#wide leg pantsuit

[addictedbespoken]

Women White Custom Made 2Pc Pantsuit

Suit up and look sharp in Addicted Bespoken's take on power dressing. The power suit is back. update your wardrobe from our 'White Custom Made 2Pc Pantsuit' collection and make people adore you by wondering to have a same outfit.

Features:

Regular Fit

Single Breasted Blazer

Notch Lapel

Personalized Closure

Building And Peacock Embroidered

High Waist Wide Leg Trousers

Wrinkle resistant

Care:

Dry Clean Only

EXPLORE OUR STORE ADDICTED BESPOKEN

[addictedbespoke]

Women Bespoke White Cotton 2Pc Suit Set Custom Made Shawl Lapel Hook Closure Blazer With Wide Leg Pant Bridesmaid Wedding Prom Outfit

A women's pant suit is a must have essential in any apparel wardrobe. A great choice for a sophisticated look! This 2piece suit is a top selection for any offices lad or wedding party event.

Features;

Slim-Fit

Shawl Lapel

Hook Closure

Long Sleeves

Functional Cuff

Lightweight, Soft and Breathable

Care:

Machine wash in cold water on a gentle cycle.

Dry on low heat or hang to dry for best result.

[bi-writes]

Could you do one of Simon forgetting to bring his lunch and so his wife brings it except she turns up in a cute sundress??

mail-order bride (18+)

"simon...simon riley?" you ask.

the officer raises a brow, looking down at your ID and then back at your face. he frowns a little, scratching the back of his neck.

"he's a lieutenant," you add, biting your lip. "uhm...and he works with...with john."

"john?"

you suck in a shaky breath, biting your lip nervously.

"captain john price?"

the officer just glares at you a little before picking up his radio.

"yes, ma'am. wait here."

he turns his back to you, walking a little ways away, and you hear him speak into the radio lowly.

"...got a civilian here asking for lieutenant riley..."

"...negative, sir..."

"...oh. affirmative, sir. right away."

the officer comes back, giving you your ID back. he looks sheepish now all of the sudden, and he smiles at you, which unnerves you almost.

"u-uh, so sorry ma'am. you can park near the main office, right that way," he points to a building far to the left, "i'll have someone come meet you there to take you inside. again, apologies...we're going to put you on a list, mrs. riley."

you frown a little, shrugging. you're not upset. it's a miltiary base, for christ's sake, and you've never been here; of course they would be apprehensive about letting you in. but the private looks terrified out of his mind, so you just smile a little and make your way towards the parking spot he pointed out.

when you get out of the car, you push the door closed with your hip, picking up the bag in the passenger seat. there's a woman standing by the door, smiling and waving at you. she looks very smart, in a nice pantsuit. you smooth your dress down, smiling back at her, and you swing your purse over your shoulder before making your way to her.

"hello, mrs. riley. the lieutenant's wife, i hear?" she asks. you nod and shake her hand.

"y-yes...he...he said he was just doing administrative stuff today, but he forgot some things so...i just wanted to do something nice--"

"right!" she nods her head towards the door. "i can escort you to his office. uhm...i believe he's debriefing with captain price this afternoon, but i'm sure he can make some time." she winks at you when she says that, and you bite back a shy smile.

she takes a seat at her desk, picking up the phone. she yaps for a few minutes, and you take a seat in an empty chair, smoothing your skirt out. your wearing one of simon's favorites, the cherry-printed mini dress he loves so much, but you realize maybe he might not be the only one. there's a myriad of privates and soldiers that walk past you, and you hear some whistles by some of the bolder ones. you suddenly feel very self conscious, tucking your legs underneath yourself. you're wearing white strapped wedges, your hair styled nicely with a bow to match the dress, but now you feel silly, stupid.

why would you go to a military base dressed like a fucking pin-up girl?

"wot are you doin' 'ere?" a rough voice demands.

mmm. that's why.

you look up from your chair, smiling wide when you see him. simon stands with his arms crossed over his tact vest, tilting his head to the side as he glares at you from under his skull mask. you've never seen him strapped before, though. he's got a gun tucked into his thigh holster.

"h-hi," you pick up the basket next to you, standing up, and when you come close, simon is rough, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you near him with a short growl.

"oi," he snaps, but you just flutter your lashes at his harsh voice, smiling bigger. "can't fuckin' come 'ere lookin' so pretty."

you giggle, and even though you're wearing heels, you still find yourself standing on your toes as you try to get close to him.

"you forgot what i packed for you, simon. how could you forget?" you pout a little. he sighs deeply, smoothing his gloved hand down your back before nodding his head.

"c'mon. can't 'ave ya out here. fuckin' muppets starin' at my wife."

he turns and immediately starts walking. he's entirely too fast, and you skip in your wedges practically to try and keep up with him. when he notices, he slows his pace, and you grip the basket better in your hand before reaching for his with the other.

your hands intertwine, and you look around as you walk, reading the plaques on the wall, the shiny medals, waving at johnny when you see him holding a bag of crisps upside over his open mouth.

when simon shuts the door behind you in a dark office, you set the basket down on the desk, pushing back the kitchen towel fabric.

"okay, so i brought those muffins you like from that little shop. they had blueberry this morning, oh my gosh, simon, they also started putting out these little scones that--oh!" you gasp as he grabs you from the fat of your hips, a big flat palm over the base of your spine as he pushes you flat onto your stomach onto the desk. "simon!"

simon sucks on his teeth as he flips up your skirt, letting out a low whistle as he palms your ass, spreading the fat of it so he peek at the seam of the white lace you're wearing. you lay your palms against the desk and whimper, not used to simon being so rough, so upfront, so bold.

"can't just come here all dressed up, baby," simon grunts, shaking his head. "and not expect me to take wot i need...been surrounded by nothing but wankers all fuckin' day..."

you relax a little, giggling.

"simon," you sigh, your eyes closing as you push your hips back into his hands. "i missed you so much..."

"tha' why y'came down 'ere, luvvie?" he asks, smirking under the mask. "ya missed me? missed y'r husband? what'd ya miss, baby? tell me."

you arch your back a little, bowing it, and you laugh when he gives your ass a firm grab before picking you up and spinning you around, caging you against the desk. you smile up at him, dazed, a little dizzy, and he winks at you, eye-black dark and deadly around those killer brown eyes. he's so big, so hot, and you're suddenly very aware of how big simon looks in all his gear.

"i don't know," you say softly. "it's so cold in bed at night..."

simon snorts, "tha' right? 's cold? the lil' shits don't keep ya warm?"

"our girls like to sleep on your pillow, i think they miss you, too."

"fuckin' lil' bastards," simon chuckles, and you sigh, sliding your hands up his vest and tugging him just a little closer. your spread your knees to let him between them, and he reaches down and grips your thighs, hiking them up around his hips as he sits you onto the edge of the desk. "fuck, you're so fucking pretty..."

you tilt your head back for him.

"i miss eating with you. it's so quiet when you're not around."

"mmm. i bet, luv."

"and i miss you when i'm alone," you whisper. "i miss you when it's just me..."

simon narrow his eyes, "tell me, swee'eart."

you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you. you kiss him over the mask, tasting sand and ash, licking over his lips through the cotton. it's lewd, disgusting, but he groans under the fabric.

"when, simon? when?" you ask, and he hums lowly.

"when? 'ow about right now?"

"no way, you're so gross, simon," you giggle. "our first time is not going to be on a desk in some dingy office where you work--"

you seize when he cups you between the thighs, big gloved hand palming your cunt through your lace panties. you arch your back and gasp, gripping his biceps tight as you lean into his touch.

"don't need t'make it our first time," simon tilts his head to the side. "can still make it real fuckin' nice, baby."

"oh, now you wanna touch me?" you suck in a shaky breath. "just because some of your men wanna look up my skirt?"

"oh, for tha', i'll make ya scream my bloody name, for oll of them ta hear," he growls, and you smile wide up at him.

"guess they need to learn i'm a lieutenant's wife," you giggle, and simon whistles low, tugging your panties to the side, and you whimper when you he prods at your entrance with two big gloved fingers.

"ahhhh..." simon hisses. "ya like tha' title, tha' it, baby? yeah...yeah you like tha'..."

"i like it," you whine, and when he meets your watery eyes, he plunges those big fingers deep, thumbing at your clit. your mouth falls open, your nails digging into his sleeves, and you suddenly wish you had asked him to take you to get your nails done so you could really claw it. "i like it..."

"could make these boys lick the fuckin' ground ya walk on," he mutters, and you whine when a particular rough thrust of his hand squelches between your thighs. "they'd do anythin' to please me, baby...even johnny would chew your bloody food for ya if i asked him to--"

you reach down and grip his wrist, your thighs shaking as you jolt. it feels so good, your entire body is on fire. his fingers are petting a nice little spot inside of you, stroking it as he pumps his hand nice and steady inside of you. his thumb is working you in gooey circles, flicking at your clit and putting taut the little string in your lower belly. your whole brain feels like it's fizzling, your blood rushing, and you stick out your tongue, licking over his masked jaw as you start to feel like you're gonna pass out from the wet slick, slick, slick sounding from your wet cunt.

"simon--simon--" you pant, and he groans, nodding his head.

"so pretty, baby," simon breathes. "so fuckin' tight, gonna 'ave to work ya open before i give ya my cock, lovey..."

"it's so big," you mumble, and simon coos, nodding his head.

"i know, baby, i know, 's big, real big...but you can take it, remember?" he laughs. "you can take it woteva i give you..."

you nod.

"i can take it--i can take it--!"

your vision blurs. there's tears coming down your face, sweat lining your forehead, your back, but you can't wipe the giggly, lazy smile off your face. simon cups the back of your head with his free hand, sitting you up, and when he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, his gloves are stuck to his hand practically, completely soaked through.

"y'r so pretty when y'cum," he murmurs, and you stick out your tongue for him. he gets the message, shoving his mask up just enough, and he bends to kiss you warm and wet.

"well then," you meet his eyes, all languid, all relaxed, a devious little grin on your sweet face. "why don't you give me another then?"

simon grins, all teeth.

"woteva ya want."

[gutsby]

Stuck

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding kink. Age gap. Santa Claus kink (it’s brief). F!Oral. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Kinda inspired by Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness

Word count: 5.5k

“Give your old man a kiss before he leaves?”

The invitation shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. But it had. And Joel just grinned, lips twitching beneath his big fake beard and palms pulling you toward his body.

The kiss had had to be wholesome and quick. Before long, he’d be surrounded by a sea of eager, wide-eyed, and awe-stricken children in the middle of Jackson’s town square, and what sort of example would you be setting if you were the girl caught kissing Santa Claus?

It wouldn’t rally much confidence in Father Christmas, if either of you had had to guess. You let him go. With a soft, innocuous tug of his belt buckle and a pat on his padded belly, you’d promised to be extra good while he was gone and leave more than just milk and cookies out for him later. Joel had blinked twice, and in the glint of one look, you could tell he’d wanted to say much more.

But then Tommy, dressed as an elf and scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge, had tugged him off your porch.

“You can get those cookies later, Nick. Let’s go.”

And that had been the last you’d seen of the pair before you’d snuck off to see Maria about Joel’s secret gift.

Now, two hours later in the glow of a roaring fire and near-unbearable excitement, you were perched on the sofa. Sitting with your knees tucked underneath you and a glass of milk, a tray of cookies, and a small, rectangular box tied with a bow set beside you on the coffee table.

You really hoped Joel would like his present.

You also guessed it wouldn’t hurt that you were currently half-naked in a ruby red satin teddy for his return home.

As soon as you heard the creak of the front door, you straightened up. You watched a body shuffle in, head bowed and shaking snow off his sprayed-white locks. Joel looked perfectly ancient in his present get-up: thick black boots, velvet crimson pantsuit, chest-length beard, and lopsided hat. He looked haggard and adorable, too. You could tell by the way he kicked off his shoes and left them stranded by the door he was absolutely drained by the events of that night—dealing with every kid in town under the age of ten likely hadn’t been his first choice.

But now he was here. Joel had been so preoccupied with getting off his boots that he hadn’t even seen you on the couch, and the instant his gaze landed on you, it froze.

“Baby…” he groaned.

His whole face softened, like he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him then, and his arms stretched out for you.

