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wttcsms · 6 months

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i wanna brag about it (i wanna tie the knot) ; choso.

pairing choso x f!reader word count 2.6k synopsis overworked, stressed, and in need of relief, choso comes home to the sight of you looking all pretty and sweet. it's been a long time coming, and tonight is the night where choso finally gives in to his deepest desire: fucking a baby into you. content contains babysitter!au (babysitter!reader), ceo!choso, half-brothers!choso & yuuji, toddler!yuuji, implied age gap, breeding kink, obsessive + possessive!choso, housewife kink, misogynistic ideals, wet n messy, size kink, belly bulge, bro is literally so in love with you and dreams abt starting a family with you

Choso could use a drink right about now.

He’s rummaging through his fridge, more than happy to grab one of the many bottles in the back (he doesn’t want Yuuji accidentally grabbing one by accident — not that it would happen, thanks to your supervision), but he startles away from the fridge when a voice fills the silence of the kitchen.

“Late night?” You tease, giving him that sweet smile of yours that has the stresses from today lifting from his body, easing the weight on his otherwise tense shoulders.

Fuck.

Proof that today was a major shitshow is evident in the fact that Choso has forgotten all about you. Staring at your body clad in nothing more than one of those skimpy cropped-cami-and-boyshorts matching sets you always favor, he finds it hard to believe that he could ever forget about you. The refrigerator light bathes you, envelopes you, casts a warm glow on your soft skin and makes it look like you’re an angel radiating some bright aura. A subtle glance at your entire body allows him a glimpse of two, tiny peaks poking through the thin material of your top. You like keeping the house cold. He swallows hard, finding the willpower to focus on your face.

Not like staring at your face is enough to stop his cock from twitching in his work trousers. In fact, he probably gets even harder looking at you, especially when he can tell you’ve probably just finished your very sacred and meticulous nighttime skincare routine, your face glowing. Seeing you all clean and fresh, savoring the domesticity of you washing your face in the same bathroom he brushes his teeth in, salivating over the way you look standing in his kitchen (it could be yours, too, if you would let him give you everything he wants to) wearing nothing but your pajamas — it all makes his hindbrain want to take over. He’s spent the last fourteen hours stuffed in a boardroom or his office, and your simple existence is enough to soothe his soul and send him spiraling, all at the same time.

Choso could really, really use a drink right about now.

“Sorry, I meant to call to tell you—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile at him goodnaturedly, like you’re not still in college with much better things to do on a Friday night than wait for him to come home.

He should be thankful that you’re so sweet to him, but just the idea that you did have plans tonight makes a hot coil of jealousy tighten in his stomach.

Choso knows that he shouldn’t be feeling this way; he shouldn’t even notice you as much as he does. It starts out with the little things, first, like making sure his assistant gets your favorite snacks restocked during his usual weekly grocery delivery. He asks you about your schoolwork, and then finds himself filing away people he knows in your major’s industry. It’s good to have connections, he tells you, giving you the number to a good business acquaintance of his who’s looking for an intern in the near future. And of course, he’s hyper aware of the fact that you are a very beautiful girl. Unfairly so, with the curve of your lips and the slope of your nose; every time he sees you, he plays a game with himself. Tries to notice something new about you, a beauty mark, a new haircut. If he had the time, he’d probably try to get an exact count of your eyelashes.

And now, he’s noticing too much of you. The way the fabric of your tiny matching set seems to accentuate every aspect of your body. How he can smell the sweet scent of your body wash and lotion. The way you’re staring at him, so innocently, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts that run rampant in his mind every time you have him cornered like this.

Some nights, it’s almost too much to bear.

It’s been a tough day, though. Week. Month. Endless meetings, negotiations that never result in any firm solutions, just more addendums to contracts. He hasn’t seen much of anything besides his office and the boardroom; what’s the point of having an office with a skyline view if he’s too busy staring at spreadsheets and emails to even enjoy it?

Tonight, Choso realizes, is the night where he snaps.

He says your name in such a low register, you almost don’t pick up on it. You’re in the middle of telling him a cute story about what Yuuji did during recess with his pre-k class, but you pause.

Maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like something in the air has shifted. The way your tummy’s butterflies seem to be in overdrive is only proof of this.

