dried your hands on your apron without thinking, watching as Paul turned a bunch of roses this way and that, critiquing the hue like he was selecting paint for a living room wall. John was already halfway to bored, poking at the baby’s breath and pretending to sneeze dramatically into it. Ringo peered curiously at a row of chrysanthemums.

And George was standing still.

He wasn’t talking. Just looking around. He had one hand in his coat pocket, and the other gently grazing the edge of a display bucket filled with lilies.

You moved forward before your brain fully caught up.

“Um. Can I help you?”

They all turned toward you like a school of fish changing direction, but it was George who answered.

“Yeah, ta. We’re doin’ a shoot later. Some magazine thing. They want us holdin’ flowers. We wanted to look for the flowers ourselves.” His accent was thick with Liverpool, low and smooth like the underside of a river stone. “Don’t know why. Just want us lookin’ ‘springy’, apparently.

“Oh,” you said, nodding. “Seasonal.”

“Yeah. Flowers ‘n all. Makes sense, I s’pose.”

You expected him to wander off again, maybe nudge Ringo or roll his eyes with John. But instead, George kept looking at you. Curious. Not impatient. He leaned a little closer, chin tilted toward the bucket you’d been sorting.

“What do these ones mean?” he asked, gesturing.

You blinked. “The daffodils?”

“Mm.”

You hesitated a beat. “Rebirth. New beginnings. Some say unrequited love.”

That made his eyebrows lift. “S’pose they couldn’t make up their minds either, eh?”

You smiled faintly. “It depends on the culture. But yeah, most flowers have a few meanings. Layers, I guess.”

George hummed like that meant something to him. Then turned toward the rest of the display, eyes scanning slowly.

“What about those?” he asked, pointing to a cluster of delicate white blooms... sweet alyssum.

“Sweetness of soul,” you said. “And serenity.”

He nodded once, then twice, like he was filing that away. Not just hearing you, listening. You could almost see it, the way his attention lingered. Not on your apron, or your hands, or your face in that glassy, half-present way most customers did. But all of you. As if your voice, your knowledge, your presence, all of it held weight.

“What’re you gettin’ all poetic for?” John called from the corner. “It’s just a bunch of petals, George.”

George didn’t even turn. “They’ve got meanings, y’know.”

John made a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “So do I, but you don’t see me wrapped in cellophane.”

Paul shook his head, still fussing with a bouquet. “Can we just pick somethin’ already? We’ve got to be at the studio in half an hour.”

“Go on, then,” George said. But he didn’t move away from you. He pointed to a spiky stalk of delphinium. “That one?”

“Dignity,” you said. “Sometimes grace. But in the old Victorian guides, it could also mean fun, or lightness.”

He gave a small smile. “Nice mix, that. Like a posh joker.”

“I guess so.”

He went quiet for a moment, then offered his hand. “I’m George.”

You shook it before thinking. “I know.”

He tilted his head. “Do you?”

Your fingers slipped away, a bit too warm now. “Everyone does.”

“Dunno about that,” he said, but didn’t press it. “What’s your name?”

You told him. Something about the way he repeated it, quietly, as if testing the shape of it in his mouth... made it bloom behind your ribs.

“I think I’d like a bunch that means somethin’,” he said. “Not just for the photo. You’ve got a good sense for it.”

You nodded. “Alright. Give me a minute.”

You moved on instinct, half-aware of his gaze following as you plucked stems from across the room. An iris for wisdom. A sprig of lavender for devotion. A single hellebore for serenity in the face of challenge. You weren’t sure why your fingers chose those, only that they felt right. Then something softer, a wild pansy, delicate and thoughtful. And at the last moment, a bloom of peony. Passion. A quiet flame.

You handed them over in a tied bouquet, no frills. George took it gently, like it was a glass bird.

“Thanks,” he said.

He looked down at them, then back at you. “Think I’ll remember this.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just nodded. A beat passed. Then another.

And then Paul whistled. “Come on, George, don’t fall in love in the flower shop, we’ve got telly to do!”

George rolled his eyes, but still lingered another moment.

“See you ‘round,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

Then the bell rang again, and they were gone.

You didn’t expect him to come back.

But he did. A week later.

You were arranging window baskets when the bell chimed, and you glanced up, already speaking.

“We’re out of tulips until Tuesday, I’m afraid-”

“Wasn’t comin’ for tulips.”

You froze. Then turned.

George stood in the doorway, hands in his coat pockets again, hair messier than last time. A little windblown. A little tired.

But smiling.

“Oh,” you said. Brilliantly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a pause. The air smelled like eucalyptus and lemon balm, and your knees suddenly felt like water.

“I liked the flowers,” he said, after a beat. “Didn’t just look good in the photo. Felt… right. Like they meant somethin’.”

“I’m glad.”

Another pause. He stepped closer, slow. Like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“D’you mind if I ask about a few more?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Of course not.”

So you did. You walked him through meanings again, deeper this time. Into forgotten symbols, language barely spoken anymore. He listened like it was music. Like your voice had chords. Sometimes he’d ask strange things, like:

“If you were a flower, which one would you be?”

You thought. “Maybe a thistle.”

He laughed. “Prickly?”

You shrugged.

He tilted his head. “Yeah. I see that.”

And sometimes he'd point and ask, “What would you never give someone?”

You answered. “Yellow carnation. Rejection. Contempt.”

George raised his eyebrows.

“Brutal, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” His gaze stayed on the flowers a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Flowers’ve got more bite than I thought.”

You nodded. “That’s why people used to take them so seriously. Whole courtships, built on what someone handed you in a nosegay.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “Suppose I’d best brush up, then.”

“You planning to court someone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave you a small smile and changed the subject, easy as water slipping through cracks.

It was two days later when you opened the shop early, fog still hugging the pavement, keys cold in your palm, and found something leaning against the front door.

A single bloom. Pale, soft, and unmistakable.

A moonflower.

You crouched without thinking, brushing a finger along the velvet white petals. It had been left gently, carefully, wrapped in a twist of brown paper and twine. Not one of yours. Not from your buckets or any arrangement in the shop. In fact, you hadn’t seen a moonflower around here in months. Not since late summer, when they crept open only at night, shy and glowing under moonlight.

And yet, there it was. Waiting.

You unlocked the door with your breath held and brought it inside like it might dissolve in your hands. There was no note. No explanation. Just that singular bloom, unfurled with something like trust.

You pressed it into water, heart thudding.

George didn’t come that day.

Or the next.

You tried not to wonder about it too much. He was famous. Busy. You told yourself he was probably in another city. Probably recording, or flying, or being asked to smile for someone else’s camera.

But you couldn’t stop looking at the moonflower. Turning it over in your mind. In the language of flowers, it meant dreaming of love. Of waiting in the quiet dark, hoping for something that blooms when no one’s watching. It must've been from him. You knew it was.