He looked childlike, almost, with the way he lumbered over. His limbs were heavy, and they felt that way coming to crash over your cowered frame on the sofa. You leapt back and squealed, only to feel two big palms grab you by the hips and pin you underneath him. Joel’s breaths were warm, and his eyes were alight with rapt intrigue.

“This all for me?” he asked, sliding his hands down your thighs and in between them. He cursed feeling the heat.

You had to bite back a laugh at how silly this looked—Santa Clause, a staple of your childhood, prying your legs apart and all but drooling at the sight inside. Pawing at your legs, then at your hips, then at the band of your panties beneath the tulle hemline of your teddy. It felt fun in a depraved sort of way. You felt naughty, like you might not want to share Joel’s gift with him until after all the fun was over. But, deep down, you weren’t that cruel.

“Don’t you wanna see your gift? Have your milk and cookies?” you asked sweetly, just narrowly managing to slide an arm out from underneath Joel’s weight and pointing to the assortment of goodies on the table.

Joel looked that way briefly, but then his gaze was back on you. Its warmth was smoldering. Darkening in time.

“Later. Santa’s got a bone to pick with you first.”

You squealed again as fingers hooked in your panties.

“But— but— you’ll really like this gift, Joel. Really.”

“Yeah? Already got one for you right here, kiddo.”

In a crass, graceless sort of gesture, Joel removed one hand from you to grab his crotch, and shake it firmly—‘Got a good seven inches of this gift to share, sugar’—and from there, you had no choice but to acquiesce. If Joel really didn’t mind putting off his gift for yours, at first, that was on him. You leaned back to get comfy.

“If you insist.” The smile you flashed him was coy.

Knowing, as your underwear was slid down your legs and Joel nestled in between them on the couch. You propped your head on a pillow and watched, feeling another small wave of sick nostalgia wash over your senses; Joel was still fully dressed as Kris Kringle stripping you naked.

He’d just moved to pull off the white beard, tied snug with a string, when you reached down and stopped him.

“Leave it,” you said, voice quavering with the threat of a giggle. This was insane. “Leave the beard. Leave all of it.”

Joel flashed you a look with a brow cocked up, confused.

“You want me to eat you out as Santa Clause?” he asked.

He grinned, and you almost laughed again. His expression was still puzzled—mixed with arousal, the look suited him well—and before he could say another word, you just nodded. Shimmied your red panties the rest of the way down and kicked them off at your feet.

But when Joel reached for your legs to pull you closer to him, you slipped off the couch. Your limp, shimmering frock that barely covered the globes of your ass underneath it brushed the bare skin as you darted off.

You’d meant it to be playful. Joel couldn’t brush aside gift-giving and get his way quite that easily. You stood on your own two feet, pivoting back to face him before starting to make your way toward the stairs. You waved.

“Okay. Give me a minute. If you’re giving me my present now, I need to get the rest of yours ready. It’s…upstairs.”

Joel’s—or Santa’s—whole face dropped. He stood.

“That wasn’t the deal, kiddo. You before me.”

He was already pacing after you, slowly at first; then, when your feet reached the first step, he broke off in a run. You screamed, and tried to tear your way up the rest of the stairs, but before more than four thuds had sounded on the wood, you were being thrust back in Joel’s arms—hoisted off your feet, and carried to the living room without another breath or pause from him. You kicked your feet, pretended to be indignant, and were smiling to yourself, inwardly, the whole time. He would really be kicking himself for this later, you knew.

“Gonna be a good little girl for Santa and stay put now?” he huffed, setting you down on your feet. Rather than heading for the couch, he’d placed you on the rug by the warmth of the fireplace and the winking lights of the Christmas tree, where he knew you felt coziest. And, in the glow of both, he could drink the view in completely.

You dropped to the floor where you knew he wanted you.

Still smiling. Fighting a laugh: “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Joel laid you back. Spread your legs. Tugged your butt right where he wanted it beside the fire and slotted his torso in between your thighs. Your body was practically humming with anticipation as he brought his head lower.

The fluffy white bobble at the end of his hat swung in front of his face, preventing his mouth from sinking in.

He groaned.

“Fuckin’ kids.” He batted the thing out of his way.

“Been toyin’ with my hat and beard all goddamn night. You’d think I was a…a jungle gym to those little hellions,” Joel added with an edge of taut frustration to his voice.

You knew he’d liked the ‘hellion’ antics, whether he was willing to admit it or not. He’d pretend to be pissed at the kids for being kids, but deep down, he was always more than willing to oblige. He’d practically volunteered to take on the role of Santa before the ballot had even been cast for who’d get to play the Big Red Man for the festivities.

He was your old man. A softie at heart.

Hard in other places, but that was just how you liked it.

He spread your legs with both of his hands and practically moaned at what lay before him now.

You were wet. Glistening. In the light of the fireplace and the evergreen behind him, he could see it all too clearly: how pretty and slick and shiny you were along your slit. You’d been patient awaiting his return, and he could tell. Though you were dripping nectar through your folds, you hadn’t smeared one drop with your fingers—you sat like a gleaming, unwrapped present for the man to devour.

And maybe it felt wrong, all swollen and stiff beneath his costume pants and his hair dusted white to make him look even older than he was—about 1,700 years, give or take, instead of fifty-nine—but the look in his eyes said he wanted it all. He felt raw, and needy, and debased.

You liked seeing Joel this way. You liked feeling wrong.

It was what most of Jackson thought of you, anyway. What had taken Tommy, Maria, and the closest of your friends the longest time to accept, nearly all of your neighbors still thought was pretty strange: how Joel was decades your senior and you two were dating—happily. What they were liable to think when the news of you trying for a baby spread in town was anyone’s guess.

Joel seemed to forget all that as his head sank lower. He forked two of his big, meaty fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ and pushed your folds apart in just the way you liked, and he breathed out slow, warm puffs of air over your cunt. You shuddered, and you waited for his tongue.

“Baby…” he trailed off again.

“Yeah?” Your voice was tight.

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m…probably gonna need to take off the beard.”

You breathed out a soft, reflexive laugh, and you didn’t protest. Joel tugged down the big, white, wiry clump of hair from his face and let his other, shorter one surface.

This one wasn’t white, but it was a handsome black and grey, with a lot more of a silver sheen to its these days. You smiled as Joel drew closer, and that smile only faltered a little as the man kissed your inner thigh.

He did the same to the other leg. He dragged his mouth down the skin toward your center and let his lips part a little. He kissed you again, this time at the top of your mound. It made an extra low, almost lewd sort of sound. He rubbed his nose against your lower belly, and the contrast of the weathered texture to your own was stark.

Joel was old. He looked it even more with his hair painted white and his mouth hovering over your slit.

“She been good this year?” he hummed, peering up.

Before you could answer, Joel’s tongue slid out, and he drew a fat, wet line over the seam of your pussy. Your hips jolted in response, and his free hand held you down.

“She tastes good,” he went on in the most casual tone.

Then, without further warning, his jaw slackened some more and he started lapping at the tender flesh beneath it. He dragged his tongue through the thick, stringy mess and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the taste. His lips curled, and he kissed you again—this time, it closed around your clit, and he suckled you gently. With the first wet pop and a sickening squelch from his mouth, your eyes nearly rolled back in your head; Joel’s opened again as he flashed you a shit-eating grin between your legs.

“She’s been real good for me this year, hasn’t she, hon?” And he squeezed your leg to indicate he wanted a reply.

You tried to answer, but it came out garbled and weak:

“So good, daddy. So— so—”

Oh.

Joel’s fingers moved from their forked position to push his index inside your weeping hole. At the same time, the tip of his tongue flicked delicately against your clit. The two parts of him moved in tandem, and from the feeling of both, you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a cry. Your hand reached down to grab his hair, but all it could find was that goddamn Santa hat. Joel snickered.

With his lips, tongue, and finger still working your needy cunt, he couldn’t help but smile as you cast the hat aside

“Damn thing,” you cursed, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Language, young lady,” Joel murmured.

Like he was one to talk.

You made a fist with the chalky white locks and rutted your hips the tiniest bit, too flush with pleasure to give a single fuck what words came out of your mouth, and from the way Joel grinned and slid a second finger inside, you had only to guess he didn’t mind either.

He could pretend, though. He licked a little harder, then:

“She’s gonna be sweet for her old man, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes, she is.”

“Nice and polite before she gets this cock?”

“I promise.”

Appearing satisfied with this response, or else simply wanting to bring you to the edge and make you cum on his tongue, Joel wedged his fingers even deeper, then curled them. He brushed the soft, fleshy wall in a beckoning motion and, at the same time, sucked your nub between his lips. He felt you tense, heard you moan, and likely sensed there was no better time for his tongue to dart out again. Just as he released your clit from its airtight kiss, he was back licking circles on the tender, swollen thing, eyes flitting up to yours to hold their gaze.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

When his fingers curled another time, you cried out.

Your brain was on the fritz; your heels were digging in the rug, stomach tight as it had ever been, and your hands seemed to move with a mind of their own. One was gripping Joel’s hair, giving you leverage to cant your hips against his face, and the other was palming your breast through the thin lace fabric of your teddy. You craved stimulation—couldn’t breathe without the feel of something on you, and in you, as you were about to cum.

Joel nodded his soft approval. He watched you fondle yourself and seemed enthralled, even from where he lay.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself while daddy licks your pussy. Lemme see how good she’s feelin’, sweetheart.”

His words were all the propulsion you needed and more. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, whined at the pleasure wrought by your fingers and by Joel’s simultaneously, and felt an even deeper twist in your gut. You grip constricted in his hair; you didn’t need to speak.

“She’s right there, isn’t she? I know that feels nice, baby,” Joel groaned, voice low, “Gonna cum for daddy now?”

You whined. You gripped tighter. Your body needed this.

“C’mon, hon. Let me have it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Two more strokes of his tongue, a gentle thrust of his fingers, and the brush of your own touch across taut, pebbled flesh was enough. The next second had you clamping down on Joel’s hand and giving him all you possibly could, lips parted and spilling a feverish, shrill whine while your orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled into the rug, and Joel pressed your hips down as his tongue fucked you through it. He licked and sucked and coaxed your needy walls again and again; he felt you tremble, and he let your wet essence soak him through.

By the time you were done, his face was glistening.

He lifted his head from between your legs, gaze wild and lips shiny with your full release. He licked them, elated.

“All good, hon?”

“Amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath and pet his hair. Joel smiled.

“Wanna go upstairs? Be a little comfier in the bed, I bet,” he offered, slowly starting to rise, before wincing. Then when his knees audibly cracked, “Your old man needs it.”

You had no doubt about that. You sat up and smiled, and let him lift you to your feet along with him. Another snap.

“Aw, hell,” Joel hissed, shaking his head.

You wrapped an arm around his waist before pacing another step. He leaned a little into you, though not too much, and you couldn’t help but flash him an arch look.

“Did your wishlist include new kneecaps, by chance?”

“No ma’am. Just stronger hands to spank with.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, grinning down at you.

You would’ve returned with something equally cheeky and light, had you not remembered that thing close by.

“Wait, wait—your present!”

Joel eyed the square box as you retrieved it. His eyes flashed with curiosity before you reappeared under his arm and helped him start up the stairs. He walked, and let out a soft groan, and when you’d made it halfway up, he shook his head at you again. It was slow but emphatic

“Gotta finish your gift first, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And, try as you might to get an inch of give after that, you sensed fighting Joel’s generosity was futile by then. You knew him well enough to guess that he’d only be satisfied receiving his present once yours had been properly secured with another orgasm, and his spend dribbled in big, thick rivers down the insides of your legs.

You heaved a sigh and smiled, walking slowly with him.

Joel, if you only knew.

Despite his best efforts, the man still couldn’t work out how he’d ever gotten so lucky to find something like this—someone like you. As his hips worked their way up to a near-desperate pace, bordering on frenzied as he fucked into you, Joel decided that he wouldn’t bother guessing.

He’d accept this for what it was: a gift he didn’t deserve.

The two of you hadn’t even gotten around to the business of unwrapping your presents yet, and Joel already knew that he had it all just looking down at you.

With your back arched and your hands making fists in the sheets beside your head, wet and glistening cunt accepting each one of his thrusts and squeezing him tight on every stroke, Joel had to steel himself just feeling how good you were, knowing how well you fit him in every way, and sensing this was as close to replete happiness as he’d ever get. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even without a baby, he knew things would be okay.