You’re used to the perpetual tension between you and Choso. Filthy rich, successful, always in a nice, tailored suit — looking purely on the outside, who wouldn’t want to get fucked by him? The more time you spend with him, the more time you fill the role of mother over just babysitter for little Yuuji, which gives way to deeper observation of Choso. He works incredibly long hours, but still has time to stay updated on all of Yuuji’s comings and goings, accomplishments and awards. He doesn’t have to; it’s not like he’s obligated. After all, Yuuji is his half-brother, a byproduct of his father’s mistress. He didn’t have to take him in, love him with his entire being, but he does, and this makes you fall for him only more.

Then, there’s the fact of how he makes you feel. Every time his hands will brush gently against yours, innocently and so quickly, you swear you’re being electrified. The way he says your name, the way he tells you anything, in that low voice of his is enough to get you squeezing your thighs together. But most of all, it’s the way he looks at you. At first, you thought it was because of your crush, but the longer you work for him, the more you realize that Choso will occasionally stare at you when he thinks you won’t notice.

But how could you not? How could you not detect the feel of his dark eyes scanning your figure, taking in your features? How could you not detect the way his eyes will darken over in lust when he watches you lick sweet cream off your fingers from an explosive can of whipped cream? How could you not catch the barest trace of a smile as he watches you interact with Yuuji at a park, willing to get your hands dirty to appease the toddler while Choso watches over the two of you from his seat on the bench?

How could you not fall deeper and deeper into his spell when the threads of lust continue to spool, tightening over your body, practically choking you with desire.

You don’t even realize how big Choso is until he’s standing so close to you, towering over you. So much bigger than you to the point where if you look straight ahead, all you can see is the rise and fall of his chest through his white button down (the one you ironed for him this morning).

His hands curl into fists, like he’s restraining himself. “Tell me now,” he breathes out, words coming out tight, like speaking to you civilly is proving to be a strenuous task for him. “Tell me that I shouldn’t fuck you tonight. That I can’t.”

Is he joking, or are you dreaming? You’re hyper aware of your breathing now, of the way you reflexively lick your lips, of the way your nipples are pressed taut against the thin, cotton fabric of your cami. You’re also way too aware of him, with the lustful expression in his eyes that give way to something more, as if this request of his means something more. Most men his age and in his powerful position have a wife or a girlfriend by now. As long as you’ve known him, Choso hasn’t been with anybody.

The stress, the agitation, that annoying, persistent feeling of constantly being pent up — all of it has been building up inside of him. Whoever is going to be on the receiving end of it will be lucky if they’re able to walk the morning after.

“But you can.” You say softly, almost scared that this is some elaborate trick, a means to see if his brother’s babysitter is to be trusted. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

There’s something animalistic in the way he takes you. When he kisses you, it’s hungry. Open-mouthed. Sloppy. It would be invasive if you weren’t so eager to let him, to allow his tongue to hit the roof of your mouth, to swap saliva in the messiest manner possible.

But there’s something gentle there, too. The way his hands cup your face, or travel to rest on your waist. He’s sweet, taking his time to help you slip out of your pajamas, and sweeter still — he lets out an appreciative hum as he takes in the sight of you bare, naked in the kitchen. Fuck a drink, Choso thinks as he takes in your nude body. You’re the only stress relief he needs.

He whispers the nastiest things to you as he gets you to sit on the kitchen island. He asks you to please spread your legs so he can see that pretty pussy of yours, and when you comply, he takes in a sharp breath before running a single, cold finger against your wet folds. He makes a crude, appreciative comment, asking you are you really this wet, baby? All of this because of me? For me?

You can’t answer him, of course. Talking is hard when he’s using two fingers to fuck you open, get you ready to take his cock. He’s knuckles deep, and when he curls his fingers right there, the only thing you’re capable of saying is a squeal of his name. Your juices are pooling into a puddle on the counter, the same counter where you served him breakfast so many hours ago.

He loves watching you. Choso could watch you every second for the rest of his life and still never get his fill of you. He only catches you during particularly chaste moments, moments where you’re humming in the kitchen or playing with Yuuji. He loves those scenes; it feeds the archaic, masculine ego inside of him that tells him he needs to make life easier for you. That you shouldn’t have to worry about school or work, about money or other frivolous things he has an abundance of. He wants to take care of you.