He came back the morning after that.

The bell above the door rang, and you were elbow-deep in ivy stems, not expecting anything. Not anymore.

But then there he was. Same coat, collar upturned. Eyes a little tired. Hands in his pockets.

You stared. “You left a flower.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Did I?”

“Moonflower.”

“Sounds romantic,” he said, and his lips twitched like he couldn’t quite hide the smile. “D’you like it?”

You tried not to beam, tried not to let it show, but you knew it was already there in your voice. “Where’d you get it?”

He shrugged, but it was a loaded one. “Got a bloke I know. S’pose I could’ve asked you, but I wanted it to be... right.”

“You remembered what it meant.”

“‘Course I did.”

He moved closer, quiet, careful. The hum of traffic outside seemed very far away. And then:

“What’s your favourite?” he asked, low and rough-edged, like it cost him something.

You looked at him, really looked. His eyes were soft but searching, wide with a kind of wonder you weren’t used to being the subject of.

“I don’t know,” you said. “It changes.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You hesitated. Then: “Snowdrops. First ones to bloom in winter. They’re not flashy. They just… come back.”

George nodded slowly, the answer sitting somewhere deep in his chest. “Hope,” he murmured.

You smiled. “You remembered that too.”

Another pause, close enough now that you could smell his cologne, soft, musky, clinging faintly to the lapels of his coat.

Then he reached into his pocket.

“I brought you somethin’,” he said, almost shy.

He pulled out a single sunflower. Like he just plucked one on his way here. Like he’d taken painful care of it.

Your breath caught.

“George-”

He didn’t hand it to you yet. Just looked at it. Then you. “D’you reckon that’s a bit too obvious?”

“No,” you said, voice small. “It’s nice.”

This time, when he passed it to you, his fingers lingered.

You took it like it was something sacred.

He stayed after that.

Not every day. But enough that your coworkers stopped asking. Enough that your boss raised a brow once, then smirked and let it go.

He didn’t bring flowers every time, but he brought other things. Stories, poems he’d read, a sandwich he thought you might like. Once, a record he said reminded him of you. You never told him how many nights you played it on repeat, how your room filled with his voice and the soft thrum of longing.

He told you about Liverpool. About the road. About how everything felt fast and far too loud sometimes.

You told him about your old garden. The one you left behind. How you still missed the smell of wet earth after it rained.

He said, “I think that’s why I like you. You talk like you’re rooted in something.”

You said, “I think you’re still growing.”

The first time he kissed you, it wasn’t a moment. Not like in books.

It was just after closing, and he was helping you sweep. You’d turned off the front lights, and the whole shop was dusky with the last light of the sun. You said something about peonies again, how they always reminded you of quiet wants. Of things that aren’t said, but felt.

And then he was kissing you. Like the answer had bloomed inside him all at once.

It was soft. No fanfare. No rush.

Just yes.

Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, his coat collar, the edge of his cheek. And he held your face like he’d always been meant to.

When you parted, he rested his forehead to yours. “Took me too long.”

You whispered, “You got here.”

━━

Months passed.

Spring faded into something warm and golden. You got used to waking with flower petals in your pockets, your hair, sometimes your sheets. George would leave them like breadcrumbs, a violet on your windowsill. A primrose tucked into the strap of your bag. Once, a clover pressed between the pages of your notebook.

You started to learn him the way you’d learned flowers.

What his hands did when he was nervous. The weight in his voice when he was tired. The way he said your name, soft and reverent, like it was already part of a lyric.

And you knew. Deep down. That he’d never just breezed in.

He’d seen you.

Chosen you.

The same way you chose each flower: not for flash. Not for show.

But for meaning.

One evening, as summer stretched lazy across the horizon, he walked you home.

The street smelled of jasmine and distant bonfires. He held your hand, warm and steady.

“D’you think we’ll last?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him. “Us?”

He nodded.

You thought for a moment. Then:

“Some flowers bloom once and never again. But some come back every year.”

George looked at you like that meant more than anything. Like it was the kind of answer that could keep him going when the world spun too fast.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

He leaned in, kissed your temple. Then your cheek.

And finally, your lips, like a slow season turning, like a new petal unfolding in the dark.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps

#george harrison #george harrison x reader #george harrison oneshot #george harrison fanfic #george harrison imagines #the beatles #the beatles fanfic #the beatles oneshot #the beatles x reader #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #beatles x reader #beatles

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sh4nksslvt · 2 days ago

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Flustered Fury

You flirt just to mess with him. It backfires. Now you’re flustered.

Benn Beckman X GN!READER | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, flirting, ooc

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 786

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Red Force gently rocked on the Grand Line's turquoise waters. The crew of the Red-Haired Pirates lounged on deck, bellies full from a hearty lunch, half the crew already dozing under the sails while the other half busied themselves with maintenance or mock sword fights.

You had made it a habit lately to tease Benn Beckman. He was too cool, too collected, too... smug. So naturally, your favorite past-time had become finding new ways to get under his skin.

The man never cracked.

Not when you "accidentally" called him hot in front of the crew. Not when you wore his shirt without asking and claimed you needed something that "smelled like safety and sarcasm." Not even when you told Shanks you were considering writing a love letter to his first mate just to see if he'd burn it or frame it.

But today? Today you had a plan.

You sauntered over to where Benn leaned against the mast, smoking as always, eyes half-lidded as he watched some of the younger crew members spar.

"You know," you began sweetly, stopping just short of his shadow. "I read somewhere that intelligent men are more attractive because their brains are the largest... organ."

He exhaled smoke slowly. "That so?"

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "Of course. I think you're devastatingly well-endowed."

Benn turned his head toward you, one brow lifting in amusement. "Well, you're certainly... creative."

"You love it."

"You think you’re charming," he replied, deadpan. "But you’re mostly a menace."

You fake-pouted. "Rude. I was flirting."

"I noticed."

Silence settled between you for a moment before Benn gave a tiny smirk.

"You’re not very good at it, by the way."

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

He turned back to the sparring match like you were yesterday's soup.

"I’m an excellent flirt!"

"You’re an obvious flirt. That’s different."

Oh, it was on.

The next day, you doubled down.

"Benn," you greeted sweetly, hands clasped behind your back.

He didn’t even look up from his chart. "Yes?"

You dropped a folded napkin onto the map. Inside: a doodle of you and Benn holding hands, surrounded by hearts and the words 'Bennifer 4ever'.

He paused. Then picked it up. Then stared at it.

"This is a lot of glitter."

"I wanted it to sparkle like our chemistry."

He looked up at you with a neutral expression that screamed amused but suffering.

"...Are those supposed to be matching tattoos?"

"Yup. You and me. Our initials. On our biceps. I’m thinking cursive font, blood red ink."

"Mm. Dramatic."