The two of you had been trying for months now, wholly without success of yet. There had been the night he’d bought a blue pill and fucked you four times in one day, and you’d told him at the end of it all that your period was late. But then you’d bled the next morning, and your hopes, for the present moment, had been dashed away.

No pregnancy hopes since then had amounted to anything else, and at length, you’d agreed not to let it get your spirits down—or try not to, anyway. You’d fuck as often as you could, but you wouldn’t let the thought of wanting a baby make the process less fun for you now.

That didn’t mean Joel couldn’t remind you every now and then what you were hoping the endgame would be.

Presently, he leaned over your prone body on the bed and pressed his lips to your ear. He ground his hips against your ass so his cock wedged itself all the way in to the hilt, and when the tip was just threatening to graze the edge of your cervix, he dropped a kiss on your cheek.

“Want me to put a baby right here?” He spoke gently.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and your head reared back to fall against his shoulder. Joel took this as his opportunity to start peppering more kisses. He knew how much you liked the dirty talk while he was deep inside, talking about how much he wanted to blow his load and knock you up. It was a melting point for you both, and he sensed that you wouldn’t last long after it.

He had your head tilted to his, your lips spilling moan after moan as his dick plunged further inside and your eyes struggling to stay open. They flitted between his, and they gave him a hopeful look. You managed a smile.

“Right…right there, daddy,” you whimpered out.

Another sound escaped your mouth and flooded his, and Joel couldn’t help it: he kissed you, and he fucked in deeper. He couldn’t have wanted this more if he tried.

His forehead was slick with sweat, as was yours. Your bodies were grinding together—Joel’s soft, warm belly filling the concave space where your spine curved down, and he rutted repeatedly into you, like an animal in heat.

His face was right beside yours as his teeth gritted out:

“My sweet girl want a baby in her for Christmas, that it?”

Again, you whined and rolled your hips against his, nodding your head, and the look in your eyes was wild.

“Baby—please. Please fuck your baby in me, Joel.”

Joel could do more than that. Much more. Ask him for twins, triplets, or however many kids you could’ve wanted, and he would’ve given it to you then.

He wished it were that simple, and he could’ve knocked you up and made you happy a long time ago, but sadly, that hadn’t been in the cards for you two. Joel shortly brushed that thought away, not wanting to lose his momentum or delay the oncoming orgasm about to rattle your body underneath him. He kissed your shoulder this time, thrusting with his stiff, wet cock in just the way you liked, and in seconds, he got what he wanted—what you needed, clearly, as your muscles seized and your lips let out a sharp, shrill cry in response.

Joel held you to him as long as he could. He felt you melt into the bed and only held your body tighter, rutting his hips at their relentless pace to keep your pleasure alive. He heard you whine, tell him to cum inside me, daddy, please, and from that point on, he sensed he’d have to slow a little. It couldn’t be helped. When he came, he had to pin you down and fill you completely—take his time working his spend inside your needy, pulsing cunt, and when he was done, just keep you there. Let you feel him. It was a satisfaction unlike any other for you both, and it was one he’d come to love these last few months. He stilled inside you, feeling his cum coating every inch of your walls around him, and he grinned. You let out a sigh.

“So I…I made the ‘Nice’ list, Mr. Clause?” you panted.

Joel’s head dropped to yours in a short, rumbling laugh.

His dick twitched inside you, and his belly growled a bit. He definitely should’ve taken you up on those cookies.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re square,” he breathed back.

How long you laid like that was anyone’s guess. Joel didn’t bother keeping track of the seconds or the minutes spent splayed out over your body; he only sensed when he was starting to go soft and you wriggled your hips underneath. He shifted and let you flip around.

His cock now completely out and a smile touching your lips as you turned to face him, your gaze flitted to his.

“Can you go get me one of your shirts, please?”

You were also both stark naked, thanks to the lightning-quick stripdown you’d both done the second you’d made it to the bedroom. Though Joel was sleepy, he knew the routine: get you a shirt, get him a clean pair of boxers, and get the two of you off to sleep. It’d been a long day.

“Yes, dear,” he answered dutifully.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before rising. He padded his slow, heavy feet over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, and he opened the top drawer.

“Second one, please. With the flannels,” you called out.

Okay.

Joel snagged a pair of underwear for himself, then went to the next drawer to get you a flannel to wear, since the scorching heat of your house evidently wasn’t enough to keep you warm. He smiled to himself, about to crack a wiseass comment about you being cold-blooded or something, when the man was obliged to stop. He took one look inside, dropped his boxers, and paused a spell.

When Joel started again, it wasn’t to speak—he just turned and lifted the first thing he saw in the drawer.

“Wha—oh, shoot. I was supposed to wrap that,” you said swiftly, wincing as he held it. Still smiling at him, though.

“Seems a little small to be a gift for me, don’t you think?”

In his grasp was a miniature onesie. Beneath it, in the drawer you’d directed him to, there had been at least four more just like it. All soft, pastel-colored, and small.

Your smile stretched even wider as you shook your head.

“It’s from Maria and Tommy. More of a…future present, for the two of us,” you shrugged, pushing to sit up in bed.

Joel eyed you a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

On your face, he saw hope and excitement etched bright. Like you were fine to keep waiting on this ‘future,’ no matter the duration. One glimpse of that and Joel felt a lump the size of his fist in his throat. He walked over.

And it had to be the last thing you wanted to see, surely—him setting the onesie down, dropping beside you in bed, then fumbling gracelessly, uselessly, to hold you.

Feeling every bit the remorseful, too-old man who couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wanted it, too.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted out, unthinking. He pulled you to his chest; within his own, his heart was pounding, “I know…I know it’s taking us awhile. That’s my fault—”

“Joel.”

“My cum’s as old as dust and that’s probably why—”

“You don’t—”

“—you aren’t pregnant yet. I know it’s frustrating for—”

“Seriously, Joel—”

“—you to deal with. All of that disappointment, I mean—”

“JOEL.”

“What?”

His pulse was still thudding away. You blinked once.

Then, in a slow but deliberate path, your gaze trailed over to the nightstand. Joel’s followed after in similar fashion.

“You still haven’t opened your present,” you said. Stern.

It wasn’t the tone Joel had been expecting to hear at all.

And when you handed him the box, he felt his blood pressure spike. Absently, he thought that couldn’t be safe for a man his age. He couldn’t even tell what it held, and still, the prospect of it had him anxious beyond words. He turned it over; something rattled inside.

‘Go on, Joel.’ Your voice coaxed him gentler then.

And he did, though his fingers trembled some.

The weight in his grip could’ve been an ounce, a pound, or a ton, and his hands would’ve shaken all the same. Joel felt a current pulse through him as he slid the lid off.

Then he just stared.

His eyes widened.

“That’s…”

“Exactly what I have been trying to give you all night!” You laughed. The sound was light, not derisive or cruel.

When he looked up to you, your cheeks were as full and high as he’d seen them all day—you were smiling so big.

That made him think that this wasn’t a joke. Or a dream.

Surely his brain couldn’t have contrived both the most perfect, blinding smile on your face and a slim, white, pink-capped little stick with a ‘+’ on the screen at once.

It still hadn’t hit him completely, though, so he blinked.

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. Vacillating.

“Really.” Yours was more certain. Happy.

And, while the truth of it was slow to seep in, Joel knew he couldn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think—just pulled you in and squeezed you to him as tight as a vice. He couldn’t think—the rush of his blood in his ears and the puffs of your breath and the clatter of that positive pregnancy test in its box, discarded, were all too much.

As soon as he squeezed, your next breath was a sob.

“I meant to tell you, Joel. I meant to. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your confession came out muffled against his chest, though Joel heard it all with total clarity. In a blink, he had you drawn back a little, just so he could hold your face and search your gaze with his own in a wide look.

Before he could even speak, he saw the tears welling up, as if coming from nowhere. You were still trying to smile.

“It’s been weeks. Since…since my period. I just—” With a wince that could’ve shredded Joel’s insides in two, you went on, “—I couldn’t stand disappointing you again.”

The same way he’d felt. Why you couldn’t tell him.

“Baby, hey, no— no. No, no, no. Please don’t say that.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own emotions at bay.

“After the last time, and the— and the way you looked so happy at the thought of being a dad, I…I…had to be sure. Maria got me a test, and we triple-checked.” You sniffled.

Moving to wipe at tears as if any of this was your fault. Joel’s thumbs only grew more fervent in their path to smear the moisture away, and his head kept shaking back and forth—‘No, sweetheart, that’s not on you. Don’t even think that. Come here.’—as he tried to be a comfort. He couldn’t be happier. He hoped you were too. While tears engulfed his hands, he hoped you would be.

Even if his bones were old and his knees were weaker than he wanted them to be; even if you couldn’t count on two hands how many years stretched out between you and the decades made it seem like forever to the people in town. Even if this baby was the first, and last, you had.

Joel just wanted you happy.

It was all he could ask to have.

“We’re gonna be parents,” you said, half in awe.

You blinked harder and more tears slid down, but the look behind them was brighter. Your eyes were on his.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Joel repeated, “You and me.”

Then he pinched your puffy, wet cheeks, pictured a baby that looked the tiniest bit like you, and he had to lean in. He kissed slower than he meant to—had to savor you.

A baby.

His baby.

Your eyes were a little wider when he pulled away.

“Happy with your present, daddy?” you teased.

Joel blinked, and he thought of the dozen-odd boxes he had laid out under the tree downstairs—all for you to unwrap in the morning—and he realized then that you had him soundly beat in the gift department that year. Though none of what he’d bought could even hope to hold a candle to what you’d given him tonight, there were still ways to try and make it up. Say thank you.

“I love my present. And I love you.” Joel answered softly.

And just as you smiled, were about to slide back under the covers and tell him you loved him just as much, he grabbed your ankle. Started to lower himself after you.

Your eyes widened more.

“Joel Miller.”

His smirk widened right back.

“One more present before bed?”

You might’ve rolled your eyes, but you let him climb over you just the same. You felt his weight shift over yours, sensed a familiar stir in the depths of your body, and peered up to meet a matching smile you knew you’d find.

Joel was beaming from ear to ear like this was the luckiest day he’d lived to see. Like he couldn’t wait to show how glad he was to be a dad—over and over again.

“Just wanna make sure we made it…stick, y’know?”

He was grinning now. Gently laying you down.

You sighed, smiled, and spread your legs.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me, Miller.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

“Stuck.”

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

[oizysian]

18 // Prostitution // All Night

Summary: Wanda buys Y/N for a night.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: stripping, cunnilingus

Word count: 600

Kinktober masterlist

“Five hundred for an hour. Two thousand for a night.”

The woman looked me up and down. She was dressed in an expensive looking pantsuit, her strawberry hair flowing down to her shoulders, her plump lips pursed as she stared me down.

“I’ll give you ten thousand.”

My eyes got wide. She must’ve been putting me on.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a large wad of bills, all hundreds, and handed it to me.

“Count it if you want.”

“N-no, I believe you.”

I took the money and put it in my bag, zipping it up and placing it on the chair next to the bed. She continued to stare me down, looking me over like she expected something from me.

“Strip.” She said plainly, sitting in the extra chair across from me. “Slowly.”

This wasn’t the first time I had to take my clothes off in front of a stranger, it was my job, but something about her made me nervous. I unbuttoned my shirt, slipping it off my shoulders and exposing my bare breasts to her. Her eyes fell from my face to my chest, a small smile forming on her lips.

The small action made me shiver, my nipples hardening and a gush of wetness spreading between my legs. Why was this woman so different from the other people I took money from?

I undid my pants, pushing them down my legs, leaving me in just my panties. Her gaze burned into my skin, her eyes looking over my entire body hungrily.

Wordlessly, she took off her heels and slipped out of her pants, folding them up and placing them on the nearby bed. She took off her thong and kept it nearby, and she sat back down in the chair, waiting for me.

“Come here.”

I obeyed, sauntering as sexily as I could over to her. I was beyond nervous. I got on my knees in front of her and she looked pleased, spreading her legs for me as I bent my head down and kissed her inner thighs. She stayed quiet as I licked and nipped at her sensitive skin and I stole a glance up at her, noting that she was biting down on her lower lip, staring down at me.