Seeing the way you lose control of yourself from the work of his own hand has him getting unbearably hard in his work slacks. He loves watching you, and he knows he’s going to love watching you get all depraved and drunk on his cock.

When Choso first tries to ease just the tip in, you have to curl your fingers over the edge of the counter, trying to steel yourself. With how wet and willing you are, it should be an easy enough task, but it’s made difficult by the fact that he’s just too thick.

Tip red and angry, leaking with pre, wide — just the sight of Choso’s cock is enough to get you even wetter, more pliant for him, but even the first stretch still has you hissing.

“S’okay, baby.” He groans, one hand on your waist, trying to steady you, keep you still so he can keep on pushing himself deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You certainly don’t feel like you’re doing much of anything. It’s hard, when you can’t stop your walls from clamping down on his cock, making it harder for him to move or even think. When he fully enters you, your mind is already too dizzy with pleasure to think straight. You think he says something, but you’re not sure what, and you try to focus on his words, you really do, but then he starts thrusting, and you think it’s powerful enough to tilt the axis of the earth.

Oh, so this is what sex is supposed to feel like. He redefines everything you thought you knew about it. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, the way the slickness and heat of your pussy seems to keep motivating him to go harder, the way if you look down, you can spot a tiny bulge every time he hits as deep as he can go — all of this combined marks the height of pleasure for you.

“You’re so perfect.” He grunts out, relishing in the way you tighten up at his words. Your eyes are a bit glazed, almost like you’re struggling to focus on what’s in front of you. He doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, there’s pride settling inside his gut as he realizes that he’s the one fucking all the sense out of you. “Let’s do this every night, baby. Do you like the sound of that? Of being my stress relief?”

He knows that you’re too far gone, too deep in the haze of pleasure, to process his words, to answer him.

“I wanna fuck you forever, baby. Make you my pretty, little wife and have you waitin’ at home for me. How does that sound?”

He assumes when your pussy tightens up that that’s a yes.

His hand finds your own, and he interlinks your fingers together. He might be fucking you all messy on the kitchen counter, but he still holds an overwhelming amount of affection for you. Of course he would want to hold your hand.

He traces your ring finger, feels the familiar sensation of his release building up. So close, he thinks to himself. He’s so close to getting everything he wants.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum right. In. Your. Fucking. Pussy.” Each word is emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, and this — him saying that — is what your sex-addled mind registers. You’re vaguely aware that this could be a bad idea, but you’re too addicted to chasing after your high that you don’t put a stop to it. “Gonna give you a baby.”

“Please.” You moan out, the word coming out ragged and strained. Speaking is difficult, so so difficult. He’s happy to hear your beautiful voice, nonetheless.

“Atta girl. I knew you would understand.”

As if confirming to him that the two of you are meant to be, you both cum at the same time. You feel weightless and drowsy, too out of it to even process how sloppy and wet the mess in between your legs is right now. If Choso pulls out, his cum and your juices would make the counter even more slippery.

But Choso doesn’t pull out. His cock stays nestled in your wet heat, and he admires your fucked out form. You look a bit different from the fresh and clean girl who greeted him when he came home, but that’s okay. He loves you for you, every iteration you have to offer. He’ll carry you to the bedroom, where he can fuck you nicely, sweetly. Maybe he’ll try his hardest to not go too hard when he has you in a mating press. And after getting his fill of you, after the stresses of work disappear from his mind completely, then he’ll take you to the bathroom and get you all nice and clean.

He’ll even be a gentleman, showcase what a great husband he’ll be, by letting you sleep in while he cooks the family breakfast.

#choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #one shot #drabble #smut #jjk smut #choso smut #choso kamo x reader #jjk fanfiction

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londonspacegirl · 2 years

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Might treat myself to these soon. In need of a trip to primark. Last time was in London last month.