You grinned. You were winning.

The next few days followed a theme:

You made Benn a heart-shaped sandwich. He ate it without comment but winked at you while licking mayo off his thumb.

You told Yasopp you had a dream about Benn proposing to you with a ring made from a bullet. Benn overheard.

You dropped your hat over Benn's head while he was napping. He woke up, smiled, and wore it all afternoon.

You were getting to him.

Until he got to you.

It was evening. The Red Force was bathed in amber sunset glow. You leaned on the railing, sipping juice from a coconut, when Benn joined you.

"You’re quiet today," he said casually.

You shrugged. "I figured you needed a break from all the attention."

"That’s sweet," he said, voice low. "But I never asked you to stop."

Your heart did a confused little flip.

You turned to look at him. He was very close. Closer than usual. Close enough that his scent—smoke, leather, and something warm like cedarwood—was the only thing you could smell.

"You enjoy being flirted with?" you asked, your voice a bit higher than intended.

"I enjoy watching you try."

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

He smirked.

"You’re blushing."

"Am not."

He took a step closer. "You always this red when someone flirts back?"

Your brain went static. "...Did you just flirt with me?"

"You tell me, hotshot."

You took a step back. Then another. Right into a barrel.

Benn laughed.

Actually laughed.

Deep, gravelly, and smug as hell.

"You okay there, Casanova?"

You huffed. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Fine. I hate how good you are at this."

"Mm. Acceptable."

You turned your back to him, trying to hide your flustered expression. Benn leaned on the railing beside you again, clearly amused.

"So... what now?" you muttered.

"Now? We pretend I didn’t win."

"You think you won?"

"I know I did."

You turned to him slowly. "That sounds like a challenge."

He grinned. That grin.

"Bring it, sweetheart."

And thus began round two of your very complicated, very flirty, very mutual war.

Only difference was...

You were now the one blushing first.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #fluff #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #benn x reader

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mummyemmatojames · 3 days ago

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28.A Big Fight: Navigating Our Dynamic with a Visitor

Hello, dear community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a heavier update on our MDLB and FLR journey. James and I had a big fight today, and I’m still feeling shaken by it. My 14-year-old niece is coming to stay with us tomorrow for a work experience placement, and it’s sparked a major disagreement about how we handle our dynamic with her around. I’m holding firm for now, but I do feel bad—and I’d really appreciate your advice on how to move forward.

The Cause: My Niece’s Visit

My niece, Olivia, is coming while she does some work experience near our place. She’s a sweet girl, and I’m excited to have her, but it’s thrown a wrench into things with James. When I told him about it this morning, he immediately said he wants all our rules to stop while she’s here—no bedtime, no chore chart, no kids’ utensils, nothing. He argued that it’s “too weird” to keep up the dynamic with someone else in the house, especially a teenager who might notice something and ask questions. I get where he’s coming from—it’s a shift, and privacy matters to him—but I pushed back hard. To me, stopping everything defeats the purpose of a full-time dynamic. There’s always something on or someone around—friends, family, events—and if we pause it every time, where’s the consistency?

The Flashpoint: Bedtime and Embarrassment

The fight really heated up over bedtime. James is furious that his 8:30 PM bedtime (routine starting at 7:30) is earlier than what Olivia will likely have—she’s 14, and I’d probably let her stay up until 9:30 or 10:00 watching TV or chatting with me. He said it’s humiliating to go to bed before a teenager, especially if she’s still awake in the living room. I told him it’s no big deal—just say he’s tired and head off quietly. I even offered compromises: no “Mummy checks” after his bath or me brushing his teeth while she’s here, so he can handle those privately and avoid any awkwardness. But he wasn’t having it—he thinks the whole idea of sticking to the routine with her around is embarrassing, and he doesn’t want to risk her picking up on anything.

Then it escalated. He brought up the chore chart, saying he wants it hidden because my mum (Nanna) saw it last time and teased him about it. He’s worried Olivia might spot it on the fridge and ask questions—or worse, laugh. I get that it’s a sore spot for him after Mum’s reaction, but I argued that hiding it defeats its purpose. That chart keeps him on track—taking the bins out, making his bed, tidying his play area—and without it visible, I’d be back to nagging him constantly, which neither of us wants. It’s not just decoration; it’s a tool, and it works.

The Fight and My Stance

Things got loud—he raised his voice. I fired back that this dynamic isn’t a part-time thing we can switch off whenever it’s inconvenient—it’s who we are, and consistency is what makes it work. I told him he’s overreacting; Olivia’s not going to care if he goes to bed early and we can keep the more obvious stuff (like nursing or the dummy) private.

I’m holding firm for now—I don’t want to scrap our rules entirely. I think we can adapt discreetly: keep bedtime but skip the public parts of the routine, leave the chore chart up but maybe cover it with a magnet board if he’s that worried, hide the subtle kids’ utensils etc. But I do feel bad. I hate seeing him so upset, and I don’t want him to feel humiliated, especially with family around. I just don’t know how to balance his comfort with keeping our dynamic intact.

Where We’re At

Right now, James is sulking in the living room, fiddling with his train set but not really engaging. I’m in the kitchen, trying to cool off and figure out what to do before olivia arrives next week. I know he’s mad, but I also know he thrives with structure—this fight doesn’t change how much the dynamic has helped him. I’m just not sure how to make him see that we can keep it going without it being a big deal in front of my niece.

What Do You Think?

I’d really love some perspective from the community—how do you handle your dynamic when visitors, especially family, stay over? Have you ever had to compromise on rules like bedtime or chore charts, and how did it go? For those whose partners worried about embarrassment, how did you help them feel okay with it—or did you scale back? And if you’ve got ideas for keeping things consistent but discreet with a teenager around, I’m all ears—I want this week to work for both of us.

Thank you for being here as I wrestle with this. I love our dynamic, but fights like this remind me how tricky it can be to balance it with the outside world. I just want James to feel safe and happy, not furious with me.

With all my love (and a bit of frustration), Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

#mdlb relationship #mdlbmommy #ab dl mommy #ab dl lifestyle

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cute-little-fly · 2 days ago

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Why I like and relate to Helluva Boss

This post is going to be personal and introductory to me and where I stand as a fan of the show.

When I decided to make this blog I really wanted to talk and tell the world why I think this show is cool, and it’s worthy of respect, even if it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Yes, is different. Yes, it’s weird. Maybe it is even cringe, if you care about that. But… I have seen that this show has been special not just for me, but for other people and I think that matters more than perfection and correctness, considering the current state of things.

You know, and it’s not just for the sake of escapism or just because okay is silly and it doesn’t matter. I mean, if that are some people’s reasons to watch it perfect! Go for it!! But, for me it is more than that.