I licked at her slit, tentatively slipping my tongue between her folds and finding her clit. I heard her intake a sharp breath and I knew she was going to fold soon. I sucked on her eagerly, fucking her with my tongue. She gripped the arms of the chair and I felt my slick coating my thighs at the action. She was losing control.

She let out a sigh and brought her hand to my head, running her fingers through my hair as I ate her out. She began guiding my head, rolling her hips against my face and I could tell her was close. She clenched around my tongue and I concentrated all my energy on her clit, licking and flicking at it.

“Oh …” she moaned softly, gripping my hair tightly. “Oh, fuck.”

She came on my face, her hips bucking, her head thrown back and soft whimpers slipping past her lips.

She sounded so sexy as she came and I couldn’t help but continue to lick and nip at her, making her pleasure last.

“You did so good.” She said breathlessly, our eyes meeting as I looked up from between her legs.

I licked my lips and she let go of my hair, stroking my face, looking at me longingly, hungrily.

“I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

[onehundredflamingos]

21 / patriarchy / 222 words

@taylorswiftmicrofic

“Why are you in a pantsuit?” Regulus asked critically, eyeing Marlene’s outfit. She was normally clad in leather pants with fitted vests, but tonight she was wearing wide leg trousers and a matching sport coat. The buttons were fastened at her navel, her chest bare and cleavage exposed.

Marlene grinned back at him. “Because I have Jamie and Sirius in skirts.”

Regulus blushed, imagining James in a skirt, his long tan legs trailing up and up to a short hemline, just barely covering the length of his c—

“Baby, you’re drooling,” Marlene said with a laugh, reaching out to wipe away the nonexistent spit pooling at the corner of Regulus’ mouth.

Clearing his throat to regain his bearings, Regulus asked, “and why are they in skirts?”

Marlene shrugged. “Fuck the patriarchy, you know?”

Regulus nodded absently, mouth going completely dry as James finally made his way onto the stage — was Sirius there too? — and he looked just as delicious as Regulus had anticipated. He was wearing a crop top to accompany the skirt, deep red with a gold star in the center, making his sun kissed skin absolutely glow under the spotlight.

“That’s my cue,” Marlene said with a knowing smile. “Try not to pass out when he starts singing to you.”

Regulus blushed again, praying to anyone that his legs would hold steady.

[linopls]

kinktober day twenty-seven

sexting felix x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, mentions of unprotected sex

1.1k words

routine company meetings were a wide known snooze-fest. it felt like a competition for who could talk the longest and about the most boring aspects of the company. you never understood why you had to be here. you were just a marketing student intern who was helping run stray kids’ social media accounts, it's not like the finances made any sense to you.

unlike your contract had stated, you started to form a liking to one of the members: felix. the two of you quickly became acquainted when you both had to explain a tiktok trend to your supervisor that felix wanted to post. your supervisor never ended up understanding it but felix thanked you for your attempted support by buying you lunch that afternoon.

eventually it became lunch every time felix was in the building. the two of you would rant to each other about working for different sides of the company and all the struggles you faced. it was just two friends hanging out until the day he called you pretty.

it came out so casually. you weren’t dressed any different but he said your hair looked pretty. it took you back for a second before you smiled and said thank you. that day he payed like usual, he insisted every time, but then suggested you guys got lunch somewhere other than the cafeteria, or maybe dinner.

it never became official, and it never could, until the company removed its employee dating restrictions. you two went on dates like boyfriend and girlfriend, texted like boyfriend and girlfriend, and had amazing sex like boyfriend and girlfriend. he was incredible in bed, he claimed he didn’t have that much experience, but he was brilliant.

he even drove you crazy even when his dick wasn’t inside of you. when you were at dinner, all it took was one glance in your direction and if there weren’t so many people in the restaurant, you would let him take you right there. he had such a way with words as well, and he used that to his advantage. 

you see your phone screen light up on the table in front of you. the way the conference room was set up was four rows of tables set in a U-shape. you and your team always sat in the last row to the far left and the stray kids members say in the last row on the far right. this meant when you did not want to pay attention to the current speaker you could look at felix across the room.

you look at the contact photo and name and see that felix sent you a message. you slowly grab your phone and open the message. 

felix: you look good in red ❤️

you’re wearing a red pantsuit today, his favorite color. you smile and look up to him, he’s already looking at you and smiling. he looks back down to his phone and types for a second before looking back up to you. your phone lights up again.

felix: you looked really good in that red dress last night

you blush and try to discreetly cover your face with one of your hands. felix had taken you out to dinner the night prior and you wore a new dress, a similar shade of red to the pantsuit you wore today. when he first picked you up he stared at you, mouth agape. before telling you red was his favorite color.

felix: you also looked really good in the red matching set you wore in bed

his reaction when you slid your dress down your legs to reveal your matching red bra and panty set was a sight you’ll never get out of your head. his eyes glossed over with lust and a very obvious tent formed in his pants.

you: never knew you had such a sexual attraction for the color red… 😏

you look up to see felix subtly roll his eyes before beginning to type a response. you watch changbin look over his shoulder and giggle and felix pulls his phone to his chest. you thank god for your privacy screen protector and the fact you’re sat on the end and the person next to you is also so uninterested in the meeting that they are online shopping.

felix: just for you, in red specifically

felix: i think it's your color~

you: thank you baby🤭

you: i think i’ll wear another red set tonight ;)

you glance up from your phone to his felix’s reaction. his mouth forms a thin line before he bites down on his lips slightly.

felix: yeah?

felix: do you have a picture?

you: horny bastard. 🖕

felix: just want a spoiler 🥺

you: you’ll have to wait and see~~

felix rolls his eyes and sets his phone face down on the table and focuses back on the speaker. you begin to aimlessly scroll through your socials. before long another text from felix pops up and you eagerly click on it.

felix: i want to bend you over one of these tables and fuck you so badly

you: i’m doing great thanks for asking 😐

felix: i don’t even care who watches

felix: i just want you to cum on my cock over and over again

you: lix…

felix: you look so good from behind

felix: and i love that i can see your face in the mirror in my room

felix: the way tears stream down your face when i make you cum for a third or fourth time 😖

you: you’re so good at what you do

you: i’m already soaked just thinking about it 🫣

you adjust yourself awkwardly in your chair. feeling your panties sticking to your folds as felix stares you down from across the room.

felix: i just want to stuff you full of my cum

felix: over and over again

felix: go to the bathroom 😏

you notice he has his legs crossed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

felix: wanna fill you with my cum and watch you sit through this meeting knowing who you belong to

you: it's too obvious if we leave within a couple minutes of each other :( 

you: we’ll get a break soon and i’ll meet you in the bathroom on the floor above 😚

felix: my dick is throbbing thinking about being buried in your sweet pussy

you: we won’t need to waste any time, i’m already dripping for you

“alright everyone,” the speaker claps his hands together. “let’s take a lunch break and come back in an hour?”

as everyone begins to gather their things and leave the room, you quickly throw everything in your bag and streamline to the door. felix is holding the door waiting for you.

“come on, ms. l/n,” felix smiles. “lunch shall we?”

felix probably has mad sexting game

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[itchytitss]

Jill Valentine helping you out with your lipstick

You’ve been invited as Jill’s plus one to a RPD awards night, which means you finally get to bust out the fancy dress and makeup you’ve been saving for a special occasion.

You’ve never seen Jill all dressed up for an event like this before. She’s stunning. Her short brown hair framing her beautiful face as she stands in front of her full length mirror, adjusting her earrings. A week ago, you helped her pick out this fancy royal blue pantsuit specifically for tonight, and god does she look amazing in it. Her height and slim figure accentuated by the long pant legs and her velvet heels.

You stalk up to her, openly admiring her as she smirks at you in the mirror.

“Hey baby,” Jill coos softly as she turns around slowly, her hands now resting on your hips.

“Shit, you look good.” She whispers as she looks you up and down, checking you out from head to toe. “It’s gonna be hard to keep my hands off you tonight.” She teases, squeezing your hips.

You giggle as you loop your arms around her neck, stepping closer into her embrace as you gaze up into her eyes. “I should say the same. I’ve never seen you so…so-”

“Hot?” She raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“That’s one word for it.” You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

For a split second you see her eyebrows crease as she stares at your lips. She pulls away slightly to look, her eyes squinting slightly.

“Wha-“

“Hold on, babe you’ve got something…” Jill trails off as she grabs your chin with one hand and brings the other up to your lips.

You stare wide eyed up at your girlfriend as she pushes her finger into your mouth. With a surprised squeak, you instinctively wrap your lips around her. Your eyelids flutter and your knees feel weak as you melt into her touch. It only lasts a few seconds before she gently wipes your two front teeth and pulls her finger out with a *pop*. A small string of saliva connecting it to your lips. You stare at her in awe and disbelief as she smiles and looks at her finger.

“Had a bit of lipstick on your teeth, see?” She grins, showing you the excess lipstick she wiped off your lips, now forming a ring around the base of her finger.

You stare wide eyed and speechless as Jill laughs at how quickly your cheeks turn pink. Your mouth hangs open slightly in shock as you blink at her.

“You liked that?” She chuckles, almost mockingly as she pouts her lips slightly with a tilt of her head.

“I- uh…” You barely manage to stammer out, now looking down to the floor in embarrassment.

“Aw, my sweet girl, don’t be embarrassed.” She coos with a smile, gently stroking your flushed cheek with the delicate touch of her palm.

“You like having my fingers in your pretty little mouth? I’ll keep that in mind for later.” Jill whispers, gently patting your cheek twice before she turns around to pick up her clutch purse and heads towards the door.

You’re frozen. Stuck in place with a red face and an uncomfortably warm feeling between your legs as you stare at the wall, trying your best to comprehend this newfound fascination of what just happened.

“Come on, we’re going to be late!” Jill announces to you from down the hall, interrupting your thoughts that spiral into more sinful imaginations.

“W-wait!” You call out, quickly dragging yourself out of your sudden daydream.

You grab your purse and run down the hallway the best you can in your heels, following your gorgeous girlfriend like a lovesick puppy.

——

(Why use a piece of paper to remove excess lipstick when you can just use a pretty woman’s finger?🥰💅)

[floraltypes]

Childish Love

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader 

summary - the four constant thoughts aaron has of you

so you know - a bit of sunshine!reader, maybe ooc hotch, and also inspiration from jades hotch five nosebleeds fic @/luveline

He thinks you’re too sweet. 

Rough hands flip through pages upon pages of information, mostly redacted, with a wallet-sized photo of you at the top right corner. Your eyes beam with excitement and your mouth threatens to conform into a smile while glaring at the camera. He takes notice of the shine of the pendant lying across your neck. Something he imagines holds much importance due to its appearance in the photo. 

There is much information regarding undercover work you’d performed in the past, working alongside inter pool and having expanse knowledge about hunting down criminals. Yet the photo glaring back at him on the papers seems like you’re just too kind for this field. 

“Agent Hotchner, sir,” a curt knock is placed on the wooden door, nameplate hung to indicate who the office within belongs to. 

You take a tentative step inside, hands holding onto two steaming cups, labeled from a local coffee shop. A black pantsuit covers the skin of your legs with a button-up to top it. His eyes can’t help but glance over your figure, taking in the same pendant and glittering smile that you send his way. 

He can tell your nerves by the short breaths, eyes wandering around his figure and not to his eyes until he steps up himself. His form seems much larger than it did sitting behind the desk. 

“Agent,” he speaks your name, trying it out on his tongue. For an odd reason it seems fitting for some soft woman of your nation, a tiny part of him admires that. A tiny part of him admires your sweet demeanor despite the many horrors you’ve undoubtedly witnessed on the job. 

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” now your rushing over, lightly placing the two on the desk (not before your eyes scan for a coaster) and allowing your hand to be enveloped by his own. 

For a moment the heat of his warm palm reassured your cold fingers all due to forgetting your gloves in a nervous rush to make it to the job on time. You can feel the calloused fingers brush against your smoother ones, his hand faltering to pull itself away. He catches on soon enough to the lingering touch and hastily picks up the file and seats himself back down. 

“You have an impressive resume,” a quick comment, now that same hand offering for you to take a seat across as he flips through. “Family in the job?”