#primark #pajamas set #tahirt and trousers

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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

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bau-drabbles · 1 year

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lia im so sorry ur not feeling super awesome :(

how about comforting stressed Spencer? a case had been really hard on him so reader helps him change when he gets home or something whatever you wanna do it doesn’t have to be that exactly! but I just wanna comfort this boi so bad 😖

thank u sm babe <3 🥹 sorry i got to it late but i hope you enjoy. it's kinda rushed but i'll probably redo it later :)

afterglow

you're in the bedroom, getting changed for bed until you catch sight of your boyfriend in the mirror. your eyes watch him a little alarmed, seeing his absolutely defeated form.

its the way he comes in, you know something had happened. spencer looks absolutely defeated as he leans his body on the bedroom door, his head against the wall trying to collect his thoughts but they're spiralling and he feels a breakdown occurring at any second now. the first tear falls and you turn to face him properly, looking at him with slight shock and sympathy. he looks at you, his hazel eyes are so full of sadness you could almost drown in them.

"you wanna talk about it?" you ask softly walking towards him and he shakes his head, sniffling as he brings you in closer. you can see the tears brimming his eyes and while he's determined not to crumble, he doesn't have control over his emotions now.

"just wanna forget" he mumbles in your neck and you nod, stroking your hand through his curls tenderly.

"here, come and change and we can watch something" you gently pull him inside the bedroom

despite him being taller you reach up and untie his tie, he watches you as you gently place the material on the side. then you unbutton his cardigan, letting it slip over his shoulders. his shirt is the next to go while he pulls it over his head. you grab his pj top and help him into it while he discards his work trousers and places his pajama bottoms on. he looks so adorable in the dark green set, you can't help a soft chuckle leaving your lips. the corners of his lips turn upwards, watching you in happiness. he's so glad he has you to come home to, he has you that cares for him

"you hungry?" you ask, looking at him. he nods and before you can turn to the kitchen, his arms pulls your waist in and he sighs softly in your neck.

"can we just stay like this for a second?" he mumbles softly, his hands tightening slightly over your hips and you chuckle, bringing him closer as your arms go around his neck

"whatever you need"

#asks #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fanfiction

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luveline · 2 years

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eddie blurb? you wake up sad and sweaty from a nightmare and he isnt there (he’s legit just outside smokin but the reader is scared as shit and whatnot) feel free to ignore this lol

im obsessed with soft comforting eddie ty for requesting!

1k words gn!reader tw nightmares about dying/death

The seconds that it takes you to realise where you are are almost as scary as the nightmare itself, though by the time you come around you have no clue what the nightmare was, the only evidence of its happening is a layer of clammy sweat on your skin, your racing heart, and the twin streams of tears down the sides of your face.

What was the nightmare about? You try to remember. Hurting, a loss, grief. Somebody had been missing. Somebody… but who? Pale skin, dark brown eyes, a pretty nose. A mouth shaped by kisses.

Eddie. Eddie had been missing. You can't remember the details and you aren't sure you want to, but you think that the nightmare had been about losing Eddie.

And… where is he?

You feel his side of the bed and find it cold. The window of his bedroom is closed to stave off the growing winter chill and the layer of blankets over you is thick. Your boyfriend usually acts as a space heater. The cold sheets can't be a good sign.

He must be gone.

You bite your lip hard by accident and jolt, pushing the suffocating layer of blankets off of your sweaty body and staggering onto dead legs, dizzy and disoriented. Your shirt and pajama trousers are damp with moisture.

You almost trip over discarded clothes – yours and his – on your way to the door, creeping cautiously past Eddie's Uncle Wayne sleeping on the sofa bed and through the dark living room. The trailer home doesn't retain much heat and the floor is freezing even through your socks.

You see what you hope to see. The door cracked open. Still, the nightmare plays on your mind. He'd been missing, something had happened to him. You'd woken up just as something was going to happen to you, you realise. Suddenly the dark is terrifying. You rush the last few feet to the porch and push it open, and there Eddie is in his pajamas, a cigarette hanging between his lips, his notebook in hand.

He quickly sets the notebook aside when he sees you and takes a drag of his cigarette before pulling it away. Smoke streams between his fingers. "Hey, shortcake," he says quietly, flicking ash into the ashtray by his thigh. "I'm coming back in. Two seconds."

You don't have time to speak as you drop to your knees and wrap your arms around him.

He flinches. "Uh tu tu, babe! I'll burn you."