We often make fair arguments about the show, against shallow or bad intended criticism. I read them and I think, yes, makes sense, they are overblowing silly stuff… But, the reason why we defend this show it’s because it brings us something special, and because it caters to us deeply and I think that is very important to talk about too!!

Considering that part of the reason why I talk so much about the show (besides being kinda fixated on it), it’s that for me it was unfair to see how much negative unfair stuff. So, here I have my list of (some) reasons why I like Helluva Boss. My opposite version of these kinds of posts of why I stopped liking it.

Reason 1: This show doesn’t try to cater to everyone, and THAT is a good thing!

This might be controversial, or not, but I wholeheartedly believe that the reason why most of mainstream media nowadays falls so flat and devoid of soul, it’s that they are trying too hard to cater and be liked by everyone.

That it’s just… hardly possible, and less now that public opinion and politics are so divided. I think that even the notion that things in the past were liked by “everyone” is kinda a lie… It was just because hiding queer and minorities was accepted, because all media catered to the majority and because doing the bare minimum for minorities was the standard. Also “normies” usually didn’t had much access to things like queer cinema or comics, and the internet didn’t had enough presence for this kind of people to discover those things and rant about them with other… let’s say similar people. They just had less issue with those things existing, because they were out of their sight, and there was no right wing making noise and fuzz about it.

Reason 2: I watched the show just when I was just discovering and accepting my neurodivergence, and it made me feel seen in different ways.

This show has one of the best neurodivergent coding that I have ever seen without been too on the nose, it feels natural and they just kinda exist.

At the same time, we see them struggling with things like Blitzø with his spelling, and Stolas having a hard time socializing in parties. The first time we saw Stolas in a party at the Circus I just thought… Oh man, I know what that is like. Then, I saw some people on the internet not understanding why Stolas doesn’t just… talk to people… and I thought like: What??? Then it hit me… I realized how that wasn’t a shared experience for everyone.

A lot of the things this show has are experiences of people that didn’t fit in, like neurodivergents, and that was so valuable to me and one of the main things this series touched me. So, this differences we have with other people are also not painted in a idealized way. It’s realistic, and at the same time they are unapologetically just how they are.

Reason 3: This is a labor of love, and these are rarely found in animated shows, or are cancelled.

Labour of love shows and movies need to be supported right now. I know this show won’t be cancelled or that it’s highly unlikely and that just… gives me peace to engage with it. You can say it has flaws or anything, but it is being made with love and passion. That’s undeniable.

Reason 4: Helluva Boss has male leads that display different expressions of masculinity and their romance is top tier.

You know… it doesn’t bother me that most of the leads of this show are male… because these men not are just queer, they display a varied of behaviours related to masculinity and the negative ones are not applauded.

It’s not the same to have a male focused show where male say to each other: are you going to punch like a girl? Or they just sit to watch soccer and not touch the kitchen (Blitzø is shown cooking his own meal), or are not shown as any traditional way men are according to traditional masculinity.

I always asked myself why the issue with the Helluva Boss women being not focused most times has never bothered me, considering it bothers me in other shows, and this is the exact reason.

Helluva boss men are queer, and they aren’t mysogynistic. Millie is appreciated and elevated by her boss. Moxxie is flawed and is not traditionally masculine, but his arc is about finding his own courage.

Blitzø’s initial issues with temper and treating others badly are not painted as: he is just a man and he can’t prevent it. It’s a result of his trauma and the series addresses that as a problem he needs to overcome to make fulfilled bonds with his found family and love interest.

Reason 5: The female leads are actually cool!!

They are unapologetical, they have their own agency, they have their own set of issues… so, they are both capable and relatable at the same time, the same way male leads are. Millie is shown to be very resourceful on fights. She is actually very good and Blitzø saw that on her.

I understand why fans of the Helluva Women might feel disappointed that they are less focused and less utilized in some plots. But… they are good characters.

Reason 6: The animation, The music, The aesthetic.

Self explanatory. I sing the songs in the shower sometimes.

Reason 7: The humour is quirky… a lot of the times it works with me.

You know… I don’t like a couple of jokes of the series… But, most of the times, the humor of the series works with me. Being an autistic person, I have a very weird relationship with humour. I don’t laugh at all with shows like “Arrested Development”. There are some humor that I just don’t get why it is funny, even if I understand the jokes. With Helluva Boss I manage to laugh a lot of times! I love silly humor and this series delivers that to me most of the times.

Reason 8: Helluva Boss queernes is cool and good actually.

This has been discussed before… and the only thing I want to add is that after this show, I find some common queer representation boring and insufficient. Blitzø cross dresses as if it was a normal thing and it’s not framed as: oh how funny the man looks like a woman and that is just so funny... Nah… he looks like a DIVA and serves cunt. Phrases like: Be nice to him, he is gay… show support and normalization of being queer and I find it very endearing.

Reason 9: Helluva Boss has adult drama and is silly at the same time.

I have always disliked the idea that when you grow up you are meant to not like or not engage with some things anymore… Because I am an adult, and I still like silly things. Like the way my humour doesn’t match with some adult comedies, and maybe it matches with children’s humour. Helluva Boss gives me both. Helluva Boss makes me laugh and cry. I can be a hopeless romantic and feel like a clown at the same time.

Reason 10: Helluva Boss is deep down a light hearted story with angst and some hard themes.

Interestingly when I was younger I used to look for more dark-themed stories. Distopic universes, disasters, sad and dark endings. You get it. But… recently I have to admit being enjoying more “found family stories”. Sometimes I just want to watch something safe. That makes me feel strongly? Yes, but safe too. Helluva boss is very good delivering that.

#personal post #helluva boss #show commentary #unsolicited opinion #hellaverse #blitz helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #This post is just my opinion

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dilfsnatcher101 · 11 hours ago

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Dinner? S.R.

Warnings: none

Anon: This is just gonna be a little series atp

Summary: After weeks of slight conversations and long walks, Yn makes it her mission to try to learn more about Ghost

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5

Simon Riley X Fem!Reader

(continued from pt3)

The bell above the door rings as Ghost stands up, his chair scraping against the floor in that unmistakably purposeful way he moves.

My coworker walks in with a tired smile on his face as he greets me but then turns to Ghost- or the customer i mean.

I began to grab my things updating my coworker of what to take care of for the rest of the night. After I finish I turn to Ghost who’s already next to the door just watching.

It’s like he’s always in control of the space around him, and suddenly, I feel it, his presence is just bigger now that he’s made this decision for me.

I try to act like it doesn’t bother me. That he’s just some overprotective guy I barely know. But the thing is, when he said he’d wait, I didn’t realize how much of that was a promise, not an offer.

The café is quiet now, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the world outside is waiting for something.

I grab my coat, trying to shake off the feeling creeping up my spine.

“So,” I say, reaching for my purse, “I guess you’re really serious about this walk, huh?”