“No, just me,” you beam. Suddenly you gape, hands rushing to the cups and trying to push one across the busy desk toward his frame. “This is for you, sir. I had worked with Agent Prentiss for some time, she told me how you enjoyed your coffee.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, wrapping the cup in his hand. “But this was not necessary.”

“I bought everyone a coffee, even Penelope,” you’re quick to add, changing his original thoughts. 

He brings the cup towards his lips, leaning his head back slightly and taking an anxious sip of a familiar drink. Though what he is matched with is nothing like he imagined, tooth-aching sugar is what fills his mouth - and what he is forced to swallow - in return. 

You mirror his movements, taking a sip of your own but not hiding your expression to the distaste of the bitterness very well. A light cough leaves your lips and Hotchner can feel a part of himself racing for a glass of water to appease you. He catches himself. 

You’re too sweet, just like your coffee order. 

“I think I gave you the wrong one,” you hand your head, cheeks feeling the heat as your hands rush to take his cup. The lightly painted fingers glide against his bony, larger ones, clutching the cup in your grasp. Carefully removing the top and exchanging the lids, you give him the correct cups. “Might be odd to have a kiss our first meet,” you laugh. 

“A kiss?” Hotchner feels a blush of his own overtaking his cheeks, his eyes are wide, and now instead of admiring the change of features that overtook you, he is conscious of his own. 

“Oh! The silly kids' thing, an indirect kiss since my lips were there and then your - oh never mind,” you sigh, mumbling incoherently to yourself as he just watches it all ensue. 

Hotchner can’t help but laugh, his laugh becomes so loud it easily takes over the office. It mimics the smile placed on his lips in the photo of him tickling his son to the ground. It was a somber time then, sadness filling the air, yet his still happy son couldn’t help but make the man grateful and just laugh. It seemed as though in recent times you would be doing the same. Make his life filled with more laughter. Make his life brighter… Maybe he was getting too ahead of himself. 

He thinks you’re too daring. 

“He ran down this way,” you puff, picking up speed to follow the comfortably dressed man down the darkened alleyway. Resting heavily at your side is the trusty firearm you have gained much  experience with using in recent years. The shoes lining your feet are not the most comfortable, not to mention running has never been a hobby, but there is adrenaline rushing through to push you forward and faster. 

Sliding around the corner he disappears from your sight, you keep up the rushed pace, following only a few inches behind as he keeps making his way. You know that your partner, Derek, has probably moved around to find a different entryway to cut him off. As your feet merely point in the direction he was running you hear the scream resonate, pulling yourself back to the corner to hide your body.

Slowly, your head peaks itself out a bit, watching the man with bloodied fingers move the knife around rapidly and then place it onto a young girl's neck. You glance down at the gun hanging in your pocket and knife tucked in your pants then move to approach him. 

“Put the knife down,” you direct, tears forming in the shaken girls' eyes as the man just smirks back over towards you. 

“Where’d that partner go, agent?”

“That holds no matter, why don’t you let the girl carry on her way?” “Really? You couldn’t do that for me, just let me finish my business one last time.”

You and Derek had luckily arrived on the scene before more blood could have been spilled. There were many locations up for looking and you two happened to arrive at the exact one he was tying another girl up in. She had kicked him a few times, causing him to clutch his stomach, and when his eyes reached Derek’s slow stance he ran. You ran after him in response and now you were here, trying to stop him from killing another. 

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” you step a foot forward, eyes squinting and peering over at the girl. You see her eyes widen at your words, and you almost want to wince at what you are to say next. “You could do better, she is so docile, no fun when they don’t put up a fight, right?”

“Now you are understanding, she was a bit easy, probably a slut.”

“Let her go, you know that I will put up a fight,” you want to vomit at your change of tone, the way your free hand taps at your lips. Many questions wandered through your head if this could be the best approach, and how this would look, but it was too late to begin questioning as his arm was already removed and the girl was running. 

“Alright,” he flings the knife to the side, now tumbling towards your frame with fury. Your hands stand on guard, taking the first punch he throws to hit you square in the nose. Though you soon show him your power with an uppercut punch to his jaw. He clutches onto his face before you push kick his knees and deliver another blow square between his eyes. The man's balance falters, and he falls on the unarmed knee and tries to reach for your foot. You gain balance on the grabbed foot, swinging yourself around and using your other to kick the side of his face, the man falling over. Your handcuffs soon are placed around him, yelling and sirens coming closer as you watch co-workers gather around. 

“Damn, someone got a beating,” Derek huffs, hands on his knees as he runs right beside you. “Told Hotch about the girl and you, alone, didn’t like that.”

“It was alright,” you hum, facing Derek. “I have much training in hand-to-hand combat. No need to worry,” you place a smile onto your lips, trying to make it convincing, and soon taste iron on your bottom lip. “Did you see the girl running south of here, pretty shaken?”

“She is alright, but you’re bleeding.”

“Agent-” Hotch yells your name, jumping out from the car as the other agents follow behind. The police take the unsub away and you see your boss impatiently gesture you over to the medic vehicle. 

“I am all good,” you laugh it off, brushing the flowing blood with your sleeve before walking up to your boss. 

“What you did was irresponsible. You didn’t call for backup, not informing your fellow agents of where the suspect was heading, and instead took on a dangerous and armed man all on your own. If it weren't for Derek informing us -” he pauses his rant, a large thumb dragging itself across the skin above your upper lip. He pulls it away with red staining his fingers. “You are hurt.”

“It’s a bloody nose, common, nothing painful.”

“Why would you risk yourself like that?”

“We had to get the unsub, I was the most likely to catch him at that moment.” “There are protocols in place for this very reason. So you don’t have to make decisions to risk yourself, like now.” 

“My mother would say that there are good reasons to break them sometimes. I am truly alright, Hotch, I have been against much more dangerous men.” 

He stopped himself from letting more lectures fall from his lips, just peering back down at his bloody finger. Those same fingers quickly traveled back up to your nose, pinching off the holes so no more blood could fall down. You instinctively reach for his hands, the beginning of bruised knuckles clutching around his with a wince. 

“Seems like it hurts,” he mumbled, looking back at the ambulance that was taking care of the woman who ran back. 

“Maybe it is broken, but probably not, sprained if anything.”

Hotch wanted to say more about your riskiness. He was getting irrational, he had seen your resume, he had seen you fight and negotiate alongside the others, and he knew you were capable, but why did you have to be so daring? Why did you have to willingly take this on? Why was his heart racing unlike it ever has when fellow agents have been in these positions? 

He thinks you are too kind.

Another late night at the office lands Hotchner hunching over the desk, papers a flew, and hand rapidly moving the pent to check off reports. His light is one of the last ones shining and it has been a while since he last peered over at the clock. 

“Looks like daddy is busy,” a young woman tsk, standing at the opening of the elevator with a young boy clutching onto her hand. He has golden hair and his lips move to a frown at the words leaving her lips. 

You pick your head up from your desk, which is covered by papers of your own. After an especially long night, you agreed to take on a couple of files so Emily could get out quicker and head over to her date. When the area was empty you could plop in one earbud connected to your iPod and enjoy the serenity while covering nauseating cases. 

She is blonde as well, you begin to speculate her relation to Hotchner, easily recognizing the little boy to be the son pictured in so many of the photos he likes to share. Yet, you also remember the new vein in his forehead that seemed to appear as he gathered some other assignments to look over from your fellow agents. He was one of the most present in the office, spending much time to do the best job he could, you admired that greatly. 

“Hi,” you end up speaking before honestly thinking through your decision. “I am a co-worker of your dad's,” you walk towards the two with a hand extended, tearing the earbud from your ear you introduce yourself to the woman who tells you she is Jack’s aunt. 

“I am pretty sure Aaron has mentioned you before,” she tiredly grins. “Well, great meeting you, we will just head up there to your dad so auntie can head to bed,” she is looking down at Jack who looks a bit sleepy himself. “I think Aaron forgot that I couldn’t keep Jack overnight today.”

“Yeah, he is always keeping himself busy,” you look back over towards him, sleeves rolled to his elbows and forehead in his open palm. 

“I just want to see daddy,” Jack sputters, rubbing tiredly at his eyes while the small backpack hands loosely in his grip. 

“He wants to see you too, but it's my fault, really,” you’re mumbling and this quickly piques her interest in your words. 

“Why?” Jack softly questions, looking sweetly up at you.  

“I begged your dad to be able and play with you. I know it is late but I have some pencils at my desk, maybe a few colored markers, and want to draw with you. I’ve heard all about your talents and, well, I really want to see them myself,” you lean down towards him, cupping your hand and whispering into his ear. “I can’t find anyone who can draw me Spiderman,” and with a fake sigh, you rest on your knees sadly. 

“I can! I love Spiderman!” he jumps with joy, dropping the bag to the floor, and touches your shoulders with his small hands. “I’ll draw it for you.”

You change your once sad expression to one of excitement, placing your hand on top of one of his. “Thank you so much! We better tell auntie bye so we can get drawing.”

Jack eagerly kisses his aunt on the cheek and she gratefully looks your way, leaving with a content grin on her features. Jack reaches for your hand, you accept it and pick up his discarded bag, leading him to your desk. With gentle hands underneath his armpits you lift him onto the spiny chairs, but not before casting your work all to the side, covered up. Jack opens up his backpack to take out a journal and markers of his own, he offers some to you. 

Kneeling beside him you draw a different figure, playing some light music through your iPod in the background. Soon enough Jack is chatting your ear off while drawing spider webs, talking about his friends at school and what he has recently learned. He explains what his bedroom looks like and a new toy he wants. Eventually, he is finished with the piece of artwork, addressing it to you at the bottom with a tiny, crooked heart by your name.  

“I love it,” you beam, holding it up higher in the air to admire it. “You are so talented, sweetie.”

He just shines with your compliments but despite his happiness, a yawn exits his mouth and his hands travel back up to his eyes. You take off the sweater that was once covering your shoulders, wrapping the young boy up in its comfortable sleeves and placing him back on the chair for him to undoubtedly close his eyes and begin to drift. 

By the time Hotch has shut off the lights to his office, briefcase tight in his grip with the leather coat slung across his shoulder he notices a soft light emitting from your desk. He takes careful steps down the stairs and walks over to recognize the boy snoozing in the chair, and you, who sits on the ground filling paperwork. 

“I am so sorry, did she leave you here with hi-” he begins to ramble, briefcase dropping at his side and hands extending to get a hold of his boy. 

“Shh,” you carefully place a finger over your lips, indicating to your boss that he should lower his voice. “It was my choice, I wanted to spend time with the infamous Jack.”

He grins. His lips upturn for the first time in a while at your pure kindness towards his son. You took over taking care of him so he could peacefully finish his work all while not making him feel guilty about forgetting his son. 

 “He looks kind of comfortable,” Aaron comments, trying to hide his spreading grin while looking over at his son sweetly resting away. 

“Surprisingly, these chairs could never put me asleep,” he laughs at your comment, causing Jack to stir in his sleep while you try to muffle your giggle. Hotchner leans down, lowering himself to sit beside you on the ground. 

You turn towards him, faces only a few inches apart and your knees even closer to touching. It seems as if you can feel the heat of his breath from this distance, you can notice the softness of his lips and bobbing adam's apple. He recognizes your chewed bottom lip and darkened lashes with small clumps of mascara at the tips. Though these small things just make him want to notice more of your secret features. You are thinking the same. 

“I really like Batman,” you admit, well sputter in admission. It comes out jumbled and your eyes are trying not to stare at his own, or his lips, and you nervously spit out nonsense. 

“What?” he is back to being serious, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I told Jack I wanted him to make me a Spiderman drawing, but I am a bigger Batman fan. I lied,” you whisper softer now. 

“Me too.”

“Really? But Jack is such a big fan of Marvel comics, I figured you were too.”

“It must have been his classmates, I always read about Batman and Joker growing up.”

“Oh, me too! The DC villains and Gotham are just so interesting. I still occasionally read them now.”

“That’s cute,” he slips, pink gathering at his cheeks when recognizes his confession. You can feel your ears heating and your hand itching closer to his. “The sweater that you gave him, it looks … cute,” it sounds a little as if he is questioning himself. 

“Very comfortable too,” you’re quick to add, his hands moved a bit closer to your own this time. 