He tilts his head toward the door, eyes flashing to me just for a second. “I don’t make offers I’m not prepared to keep.”

“Right” I whisper to myself

I pull my coat tighter against the night air as we step outside. The coolness hits me immediately, making me shiver, but Ghost’s presence feels like a warm shield beside me. The quiet hum of streetlights and the distant sound of passing cars are the only noise.

“You know,” I say, after a few moments of walking in silence, “you really didn’t have to do this. Im not some clueless person I watch my surroundings.”

He gives me a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arched under the streetlights. “Who said you didn’t?” he let out a grunt of frustration.

“Well, you didn’t have to offer to walk me home. You just met me.” I turn to face him, feeling the boldness creep in. “Unless you’re just trying to avoid me ghosting you again?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just keeps walking, the crunch of gravel under his boots punctuating the night air. Finally, he speaks, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

“Not every walk is about keeping someone from running away.”

I stop, eyes catching his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glances back at me, his gaze soft but intense. “It’s not about you running, it’s about me… wanting to be here.”

The air feels thick all of a sudden, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t decide if I’m flattered, confused, or a little bit scared. Maybe all three.

We keep walking in silence after that, but it’s different now. His words hang between us, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifting. That maybe he’s not just some mysterious guy from the butcher’s counter. Maybe there’s more to him than I’ve realized.

It’d been a couple weeks since Ghost started walking me home after work, and I finally felt like we were getting somewhere. Not quite besties. Definitely not dating. But… something. His silences were less sharp, my nerves didn’t jangle quite so hard around him, and sometimes very rarely he even made a joke.

After a lot of thinking… then overthinking, I decided to invite him over for dinner. Just a casual thank you, I told myself. Not a date. Definitely not a date. Unless he shaved or wore something that wasn’t black. Then maybe.

He’d hesitated when I asked, head tilted slightly like he was reading into every syllable. But eventually, he nodded. Quiet, grumbly agreement.

So today? Today I was knocking down those guarded walls.

The air conditioning inside Dina’s Market roared louder than usual as I stepped in, a little proud of how cute I looked in my sundress, even if I still had to hike it up a bit so it wouldn’t drag through the slushy puddles by the entryway.

No one was at the meat counter. Perfect.

With a mischievous grin, I walked right up to the little silver bell on the counter and tapped it once.

Then twice.

Then again.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Before I could hit it a sixth time, the backroom door slammed open, Ghost storming out like he was ready to square up with a raccoon.

He stopped when he saw me, rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms over that massive chest.

“Seriously?” he said, deadpan.

“Nice to see you, too,” I replied sweetly, resting my elbows on the counter. “Just thought I’d test your reaction time.”

He leaned forward slightly. “I’m already coming over later for dinner. You couldn’t resist waiting till then?”

Oh. He was teasing now.

Yeah, we were getting somewhere.

“Well, sir,” I drawled, putting on my best customer service voice, “for your information, I need food to cook said dinner. Unless you prefer a bag of chips and my sparkling personality.”

“I like your food,” he muttered, turning to open the ice box.

My cheeks warmed despite the cold draft rushing out of the cooler. Every little grunted compliment felt like gold with him.

“Don’t flatter me Ghost, or you’ll never have to cook another meal again” half-serious.

“Don’t mind,” he said, pulling out a thick cut of steak and wrapping it up. “What time should I be there?”

I blinked, surprised by the smooth hand-off. No barcode. No register. Just a package of steak with a nod and that look that said don’t argue.

“wait, how much is it?”

He didn’t even look at me. Just shook his head and gave a low grunt of annoyance like I’d insulted his honor.

“You’re feeding me. I’m bringing myself. That’s the deal.”

I eyed the steak, then him. “You really love skipping receipts, don’t you?”

“I pick my moments” he said with a shrug. “What time?”

“Six. And dress comfy,” I added, giving him a little grin. “We’re watching a movie after. It’s like the law. Food and movies go together.”

He didn’t question it. Of course he didn’t. Now that I thought about it, he never questioned my antics. Not even when I rambled or brought him food or made fun of his serious face.

“I’ll see you,” he said simply, nodding toward another customer now browsing sausages. Then his voice dropped slightly. “Text me when you get home.”

I groaned, turning to walk away. “It’s daylight, Ghost. I think I’ll live.”

“No offense, but you barely pay attention when you walk,” he said without missing a beat. “Last time you stepped into the bike lane.”

“One time” I shouted back over my shoulder. “And I was distracted by a aggressive pigeon”

“Still counts. Text me.”

I huffed and gave a dramatic little wave. “Fine. Just so I don’t have to hear your mouth later.”

His laugh was barely audible, but it was there.

And as I walked out with steak in hand, my heart was doing that thing again.

Like maybe tonight would be the night something really shifted.

The apartment smelled like citrus cleaner and lavender spray, my usual prep for guests. Even though I’d only had like, two people ever visit me here. Ghost would be number three. Technically.

I kicked off my shoes by the door and headed straight for the kitchen, flicking on the little Bluetooth speaker sitting on the counter. A few taps on my phone and Lana’s voice filled the space, soft and haunting, just the way I liked it.

“My baby lives in shades of blue…”

I hummed along as I tied my apron on, pulling out the steak from the grocery bag and setting it gently on the counter like it was the main event. And really, it was. That and maybe… seeing if I could get Ghost to laugh more than once tonight. Or talk without being poked into it. A girl can dream.

With the pan heating up, I opened the fridge and grabbed the sides I prepped last night: seasoned green beans with garlic, a pan of macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes if he’s a starch guy. Based on his physique I doubt he is.

As the butter sizzled, I moved around the kitchen, tidying up in between tasks. Dishes went into the washer. Mail into the junk drawer. Candles lit. And storing the pot of sauce like I was starring in my own little black-and-white romance film.

I paused to check my reflection in the hallway mirror.

Okay. I could do this.

I could let this man into my space into my quiet little world, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like a stranger at all.

anon: should I wrap this up soon or just make it a long series? I don’t mind just wanna know your opinions!! (lmk if you like the slowburn) thanks for reading!

#fanfic #romance #simon ghost riley #x black fem reader #fluff #cod fluff #simon riley x yn #simon ghost x reader #x black plus size reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod #oneshot #slowburn

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qwanderer · 23 hours ago

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closet argument from The Case of the Very Long Stairway as a gift for @shaylogic for the dgd anniversary exchange!

I wrote a little dialog-only ficlet to go with it, which you can read under the cut!

"Fuck, I can't get this door open. Charles. Do you wanna, you know, do the ghost thing and then let me out?"

"Right. Bad news."

"Oh my God, we're stuck? Is that what you're telling me? Are we stuck in this stupid little closet in the Cat King's tacky little boudoir?"

"Might be."

"Ugh, I can't believe you got us both stuck in here."

"Oi, you weren't much help, Crystal!"

"Well you said you had a plan and then didn't tell me about it! How was I supposed to know how to help you make it work?"

"I didn't know we could get trapped like this!"

"How are we even trapped? I mean I get it, I'm a regular person, I can't walk through walls, but you're a ghost. …It's not iron, is it?"

"Nah, it doesn't burn, it's just… I can't seem to do the whole ghost thing right now."

"What does that even mean? You are a ghost."

"I guess ghosts are solid here?"

"Yeah, real helpful arcane knowledge."

"Dunno what to tell you, it's the best I've got!"

"God, is arguing in closets gonna be, like, a whole thing with us?"

"I hope not."

"How long do you think it's gonna be?"

"If it's longer than a couple of hours, Edwin will find us."

"I dunno, he seemed pretty far down the research hole when we left. Not sure he even knows we're gone."

"I'm pretty sure Edwin will find us. Eventually."

"Right. So, tell me about this plan you had."

"It's stupid."

"I think we can all agree on that at this point."

"I wanna make, like, a present for Edwin, and I want it to be a surprise, so I can't ask him for help making it, can I?"

"Okay, but why the Cat King? And why the catnip? And why am I here?"

"Well, if I go off somewhere with you, Edwin's not gonna think it's weird, will he?"

"Which is great, by the way, if we're relying on him to rescue us and meanwhile he doesn't wanna interrupt our date."

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't think it through. Thought the Cat King was a friendly now, or at least close enough. And he got annoyed at us in the first place 'cause Edwin was mean to his cats, so I thought, well, I'll do something nice for 'em instead, won't I?"

"I mean, they did seem to be enjoying it, I'll give you that."

"I hoped it would maybe distract his cats a little, stop 'em from listening in, but I had no idea it would distract him!"

"Yeah, he is fully baked right now."

"Definitely not the plan."

"Where did you even get potted catnip?"

"Grew it."

"You grew that?"

"Yeah, we have kind of a little garden up on the roof of the Agency. Herbs for spells and stuff. Some things we use enough that it's easier to grow our own than trade for it."

"That's really cool, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I always kill plants. Anyone who can keep them alive is pretty impressive to me."

"So, uh…"

"What. What is that look."

"Have you ever played seven minutes in heaven?"

"Yeah, a few times."

"Oh, is it a favorite pastime?"

"I wouldn't say that. I regret most of what I've done while playing that game."

"Tell me."

"You didn't bring it up because you wanted to hear about shitty things that happened to me before."

"Maybe not, but if you wanna talk about it…"

"All you really need to know is despite everything that kinda sucks about tonight, I'm enjoying it a lot more than any of those nights."

"Yeah?"

"And despite everything you did to help get us into this mess, I still like you a hell of a lot better than anyone I shared a closet with back then."

"That so?"

"Sweetie. Stop fishing for compliments and kiss me."

#the case of the very long stairway #dbda #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #crystal palace #cryland #rowlace #gifs #my gifs #qwgiftag #dgdanniversary2025

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blackbullet99 · 1 day ago

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Aang, he’s just better than Zuko.

For Katara anyway.

Frankly even in Book 3, the season where Zuko was at his best, Aang was still kinder and more altruistic than Zuko.

In Sozin’s Comet (Part 1) both Aang and Zuko are driven to a rage breaking point due to the stress of the comet approaching and the others not taking the situation seriously enough, the others want to have fun at the beach while Zuko is concerned about Ozai’s genocidal plan, whereas Aang is concerned about having to kill Ozai, something the others don’t fully understand. Zuko gets violent and destructive, burning everything and attacking Aang to “teach him a lesson”, while Aang is genuinely angry which is verbally directed at the others (even Katara who trying to help), and so he leaves the situation to think out his dilemma. Guess who gets more flack from that side of the “fandom”.

You cannot convince me that Aang hating Zutara weirdos genuinely think Zuko is a kinder person than Aang simply because he learned familial abuse, violence, imperialism and colonialism were wrong and sought to improve himself. Or that he’s more mature than Aang for those same reason and because he’s less joyful. Zuko’s always been rather temperamental, even post-redemption arc.

They like Zutara for superficial reasons, nothing more. All of their media-illiterate “reasons” is amounts to nothing but misunderstanding The Southern Raiders.

These people will say Zuko is the only who supported and understood Katara. Lemme set the record straight, Zuko does a total of three significant “supportive” things for Katara, that’s it.

He has one moment of empathy when she mentions her mother dying in the cave, which is nice. She considers healing his wound and he ends betraying her. The way the Zutara shippers go on, you’d think they kissed in the cave like Oma and Shu.

Oh, wait.

Not only that but Zuko himself never reflects back on that moment with any remorse, he never apologizes to Katara, if anything HE gets annoyed when Katara is rightfully pissed off at him much later. Zuko is “the only one who understands Katara” right.

Anti-Aang Zutara morons LOVE to bring up Zuko taking Katara to confront Yon-Rha as if it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for Katara as if it’s the only time Katara was ever cared for.

HOLY GLAZE BATMAN!

The MAIN reason Zuko did was specifically because he wanted Katara to stop hating him. He isn’t concerned about this will affect Katara about what choices she’s gonna make when she confronts this guy, or even if Sokka wants to tag along (he was kinda sidelined despite Kya being HIS MOM too).

Both Aang and Sokka are concerned for Katara not because “they idealize her.” They’ve known Katara the longest, They saw her break down when bloodbending, they don’t want her to do something that will mentally break her later on.

The only time Zuko shows genuine support and kindness in the episode is when he checks on Katara when she’s in control of Appa and when he hears exactly what happened to her mom, he shows genuine sympathy and understanding.

Cool. But this ONE moment in no way means he’s the only person who supports Katara.

He also saves her from Azula’s lightning. Great, really shows how far Zuko’s come as a person. But saving Katara’s life isn’t something exclusive to Zuko. Aang saved Katara too many times, just as she did for him.

Objectively speaking, Aang DOES support Katara, more times than Zuko.

If taking Katara somewhere is so very important (in regard to her tribe’s colonization no less), in the first darn episode Aang willingly agrees to take her to the North Pole to learn Waterbending. He’s nothing but supportive to Katara in regards to her Waterbending, supporting her in moments of insecurity, refusing to learn from someone who’s openly discriminatory to Katara and cheers her on when fighting the discriminator.

He goes out of his way for Katara several times throughout the series, going through hell and high water to get frozen frogs to cure Katara’s illness, securing her lost necklace which he knows is important to her culture, surrenders himself to Zuko so that he’ll leave Katara’s tribe, helps her commit eco-terrorism when she masquerades as the Painted Lady, inviting her to dance when she feels left out, leaving the Guru specifically to save HER, etc.