Your eyes wander down to how your hands are nearly touching, how your finger keeps tapping and getting closer and closer. “Is your hand alright?”

“Oh yeah!” you choke, shaking your head and then turning it into a nod. “Of course.”

His hand finally takes yours in his, palms lying across each other and his fingers fold over to apply pressure to the holding. “You’re shaking a bit.”

He can’t say that it is only you, it feels as if his own heart is shaking. 

He thinks you’re too beautiful. 

The new scenery is very different from the other bar they tend to regulate more often. As a team constantly involved in traumatic events together, they try not to make it the only thing they experience together. Hence why Penelope has dragged the BAU team to a new, flashy club to let loose and have fun. 

She has been loose for a while now. Penelope, predictably, has a low tolerance, and after two drinks she is yelling and dancing with a random guy on the floor. Not before of course trying to gather any romantic secrets she can from her co-workers. It is not very successful. 

Though if anything the woman is determined, she is determined to get everyone to have as great of a time as she is. That is the reason that most of your group is out on the dance floor at the moment, just jumping around and giggling at an old song. Derek and Penelope are actually breaking out dance moves and Reid stands on the dance floor near JJ just lightly nodding his head, more in the corner of the dance floor. Meanwhile, you and Emily are swaying a bit more together near the dancing duo, admiring their moves and laughing to yourselves. 

“Interesting group we got now,” Rossi comments, taking a large sip of his beer while chatting over in a booth with Hotchner. “Fits with the interesting new party spot, though at this age I prefer the setting of that old bar we were going to.”

“I agree,” Hotch nods his head, eyes on where you stand swaying with flared jeans and a shirt revealing more than it normally would. He always likes to see the way you dress outside of work-mandated fashion, get a look at what your figure looks like in tight-fitting clothes or ones that express your style more. He knows it shouldn’t be something he looks forward to, but it is. 

Another thing Aaron knows is that he should be trying to minimize his growing crush on a co-worker, one he is the boss of at that, but he is still letting that get bigger too. 

“Your eyes are lingering,” Rossi laughs, his shoulder bumping with Hotchs’. “Might want to reel them back in this way before she finally notices along with the rest of us.”

“Rest of us?” “We are all profilers, Aaron, we noticed the change in your demeanor with her new presence. Especially me, if anyone.”

“That’s a lie,” Aaron is quick to deny, searching for his discarded bottle amongst the table of half-filled glasses. 

“Let yourself find love,” he whispers, eyes now searching for you in the crowd. “No matter who that is, everyone deserves to find a love that will last.”

“I had Haley, once.”

“Once,” Rossi repeats. “There is a keyword in that statement. I think, in the end, you shared a different type of love for her, not that same that is developing between you and that agent.”

“Getting a bit sentimental there, Dave. Too many drinks?” “No,” he laughs, a good old-hearted laugh, if you were all in your normal bar it would easily be the loudest in the room. “I just see how much you work, how much you secretly care, and I hope for my friend to find someone. That isn’t too sentimental for you now, is it?”

“No, no you’re alright, Dave.”

“It is pretty clear she’s got a little school-girl crush on you too,” Aaron nearly spits out the overly expensive liquor at Dave’s confession. “The subtle glances, little touches, it is like you two are kids again.”

“I wouldn’t say it is that obvious.”

“When you begin to fall in love, a characteristic most pick up on is nativity, that is what-”

“Are you guys going to dance already?” Penelope barges over, cocktail spilling at her abruptness. “Reid is even out there, Doctor who hates crowds, and you two old-timers are sitting here like you are, well, old-timers!”  

“Rossi, last dinner night at your house, we did see some of those moves,” JJ walks over, winking at the man who puts his hands up. 

“Fine, fine, I will show you all how it is done,” this earns a laugh from the group, JJ and Penelope wandering off into the crowd with their new guest. 

“What about you?” Hotch looks over at your form reaching for a random drink to take a sip of. “Are you going to join us?”

“I am no dancer,” Hotch laughs, remembering many past times when he has tried and failed horribly. 

“Me either, but there comes a moment where everyone must perform,” you pretend to do a little curtsy, courtesy of the drinks flowing through you, and laugh when standing back up. “It is just us, no one to impress.”

Aaron Hotchner would greatly disagree with that statement. 

“Just one,” he gives in, standing up and following your giddy form into the crowd. It takes a moment, but soon enough he recognizes the song and awkwardly sways to the beat. You are much more fluent with the moving of your body compared to him and his stiffness. 

The way the bright light shines onto your expression, he admires your pure enjoyment of the moment. If there were such a thing as a mental photo, he was taking one, he was snapping this photo so as to never forget the moment. Hotchner never envisioned himself as a romantic, sappy man, but the way you helped him believe in the hope of fun how could he not think much and just let his hands wander to your waist? 

It stopped your upbeat movements, the heat of his palms bleeding through the thin shirt, the same fabric uplifting so you could feel his rough fingers on your skin. You felt more conscious of the eyes and thoughts of people surrounding you but even more inquisitive about what the man holding onto you was envisioning. 

“Aaron,” the whisper of his name was breathless, he is not even sure he heard it in this loud crowd. 

You quickly step away from his grasp and rush out of the crowd, rummaging through the groups of young and old in hopes of catching the fresh, cold air. Pushing through the doors you lean against the building taking a deep breath in, feeling it down in your lungs. He is fast behind your trail, eyes scattering and brows furrowing when he catches your anxious figure. 

“What happened? I am sorry I should not have touched you-”

“You’re just trying to dance, but my mind leads me to think it is more,” you begin to sputter, hands on your forehead, posture bent. “I am going to have to transfer divisions, I’ve never been this irresponsible.”

“What’s going on?” he sounds very concerned and is even more hesitant now to reach for your shoulder as a way of comfort. 

“Aaron, I don’t think we can work together anymore, my feelings just keep expanding.”

“Your feelings?” he repeats and the words of his fellow friend from only moments before begin to swirl around quicker than his nerves after touching your waist. 

“It is highly unprofessional-”

Aaron gently pulls your hands away from your face, eyes looking into yours and he drops one hand to move his own to your cheek. “I think it’s okay.”

Hotchner has never envisioned himself as a romantic man, but when he lent down and placed his lips onto your own he imagined it was a very similar moment to romance movies. He clutched onto your cheek, rubbing his thumb against the expanse while his lips worked dutifully against your own. 

Your hands began to wander up his arms, pulling yourself closer to his chest. He pulled away, “Don’t we have to sign something before we do all this?” he laughed again at your words, something that you so commonly did to him. 

“As someone special to me once said, there are good reasons to break rules.”

(Criminal minds masterlist)

[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

part two: the game

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: m (mature, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of suicide, talk of death, talk of sex work, classism, a little bit of power play, power imbalance, food mention, alcohol mention, tigris snow cameo <3 word count: 3.6k+ summary: Coriolanus and his 'friend' begin to play a game neither of them are prepared to lose. a/n: the link to part one of this story can be found here (tumblr) or here (ao3). part three of this will follow very quickly after this one - maybe a day or two later - i promise. i've written a good chunk of it, as i intended to post this all one part, but it became much too lengthy. also, if you want to be tagged in the next part of this - or other stories like it - you can sign up to my taglist here or follow my updates blog @belovedinfidels and turn on the post notifications. thank you a ton for all your support and love. it's been lots of fun interacting with you all and writing for this fandom.

part one | part three

The money for what had conspired between her and Coriolanus came quickly, as he had promised it would. In the early hours of the next day a nondescript envelope, along with a sizable clothing bag, was delivered to her door by a nameless Avox. The amount was far more than she would’ve charged him, and yet not enough (as it always seemed to be).

However, it was the contents of the clothing bag that surprised her most of all. When she opened it she found a finely made pantsuit, feminine in its cut but masculine in its style, with wide shoulders and flared pant legs, but a more tapered, closely fitted waist. The fabric was not inexpensive either; it was a costly wool in a light burgundy shade, not unlike the color he had worn when he’d approached her in the club. She ran her fingers beneath the peaked lapels, admiring the work of what must’ve been his in-house tailor.

Though she enjoyed this gift—it was far more expensive than anything she’d purchased for herself in years—she did not feel particularly warm nor grateful towards its giver. She took the suit and hung it in the closet of the main bedroom, where she kept all her finest items, and did not think about it again until the next week.

To say Coriolanus filled her thoughts during this time would be a lie; he slipped in occasionally as she conducted business, but did not remain for more than a moment. Young men, with their heads full of ambition and tongues thick with Capital accents, brought her back to moments in that darkened bedroom, watching Coriolanus’ pupils blow wide, his lips twitching, his voice lower. The earnest clatter of teeth provided by Monday’s man reminded her of Coriolanus’ bruising intensity. The cool touch of Thursday’s regular brought her back to Coriolanus’ fingers beneath her chin. Saturday’s newcomer had blue eyes, which were infinitely kinder and much more open than Coriolanus’, but still filled her with a wave of repulsion. But it was nothing, harmless meanderings to make the time pass.

The only time she truly allowed him to invade her truly invade her thoughts was the following Sunday. The same Avox that had delivered the suit and the money returned with another envelope. Whereas the previous one had been free of design, of name, of anything that could mark it back to Coriolanus, this one bore all the signs of him, from the golden rose seal to the loopy script that read out his name.

The Avox stood at her door, staring down at the envelope in her hands with some urgency. She got the hint, opening it up without her usual regard for its design. Quickly her eyes scanned over the contents. She frowned softly; he was inviting her to a soirée at his apartment, asking if she would so kindly RSVP or decline and then send it back immediately. The date was not far away—only two short days. This, the invitation implored, was why the RVSP - or the decline - was so urgently needed.

Of course, she checked yes. How could she not? The previous envelope was evidence enough that Coriolanus followed through more than enough in terms of money, and wasn’t that all that mattered? When she handed Avox the invitation, the woman handed her another envelope. This time she did not stick around to watch her open it.

When the Avox left she sat down at her kitchen table, putting the envelope in front of her. Somehow she knew that whatever was inside its folds would impact her life in a way so few things had, and she was not yet prepared for it. Her eyes trailed over the details of the room, focused on the dampened quiet, the emptiness that lay in the elongated dining table with no guests to fill it.

As a child she had loved this room, perhaps more than any other, for it was a basin of social activity. Her mother had been a lively host and her father a jovial one at the head of the table. Wine had flown freely and their plates had been filled with food they had not known to appreciate but in retrospect. There had been nights when the guests got so drunk and so merry, and they found her innocence and her childishness compelling, cooing as she weaved her little body through their legs beneath the table. In the next room there used to be a grand piano on which she would sit with her mother after dinner concluded, and listen to her sing to the guests. Her father, a typically stoic man, would slouch against the piano and look at her mother and herself with a fondness she would never forget. How beautiful love feels when it's all gone, dried up except for the aching ghost of it rattling in the bones of a once beautiful home.

The truth of it was that her parents were dead and this home was all she had. When Coriolanus called it a museum, he wasn’t too far off. Not much had changed since her mother had died. So much had been taken before, as the Dark Days reached their peak and the hunger became unbearable. Everyone who had been beautiful and lively at those dinner parties became hollow, and thin, including her parents. It was her father who died first, but when he went it was as if her mother had died, too – it only took a little longer. Seconds, days, weeks, a total of two years until it was truly over.

It was a frightening thing to witness as a child, the destruction of something as sure and sturdy as one’s mother. She had not been told of the gruesome demise of her father, only that it had been attributed to the war. It was only later that she would find out that he had died by his own hand, that he had left what little funds they had with her mother, found an empty home, and did away with himself. His death had affected her but none so much as her mother’s had. She had to become a spectator of her mother’s failing health, watched as the rot of it filled their home, and sat idly beside her bed as it consumed her completely. Death was not delicate, not kind, not to her parents.

A better woman would’ve left this home behind as soon as she’d gotten enough funds to free herself from it, but she could not seem to. Somehow living in it felt like the greatest vengeance - or revenge, depending on the day - for her parents. Everything she did was to better this home, to restore it to the beauty she had witnessed in her once-grand childhood. That’s why the envelope was so daunting; she knew that whatever Coriolanus wrote her, even if it was inconsequential, would somehow tie to this dream. He was money and money was everything, the single stepping stone to life.