If it wasn’t clear already Aang cares about Katara emotionally, he calls her Sifu when she points out he’s never done so before, when he walls himself off from his emotions, much to Katara’s dismay, he later tells Katara that she was right about not losing sight of hope and his feelings (especially for Appa and for her) which she greatly moves her, when Jet died and Katara was forced to bloodbend Aang comforted her, simply by placing his hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was there, which she appreciated.

It’s thanks to Aang that Zuko even joined their team at all and even then, he specifically asks Katara if it’s okay (seeing as she feels so strongly about it) and she only agrees to go through with it because of Aang, which he appreciates.

People use The Southern Raiders as an example of Aang not understanding Katara, when if anything, it’s the opposite.

Aang himself knows what it’s life to feel “rage and pain” and appeals to Katara by brining up times he not only felt grief loosing his entire nation, his father figure, and Appa, the only living thing from his time and culture, all of which Katara comforting Aang over this by relating her own grief to his. Both have lost people they care about to the Fire Nation, both are kind people who once let themselves be driven by rage and pain, both are the last benders of their tribe. Even with Aang being concerned for Katara, he doesn’t invalidate her anger, he encourages her to confront her oppressor and even though she doesn’t forgive him, he accepts this.

In addition to everything else, Aang and Katara simply just bring out the best in each other, they’re friends first, they have fun together (penguin sledding started it all), they both have each other backs, they work extremely well together in combat as a battle couple, they both care deeply about the other and while the both admire each other strongly, they have an equal partnership and love each other flaws and all.

With all that said, can you really say Zuko was the only one who supported and understood Katara, because (aside from The Southern Raiders) he didn’t do anything super significant and factually speaking Aang clearly understood and supported Katara more than Zuko ever did.

Heck, even Sokka who was initially rather rude and dismissive of Katara in the first episode did more for Katara than Zuko as the show went on. Supporting her desire to save Aang in Episode 2, supporting her saving Haru, throwing hands with Aang when the later burned her, comforting her when she was sad about Aang’s capture at the North Pole, acknowledging how much Katara did for him when their mom died, purely so Toph would leave her alone, he was was good brother.

The Zutara brigade will cling to three moments where Zuko did anything for Katara because of the #aesthetic of their mid ship. Meanwhile they act like Aang not only did anything for Katara, but treated her like garbage, by naming three moments, all of which he either apologized for or realized he was wrong.

They only like the idea of Zutara in their Wattpad fanfics, as opposed to what Zuko and Katara’s relationship actually is and no matter how many times they deny it, it’s primarily based on aesthetic and superficial reasons.

If Aang was 16 like Zuko, they’d lap up all those Kataang moments like crazy, even Aang kissing Katara in EIP (which was bad) given how much they love Zuko kidnapping Katara (I’ll save you from the pirates).

If Zuko was 12 like Aang, Zutara wouldn’t even be a thing, especially by how immature and quick to anger Zuko is for a good chunk of the show. They’d see Katara try to heal Zuko and think “it’s a mom caring for her child”, they’d see Zuko get mad at Katara for not trusting him and see Zuko throw a fiery, violent tantrum at Aang in Sozin’s Comet and say “he’s way too immature to be with Katara”.

The hypocrisy snd double standards of these morons are insane.

Shipping obsessed fake A:TLA fans is what they are. Nothing more.

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sicksucculentz · 1 day ago

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I was thinking about those AU’s where Doll is brought back somehow.

I have my own. She’s Frankenstiened back together. Her solver abilities heal at least some of her injuries but of course she needs a little help. From what we see on screen she likely dosen’t have strong regeneration abilities like Uzi.

She’s clearly long term effected by having been torn open and shot through the skull. She’s unsteady on her feet now, dizzy, and dosen’t feel so well a lot. She tends to stare off into space for long periods of time holding completely still.

She has a lot of stomach problems, who wouldn’t after that. There are things she can’t have anymore because they will give her the ultimate belly ache or she will throw up. She can’t gulp down oil like she used to or it will upset her stomach and upchuck it all back up. She has to sip at it wich drives her NUTS. She’s used to gulping down a whole drones worth of oil in one sitting but now she can hardly finish a little canister.

She’s just about always exhausted and sleeps quite a bit.

She uses a cane now, leaning on it trying to look cool (she dosen’t have to try very hard). She says it makes her feel like an old woman though. She’s glad to have it however, very handy for beating V’s head in. And yes she does beat the robo shit out of V with the cane if those two are left out of sight for even a second. It’s so much more satisfying beating V with a stick than using her solver.

Despite her injuries and new disabilities she still tries to kill V on the regular.

It was a bit of a shock but she become close with N as friends. N made it a point to visit her and help her with what she needed quite a bit. He was always there to lend her a hand and she really did appreciate that. At some point she opened up to N and they talked for a while. She confided her fears and stress in him and he responded with support and understanding, something that made her break down crying. He never tried to stop her from crying but encouraged her to cry it out. And that she did, for 2 hours. Things still stung of course but it felt good to get it out.

She realized she misjudged N when she first saw him with Uzi. She did apologize for that.

Both N and Thad were major points of support and help for her, always there to make sure things are going well. Their names are signed on her cane

#murder drones #md headcanons #murder drones headcanon #md doll #md v #md n #md thad

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hummingbird24220 · 1 day ago

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The Ace Effect

One Piece x Reader

I cant stop thinking about this man, the fanart i keep seeing doesn't help. I need a cold shower. I ship him with too many people (mostly myself tho ;)) (((I feel like Robin would understand)))

You’ve never been one to believe in fate or prophecy. Science is your thing—data, hypotheses, conclusions. So, when you stumbled face-first into the inexplicable, you reacted like any reasonable, well-educated person would:

You made a presentation.

"—and here," you said, tapping your pointer on the next slide, "we see Exhibit C: Ace and Mihawk. You’ll notice the contrast. It's the scar-tattoo-brood combo. Delicious. Balanced."

Robin sat across from you at the library table, sipping tea like this was a TED Talk she had paid to attend. “Hmm. You’ve done your research.”

“I had to, Robin.” You turned dramatically to face her. “I had questions. Big ones. Existential. Why is Ace so stupid hot? Why would he look good with anyone? Anyone at all? Why do I feel betrayed and like he's emotionally cheating on me with everyone else?”

She smiled. “And your conclusion?”

You clicked to the final slide, which was simply a photo you’d drawn of Ace shirtless, lounging next to Nami, Sanji, Vivi, Smoker, that one sexy fishman guy, and a sword. Not a swordsman. A literal sword.

The title: “Ace: A Versatile Flame. A Study in Universal Compatibility.”

“…I think it’s the freckles,” you whispered.

Robin leaned in slightly. “You may be onto something. They’re quite… whimsical.”

“I know, right?” you hissed.