She took her time when it came to opening it, first finding a gold letter opener in the haunts of her father’s old office. The envelope was not thin but it was easy to open with the knife; she cut smoothly beneath the seal and peeled back the lip, running her fingers over the rose details that sat on the outside. She could see through the back of the folded paper that it was a letter, handwritten.

Everything is about winning, the letter began, but you know that, don’t you? I think you can see that I am not a man of unfulfilled promises now and you’re taking a step in the right direction – as any smart girl would. On the night of the party, I will send a car for you – the weather’s been rather cool for a walk – and it will take you to my apartment. Whether you choose to wear the clothing I sent is up to you, but I will say to you that the designer of the suit will be there, and she is very eager to meet you. Don’t fret too awfully much about keeping up with your appearances; it will be a small gathering, full of like-minded individuals such as yourself. They may ask what you do for a living and you may divulge the truth to them if you wish. I think I am no more ashamed of you than you are of me – what a thrilling dynamic we have.

Until then, Coriolanus Snow.

The letter remained open on the table until the night of the party. It was a reminder that she was a player in a game of her own making, but that she needed to tread carefully, lest it slip through her fingers.

She knew she could not afford to lose this; it meant far too much now that this kind of money had entered the equation.

— Even Coriolanus’ building gave the air of being self-important, large and foreboding.

Before she stepped out of the driver’s car and onto the sidewalk before the opulent apartment, she first took a wary glance upwards. The sky was a flurry of white, but even through the thicket of snow she could see the bright lights of the apartments shining ominously above her.

Her mind had been churning over the possible outcomes of this party all day. She had poured over his letter and dissected it until the individual words meant nothing and everything all at once. What she kept coming back to was the line about her occupation—how it meant very little to him whether she told the guests she was a prostitute or not. If she knew Coriolanus’ type the way she thought she did, she knew that her occupation would be of some worry to his acquaintances. Had he written that to throw her off? To make her embarrass herself the way she had him? If so, he’d have to work harder than that. She wrapped her black coat more tightly around herself and mounted the stone steps. Exhaling a deep sigh, she braced herself for whatever could come of this night.

The doorman greeted her with a curt nod as he opened the door for her. The lobby was an enormous space, full of stone columns and large potted trees. She admired the high ceilings and beautiful hanging chandeliers before another man, dressed smartly in a tuxedo and red bow tie, escorted her in the direction of the stairs. She wanted to request a walk up the large staircase but thought better of it. Now was no time to gawk over the fine housing of one of her clients. Because that’s what Coriolanus was: a client.

The elevator ride up did little to prepare her for what would come. What greeted her first was the warm sound of music and laughter. Not rich, honeyed laughter but real laughter, laughter that belonged to a time she had not been familiar with in far too long. It was feminine, rich, and pleasant. This, more than the intricate design of the apartment itself, excited her.

Before she knew it Coriolanus was standing in front of her. While another tuxedo-ed man took her coat, he walked up to her. “Welcome,” he greeted, his grin proud and wide. His eyes scanned over her and he was evidently pleased. “You wore the outfit.”

He acted as if she had said the correct answer.

Her smile was warm, and performative to a degree. “I’d be a fool not to,” she cooed.

He was pleased with her, showing it in the way he extended an elbow for her to take. She wrapped her hand around his bicep and he walked them through the long corridor, closer to the sounds of chatter. “Is there anything I should know?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of,” he answered.

When they walked into the main room, everyone’s eyes turned in their direction. Coriolanus took to the attention, wearing a cordial grin. One of the women sitting on the multitude of cream chairs hopped up, eyes widening in excitement. “Oh Coryo!” she gushed, pushing through the small crowd to get to them.

She was a stunning woman, lithe, tall, her hair as fair as Coriolanus’ and cascading in loose curls down her shoulders. She reached her hand out in greeting. “I’m Tigris. Coriolanus told me wanted me to make an outfit for someone but he didn’t tell me how beautiful the model would be,” she gushed.

Her cheeks tinted, unused to be fawned over with such earnestness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she responded, smiling warmly. “Thank you for the outfit, it’s truly stunning.”

Coriolanus patted the hand she had on his bicep and beamed. He was showing her off like a prize, flaunting her. If she didn’t so much like the company of Tigris, she might ask him what he was getting at. But she did like Tigris, quite a lot even though this was their first meeting. Unlike Coriolanus, she was…kind. Nothing disingenuous, not so far as she could see. There was no air of haughtiness to her, no ulterior motive. She reminded her of her mother, in a way.

“I wanted her to be a surprise, Tigris. I knew you’d think she was lovely,” Coriolanus said softly. Tigris looked at him gratefully, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand affectionately.

“You’re sweet, Coryo,” she said. “Why don’t you go introduce her to the rest of the party, maybe feed her–” she looked down. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk like you’re not here. There’s food in the kitchen and more drinks on the counter if you’re interested. I’m certain everyone else will be very excited to meet you. It’s not often Coriolanus brings someone to my parties.”

They both watched as Tigris returned into the mix of individuals. All of them were stunning, model good-looking—even the ones with more exotic appearances. Their bright hair colors and lavish makeup only accentuated their beauty. They were, to put it simply, ethereal. Not at all like the people she would expect Coriolanus to consort with.

“She’s my cousin,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

“And what does she think I am to you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A friend, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t make her curious?”

Coriolanus laughed. “No. Tigris stopped asking me questions long ago and it’s best that way. Now come.” He pointed to another open space across the room. “If I don’t get you something to eat she’ll be angry with me.”

“Is this all you wanted me here for?” she asked once they were secluded from the rest of the party. “To make your cousin happy?”

He handed her a plate and smiled his typical confounding grin. “If it was?” he taunted, tossing a berry in his mouth.

“I’d say I wasn’t an escort,” she responded.

This response made his grin stretch. “Of course you’re not,” he assured.

He followed her down the line of food, watching as she selected bits of fruits, meats, the fanciful little hor devours. Something about Coriolanus made her feel more transparent—like he knew the game she’d been playing and was waiting for her to acknowledge how clever he was for catching on. But of course he knew the game. Wasn’t he the one who sought her out?

“It’s no lie that I’m hungry, Coriolanus,” she finally submitted. Her admission made him hum delightedly around a grape.

“So eat,” he encouraged, taking a step forward. He raised a grape to her lips. When she didn’t take it from his fingers, he smirked. “Not a fan?” he teased, plopping it in his mouth. “Well, no worries. There's a lot of food here. And—“ he lowered his voice, “you can have as much as you like for as long as you like. That’s the nice thing about working with me: you don’t go hungry.”

Her eyes turned into slits. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she snapped.

He nodded, his carefully styled coif of hair bouncing. “You are, but there’s still more for you to decide. When we walk back out there, Tigris’ friends will grow interested even if she doesn’t. They’ve never seen you and you’re objectively good-looking—of course they’re going to want to know where I found you.”

She took a sip of the wine, not understanding where he was headed. This didn’t seem to bother him. He continued with a crooked grin. “When they ask you what you are, you're more than welcome to be honest. The future is what you make it.”

He took his own sip, his eyes full of meaning. She hated him. He was thrilled at her undoing, thrilled at the fact that he could control her in even the subtlest ways.

“And if I say I’m a whore?” she challenged.

He wetted his lips, setting the glass on the counter behind him. “Then a whore you shall be.”

“And if I tell them I’m your whore?”

He regarded her with an uneasy calm. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unblinking gaze.

“Then my whore you’ll be,” he answered.

The finality of it sent her into a reflective quiet.

—

As Coriolanus predicted, Tigris’ friends were inquisitive.

After he’d let her eat in quiet, he’d guided her back out to the party where everyone was positioned in a circle. The room was made that way, adapting the Snowflake design of the house itself, each of the chairs orbiting one lone glass table in the middle. It was clever, helping facilitate conversation, but intimidating for whoever had the floor.

“Coriolanus, what does your little dove do? You’ve both spoken so little tonight and I think it’s safe to say we’re all dying to know,” one of them, who she thought was named Otho, said.

Tigris smiled ruefully. “I’m sure she speaks for herself, Otho.”

She smiled, having remembered the name correctly. It wasn’t until a second later that she realized they’d all turned their attention to her expectantly—including Coriolanus. They shared a glance before she eased back in the chair. He was nervous, perhaps just as much as she was.

“I don’t do much,” she evaded, bringing the glass of wine up to her lips.

Otho pressed on. “Oh, and how does one as young as yourself get on with doing nothing? Don’t tell me you’ve got one of those adoring Capital husbands. I mean, you’re pretty enough, but it’s just terribly unfair. I hate meeting them.”

It was a welcome lie. She didn’t look at Coriolanus as she eased her way into it. “I’m sorry to say I do,” she responded. They all leaned forward in their chairs, interested, so she continued. “He’s off in District 2 at the moment. I got one of the patriotic ones; he signed up to be a Peacekeeper not too shortly after our wedding.”

“Was he poor?” one inquired. Tigris poked them with her finger, shaking her head in disappointment.

“It’s quite alright, I don’t mind saying he wasn’t. He thought it was the right thing to do, being fit and young as he was—as he is.”

“Coriolanus was a Peacekeeper,” another one said. She didn’t remember their name either. “Is that how you met him?”

Coriolanus took hold of the conversation. “No. We go back a little farther than that,” he answered. Everyone’s eyes shifted to him.

“Do you?” Tigris asked. She seemed hurt by the idea of not knowing this. It struck her that Coriolanus and Tigris were rather close, like siblings, friends, maybe.

“As children we studied together.” Coriolanus shrugged his shoulders flippantly. Tigris nodded, but looked away.

“That’s true,” she added. She was hitting her stride. It was easy to perform, to be others, almost simpler than to be oneself most days. Coriolanus underestimated how much practice she’d had at that. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d known all along. It was hard to tell with him. “When Coriolanus and I were children I had such a massive crush on him. He was beautiful.”

She looked over at him. He wore a tight grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t you remember how I used to fawn over you?” Her fingers grazed his wrist, and she laughed. He did too. To an outsider, they made quite the jovial pair.

“I can’t say I do, but I’m flattered.” He took another sip of his drink, looking back out to their audience.

“Well, never mind that you don’t remember. I do.” She looked back at them, too. Even Tigris, who seemed wounded by what she didn’t know, stared longingly for more as she plunged into the story. She did remember Coriolanus as a little boy. It was easy enough to supply this information.

“Coriolanus was one of the more considerate boys in our grade. At that time boys made up terrible sing-songy rhymes about how girls were ugly and stinky or what have you, but not Coriolanus. Not that I heard at least.”

Everyone laughed and she looked wistfully at him. He did not look back. Instead, his eyes were captivated by the liquid in his cup. She didn’t let it bother her or take away from her story. “I remember on my sixth birthday I invited him and insisted he sit beside me. He got me a doll. I remember it very clearly. It looked a little bit like me and I thought it was very thoughtful.”

Tigris smiled softly. “That sounds like my Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus rose from his seat. He held up his glass, now empty. “I’m going for a refill,” he informed.

Everyone looked to Tigris as if searching for answers. She guided them towards another topic, smiling brightly as if unbothered. But it was in her eyes, the hurt, the confusion. After a little everyone seemed to forget the absence of him, though. Everyone almost seemed to blossom during it.

She was beginning to suspect that perhaps she’d bit off more than she could chew as she watched them all chattering away like that. Who was this man, she wondered, And why did he hold this much power even over people he seemed to love?

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[chaotic-on-main]

Who Could Leave Me? | ModernAU One-Shot

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ angst, death, funeral, depression, if you squint really hard there's comfort? but mainly all hurt, alcohol mentions

☾ Author's note ➼ I'm actively going through my abandonment triggers and what better way to explore my emotions than to write about it. Betrayal, being left behind. They're the same thing to my ill brain. Anyways, I'm so sorry for the hurt I'm about to spring on y'all but I hope you'll forgive me. Now, back to my summer commissions and UW!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~2.5k

☾ Songs I listened to while writing:

Betrayal was nothing new to you. Being left behind was just the same. But when you’re left behind and betrayed at the same time, that’s a whole new feeling. Especially when it came from someone you trusted.

But it wasn’t your fault, was it?

Your name floats by in a whisper, a voice you know all too well.

You wake up with a start and a pounding headache. The autumnal sunrise filters through your sheer curtains in light blue hues, illuminating the room enough to see the outlines of the mess around you. You’re on your stomach, face half buried in a pillow with your arm splayed out on the other side of the bed. Your fingers curl up in the empty space.

Oh, yeah.

Maybe if you go back to sleep, you’ll wake up and everything will make sense again, you tell yourself.

What a stupid thought, you tell yourself.

Rolling onto your back, you stare up at the dark ceiling. It didn’t matter how much you tried to slow time down, today came anyway. You weren’t ready. So, you stay in bed until the blue turns into oranges and finally yellows.

What time was it anyways? Then again, why did it matter? You didn’t care.

“Love?” You hear whispered from the other side of your door. It’s Hange, a mutual friend you met a while back. They stayed over last night no doubt to make sure you didn’t drink yourself into oblivion. It didn’t work, but you vaguely remember them checking in on you every hour, so you imagine that was enough for them.

They knock softly against the wood.

“I’m going to step out to get some preparations ready. I’ll be back in a couple hours to pick you up. Try to be ready by then, okay?” You turn your head at their voice and spot their shadow in the slit of the door. After a minute of silence from you, the shadow slips away. The sound of the front door closing reverberates through the house and then it’s silent again.

The hours that proceeded were spent in a catatonic state. Your wide eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, not a single thought floating by. You suppose that wasn’t a bad thing. You’re not sure how long it had been, but another soft knock echoes through your room eventually.

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?” It’s Hange again. They sound tired. “I’m coming in.”

You roll on your side so you’re facing your friend as they step into your room with a squeak of the door. An onyx pantsuit drapes over Hange’s tall frame, their rectangular spectacles glinting off the only source of light in the room – the afternoon sun.

 “I knew you’d have trouble getting up.” They make their way over to you. Grabbing your blankets, they pull it all the back so that you’re exposed to the chill in the room. It makes you groan in displeasure, but you let it happen anyways.

They pull you out of bed with a ‘hup!’ and lead you into the connected bathroom, you follow with shuffling feet. Despite the sun being out and being under baggy long sleeves, the air is still cold so goosebumps pop up everywhere along your arms and legs.

They release your arm, leaving you in the middle of the bathroom as they zoom around you. The bath faucet is on in mere seconds and as the tub fills, they grab a few towels from the linen closet.

It’s weird because you watch all of this happening but for some reason, none of it is comprehending in your brain. It’s all a blur as they strip you down, lead you to the bath, and help you in. Before you know it, you’re half sunken and leaning all the way back, only your nose and up sits above the steamy water.

“You know, Levi had to help me with this in college, too.” Hange whispers behind you as they massage shampoo into your hair. It smells like roses. You hum back softly, not really sure how to respond.

Levi’s name doesn’t hurt you as much as you thought it would, but you’re not certain if that’s a good or bad thing. Everything feels numb, even the hot water that felt like it should be stinging against your skin.

“It kind of feels like the passing of torches, you know?” They chuckle quietly at the nostalgia.

The rest of the bath passes by. Rinsing off when asked, getting out when told, holding still when Hange dried you gently with a towel. Staying when Hange tells you to wait as they go grab the clothes that they had set out for you to wear today. You were a robot awaiting orders and nothing else.

Hange adorns your body with a simple long sleeve black dress. It goes down to your knees and the rest is covered by fleece leggings and warm socks. Eventually, they drag you out to the bedroom and sit you down while they lace up your boots. This is all done in silence, though you don’t miss the looks Hange gives you.

They’re the same looks that everyone has given you since the incident. Like you’re fragile and ready to break at any time. Though, you guess you can’t fault them for that. Your actions the last few weeks haven’t told otherwise.

“Hey,” Hange whispers down to you, and you shift your gaze up to their light brown eyes, full of sadness. “Did you…?” They hold out a ring to you.

It’s simple. Silver, studded with a handful of diamonds. You can’t see it, but engraved on the inside is the word ‘yours’ in Levi’s neat handwriting. A wedding band.

You reach out hesitantly, hand shaking as you take it as if you were afraid it might crumble on contact. With those same shaky fingers, you slip it on your left ring finger. It had been a bit since you last wore it, but like a bike you find familiarity with it again. Only this time, it feels heavier than ever.

“Are you ready to go?” Hange holds their hand out to you with a small smile.

.

It starts raining as soon as you both leave the house, heavy clouds eclipsing the sun for the rest of the day. Perfect for a funeral.

Outside of the warm tent, gentle but cold raindrops splash on the trees above and trickle down to the white plastic and onto the muddy ground. With the overcast of stormy clouds, the day is cold. It’s almost fitting, like a movie you’ve seen a million times. And you were the main character. It would make you laugh if you weren’t so drained.

As they call your name to wrap the service up with a eulogy, you feel your heartbeat quicken. You had requested to have it last as it was a job put on you and you wanted to push it off as much as possible. But your pulse racing isn’t from nerves, it’s from anger. Sadness. Frustration. Like a fissure in a dam, realization comes to you.

You can’t do this. How could he do this to you?

Your feet are running before you know it. Out the tent and up the hill into the enclosure of the forest that lines the cemetery. You don’t stop until you feel someone grabbing your wrist tightly and holding you back. It’s a strong grip from a warm hand.

“Le-?” You turn around and almost slip on the leaf littered floor.

Standing in front of you is a man about a foot taller, blond undercut and misty blue eyes that stare hard at you. Erwin Smith, Levi’s closest friend – Levi would always deny being called best friends, something you always teased him with.

“You can’t keep hiding and running from the truth.” He says gently. Downturned eyes and a frown to match, he gives you the same look everyone else is giving.

“Stop looking at me like that.” These are the first words you’ve said aloud in a few weeks. Your voice comes out scratchy and it hurts.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just going to break down at a drop of a hat.”

“Maybe you need to. Have you even cried yet?”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Maybe you should.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You haven’t seen him in about a month, but he was always a good confidant so to say that your high walls weren’t about to crumble down would be a lie. That fissure is growing with every second he stares at you.

“Erwin, why are you here?”

“I’m here to celebrate the life of my friend, same as everyone else. We’re all upset, too. We need you just as much as you need us.” His grip tightens on you. The rain is coming down harder and you start feeling the cold seep through your clothes and into your bones. You notice Erwin’s usual combed back hair is now in his face, dripping water into his eyes.  

There’s silence as you try to figure out what to say. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Your eulogy sits half finished on your dresser because you had no idea what to say.

What was even appropriate for others to hear? What would be selfish and what wouldn’t be? You suppose it’s all considerably selfish. The one who could call you out on your shit effectively isn’t here.

A low roll of thunder rumbles from above as you face off with him.

“There’s nothing to celebrate.” You mumble.

“You don’t me-“

“He’s not here, Erwin! He left me!” You feel your voice rising with every syllable. He opens his mouth to say something else but now that you’ve found your voice, you can’t stop the word vomit.

“He chose to go back into that building because of who he is. And I hate him for it! How could he do that to me?? Didn’t he think about me?” A sob racks in your chest, and it takes a moment to catch your breath so as to not choke. The water streaming down your face turns warm and you can practically taste the salt of your more-than-late tears as you continue on.

“What it would mean for him leaving me? Nothing feels right anymore, nothing feels like home because he was my home. He promised he’d be around for as long as I wanted him. But I still want him!” Erwin pulls you into his chest and holds you close as you start sobbing harder. They rip out of your throat just like the words you shout, voice becoming hoarse with every line. You don’t fight his vice grip. But you don’t stop either.

“I said I would always follow his lead. But why did he have to go somewhere where I can’t follow. He left me behind. He said he never would and he did it anyway. I hate him so much. I hate him for making me love him and then leaving me like this. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” You trail off, losing yourself in the cries of your pain. Everything hurts as you shake - the only thing holding you together is Erwin’s tight embrace.

The rain pours around you two as you continue to weep into Erwin’s drenched suit. He doesn’t say anything, only placing his hand on top of your head and holding you closer.  

“I don’t know what I could say to help, truthfully. But I know that Levi wouldn’t ever want you to feel this way.” He says finally, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “Terrible things happen, and they can’t be explained. But it’s no one’s fault, not even his. It’s easy to point the blame, but sometimes there isn't anything to blame.”

“That’s not good enough, Erwin.” You mutter in between hitched breaths.

“I know, especially not now. But it will get easier. You need to be more patient with yourself. And be kind.” He whispers down to you, a hand rubbing up and down your back as he talks.

Erwin stays with you until you can breathe again. He offered to take over the eulogy for you, which you gladly accepted. You didn’t even show up to the rest of the funeral, instead opting to sit in Hange’s car until they came for you and drove you home in silence.

.

A few weeks had passed since Levi’s service. At Erwin’s request, you had been more patient with yourself in that time. Of course, none of it was easier - but you weren’t running anymore. With shaky resolve, you were able to bring yourself down to the cemetery.

You twist your wedding band in between two fingers as you walk down the path to where your late husband rests. Your heart feels like it’s about to explode in anticipation. You hadn’t seen the tombstone that Hange helped pick out, so when your eyes finally fall on it, it’s enough to make you stop in your tracks.

Levi Ackerman

Dec. 25th 1983 – Oct. 17th 2023

“The only thing we’re allowed to do is believe that we won’t regret the choice we made.”

He often said to live your life with no regrets. The thing that has been gnawing at you finally comes to you in a new light. Levi wasn’t the type to do anything without thinking. He knew the risks, and you knew the risks of loving him.

Your feet stumble over the soft grass, and you lean down to place a small bouquet of flowers onto the fresh dirt. There’s a layer of permafrost from this morning, just barely starting to melt. Today is warm with the sun out, but that doesn’t stop the fog of breath that comes out with every spoken word.

“I’m sorry for everything I said, Levi. I’m not mad anymore. I just miss you so much.” You sit yourself down carefully, facing the tombstone.

There’s no answer, of course. The only thing you hear is the whistling of the cold wind blowing through the almost empty trees that came with this time of year. You tuck your chin into the scarf wrapped around your neck. It still smells like Levi – clean laundry and pine.

“I don’t want to be here if you’re not. I see you everywhere.” Your words start to choke again. The day of the funeral made that dam within you break open and since then, you find yourself to be more vulnerable. More fragile, like everyone expected. “And I can’t pretend that it’s okay when it’s not. But I’ll try for you, because I know that’s what you’d want.” You whisper, silent tears streaking down your face into the scarf as you shudder.

“I love you. And I will see you again.”

-> Taglist: @humanitys-strongest-bamf @sckerman @nube55 @notgoodforlife @kingkonoha @missyasma @highgoon69 @elsasarahi @kamyru @eriellaa @genyastolemyheart @jadam724 @sujiroses @levisversion @apolloshaiku @secretmoneybearvoid @romantichomicide95 @elnyrae @dkbktk420 @icansmellsouls @levis-squishy-cheeks @missamity @roseofdarknessblog @youre-ackermine @averysmolbear

If you'd like to join my taglist, please go here! (also if you had multichapter fics marked or would be interested in my JJK content, please go back into your answers and recheck them! I fucked up and didn't realize if I changed the answers, it would uncheck things lmao oops)

[god-has-entered-my-body]

LENAAAA 🤭

I caught up on the GJWHF AU and it’s so so hot

Is it too late to ask for F (fave position) and M (motivation) for the alphabet thing?? <3

-Belle 💗

omg of course i missed you babeeee xx

F - favourite position

his favourite position is on his knees in any way because he's a WHORE!!!! Between your legs, looking up at you with wide eyes and a filthy grin on his face. His tongue slowly inching towards your aching core, his pathetic attempt at teasing you quickly shut down when you yank him by the hair, grinding against him like the toy he is. Massive fan of doggy as well xx Being on his hands and knees, the bed shaking and headboard hitting the wall as you fuck into him, your sharp nails digging into his hips painfully. The ball gag in his mouth hindering any attempt at stifling his girlish moans, your relentless teasing only making him harder x

M - motivation

this man LOVES seeing you in your pantsuits and evening dresses. if they show even a sliver of cleavage? oh he's down BAD and on his knees in seconds, pleading and begging to make you feel good x

[ursas-arts]

I'm on that RhineAlice agenda

Tried all the skirt shapes they were bad I say fuckit wide leg pants be upon ye. She would wear a pantsuit lesbihonest.