Sanji had passed by earlier, caught a glimpse, and walked away muttering “What the actual hell” with a bleeding nose. Usopp asked if you’d consider putting him in a hypothetical ship chart with Ace, to “test the aesthetic,” and you did—he looked great. You added him to Slide 12.

Zoro saw the chart and left the room in silence. You think he was internally screaming. Good.

Luffy just said, “Cool drawing! I like the one where Ace is holding the cow,” and then left to go fight a cloud.

Robin leaned back, satisfied. “You’ve built a compelling case. Though you may have overlooked one important pairing.”

You blinked. “Which?”

She gave you a small smile. “You and Ace.”

Your brain did a full reboot. “I—what—I’m sorry, what?"

Robin pointed calmly to Slide 8, where you had accidentally drawn yourself next to Ace for a height comparison chart. He had his arm slung around your shoulders. You’d given yourself really nice eyelashes.

“…that was for scale,” you said weakly.

“Of course.” Robin sipped her tea. “And scale is important.”

Later that night, you sat on the deck with a sketchbook in your lap, muttering curses as you started a new drawing.

Ace, smiling at you.

Just you.

No Smoker, no fishmen, no sword.

Just you and him and those damn freckles.

And maybe… that wasn't such a mystery after all.

You were in full David Attenborough mode.

Hidden behind a barrel (for science), your notebook was open, pen poised, watching Portgas D. Ace interact with the crew like a charismatic apex predator in his natural habitat.

“He’s approaching the chef,” you whispered to yourself, eyes narrowed. “Posture relaxed. Smile: crooked, dumb, and weaponized.”

Sanji laughed at something Ace said.

“Interaction: Positive. Sanji is blushing. Is he blushing?? He’s blushing. Dear god.”

You scribbled frantically:

Sanji + Ace = Flame + Cigarette = FLIRTING?!?!?! (Possibly romantic tension? Check for more encounters. Monitor closely.)

Ace tilted his head back, laughing at one of Sanji’s quips, and Sanji offered him a lighter. Ace, ever the showman, lit his own finger and sparked the cigarette with a wink.

You dropped your pen.

“…That’s seduction. That’s actual seduction.”

Later, he moved on to spar with Zoro.

You ducked behind a barrel again, dramatically flipping the page.

“Subject has shifted zones. New environment: Combat flirtation???”

Zoro was annoyed, Ace was grinning, and there was so much tension you were practically melting. Or maybe that was just the heat. Or your soul leaving your body through your ears.

Zoro + Ace = SWORDS + FIRE = ENEMIES TO LOVERS? (The heat, the sweat, the shared aggression… it’s all there.)

You added an asterisk.

Note: Explore fanart potential. Maybe rain scene. No shirts. Very cinematic.

At some point, Ace caught your eye across the deck and waved. Big smile. Bright eyes. Pure sunshine energy.

You waved back, totally chill.

Totally normal.

Then ducked behind your notebook and started sketching.

Y/N + Ace = ????????????????? (Unstable variable. Dangerous. Possibly terminal.)

You drew little fire emojis and hearts and one tiny gravestone labeled "RIP Me (Death by freckles)."

You didn't even realize Robin was standing behind you until she placed a calm hand on your shoulder.

“You’re spiraling,” she said gently.

You screamed and nearly hurled the notebook into the sea.

“I—I wasn’t—Robin, I can explain.”

She looked at the notes. “Hmm. These equations are getting suspiciously self-incriminating.”

“…I’m a researcher.”

“You’re a simp.”

“…touché.”

#x reader #one piece #reader insert #luffy #sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp #portgas d ace

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returnofeternity · 5 hours ago

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femme!housewife iris and butch!reader

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it's a lovefest all around. she's always there to take care of you, and you're always there to thank her for being such a good wife.

she's so devoted. tbh, you didn't even program her to be like this. you hardly messed with her original settings besides customizing her. you just charmed her with your butchness and she couldn't help but become an obsessed and love-stricken femme. she wants to do everything for you. cook, clean, help you undress when you come home from work, make love to you, make sure you never leave her...

picking out iris' jewelry for the day :) you have a nice big jewelry box that you bought her where tons of earrings, rings, necklaces, and bracelets that you got her (and that she came with) are stored. sometimes she'll pick the things she thinks you'd like the most, but other times, you like helping her pick them out, along with her outfit :)

thinking about butch!reader who's not got the best fashion sense trying to dress iris 😭 spending minutes holding up shirts up to her chest, trying to see if they really match the shorts you picked out for her (it doesn't), but you decide she looks pretty in it either way and tell her to put it on for you. she loves all the outfits you've put together for her too :( she always thanks you for making her look so good with a kiss and a twirl of her outfit :) it's the biggest honor to pick out her headbands, too. it's probably your favorite part of dressing her.

she's obsessed with holding your hand. she needs to be holding it 24/7 or she starts to think you don't want her anymore 😭 she loves holding it in public while you drag her to stores at the mall. loves seeing you geek out and point out all the cool things, it makes her smile so much. she buys everything for you too! she doesn't know that the card she has is connected to your bank account so it's your money she's spending, but it brings her great joy to tap that card and give you the bag full of the things you wanted :( you provide for her, too, of course. you gotta get better at money management because half your payments are on her. any little thing that you think she would like is immediately thrown into the cart. she's the type to say, "you shouldn't have." when you give her things.... she treasures all the stuff you give her so much and takes such good care of them !!

iris who cooks for you and butch!reader who is her taste tester. you help as much as you can with the cooking but she's set on making everything perfect for you and wants to do it for you 😭 she likes setting the table and lighting candles just thinking about you :( she really does love the times when you pick her up and tell her to sit at the dining table so you can finish dinner for her because she's been working so hard for you. she's smiling so hard when you come with the plates that you can't help but fall in love even more..

butch!passenger!prince x iris who drives you around 😁

making love with her... she likes taking care of you, we know this, so sometimes when you come home from work, clearly stressed and tired, she'll help you undress, lead you to the bedroom, and gives you the most tender look ever before dropping to her knees and rubbing her cheek against your thigh. sometimes, you'll let her take care of you, mumbling praises and moans as she swirls her tongue around you so perfectly. other times, you whine and pull her back up, telling her you just need to kiss her for a while.

either way, she's happy.

taking care of her, though. you're just in one of those moods. one where you can't stop thinking of iris and how much you love her, and you're literally drunk on the mere thought of her. you're honestly just wet thinking about pleasing her. and as you have her ride your face, her milky, pale thighs wrapped around your head, you squeeze your thighs together and get off to both iris moaning and the feeling of how soaked you are. you definitely give her as many orgasms as she wants. coaxing her through more and more because you love seeing her face break and how she struggles to hide her whines. you love how she still thanks you after each orgasm and mumbles "i love you," during random moments.

#iris thoughts 💭#iris companion #iris companion x reader #iris x reader

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