"Eddie," you say tearfully. "I was so scared."

You don't mean to admit the last part, but it's true. You'd never felt a dread that pervasive in your life. Even now it sticks around, your limbs lead with its weight.

"What?" he asks, horrified.

You sniffle and dig your head into his chest as he wraps one of his arms around you, the soft material of a zip up hoodie he'd thrown on pressed to your clammy clothes.

"You were scared? What happened?"

You can't say it out loud. You need a minute.

Eddie waits patiently. You listen as he blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth and snuffs out the cigarette butt, his second arm coming to wrap around you. You've basically collapsed into his arms, your face slipping down so that it's almost at his stomach.

"Sweetheart?" he asks.

"I had a bad dream," you admit, embarrassed but so relieved, soaking in his warmth as the cold air threatens to freeze you on the spot like two human icicles.

He pets your shoulders. "Yeah? What happened."

"You were gone." Your voice cracks. "I can't remember the rest."

"Hey. It's okay," he murmurs.

"Sorry, I know it's stupid."

Eddie tsks and needles his arms under yours to drag you up the length of his chest, pulling you close. Your face locks into place over his trap muscle like a jigsaw piece, like it has a hundred times before.

"It's not stupid."

You wiggle your face into his neck, needing to be closer than close.

"Sorry I wasn't there when you woke up," he says.

"It's okay," you whisper.

Eddie starts to sway you gently from one side to the other, hands working roughly up and down your back in an attempt to warm you up. It works. His hands feel like brands in the cold.

You hide your own hands in the soft mess of his dark curls, pulling a handful to your face to breathe in. He smells like he usually smells, the sweet, heavy smell of a bruised apple. The heady hints of cologne from the day before. The cloying whispers of cigarette smoke.

"We should go inside. It's cold out here," Eddie says.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

He takes your neck into his hands and guides you back, sliding his palms slowly upwards. Heat seeps into your jaw, your cheeks.

He meets your gaze. "Of course I'm okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream, baby. We're both okay."

You stare at his chin, sheepish. "I know. It felt… it felt so real. I woke up and you felt gone. I can't explain it."

"I can imagine it."

"Yeah?" you ask, bringing your eyes up back to his. He's a mixture of concerned and empathetic. A hint of sadness.

"Yeah, I think so. I don't ever want to know how it would feel to lose you."

You sniffle and he clocks your teary eyes. He pinches your wet nose between his fingers gently, then drags the tip of his index finger under your heavy lashes.

"Let's go back to bed," he says firmly.

You nod and let him lead you into the trailer, through the cold living room and back to the sanctuary of his bed. He doesn't complain when you climb on top of him though it can't be comfortable, your thighs between his and your arms wrapped around his neck.

In fact, he smiles. "I like how you feel on top of me. Your weight."

You smile back shyly. "Push me off if I get too heavy."

"Never," he whispers through his grin.

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x reader fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things #x reader

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chiropteracupola · 2 months

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"Sleepers in the Peat," 2022.

two years ago I wrote a short story. finally got around to posting it.

The water was bitter here. Beneath thick layers of branching sphagnum moss, it rose from the earth in drips and drenches, pooling in little reed-ringed ponds and lying smooth as glass. A faint curtain of mist drifted across the bogland, obscuring the far-off tree-line and rendering the world somewhat distant from the clear light of the morning.

It was beside one of these little wells of peaty water that she crouched, clipboard and pencil in hand, the raincoat drawn over her broad shoulders a green only a shade less saturated than the moss. Her name, scribed in graphite across the top of her sheet of notes, was Theo-short-for-Theodora, a fact that she had had to explain nearly every time she introduced herself. She had shaped it better to fit herself, although out in the silence of the marshes, there was very little need for such a thing as a name.

Kneeling now, Theo dipped a gloved hand into the water, pressed the acid-tangy water to her lips. She breathed in, and breathed in bitterness. Fibers of moss crept into her nostrils, taking root in her lungs like branching alveoli. This, then, was the culmination of all her work, all her study, the taste of it at last on her tongue.

The faces of the ancient dead had always fascinated her. Their empty eyes, skin smoothed by ice or desert to touch the contours of the skull, lips drawn back from ground-down teeth. It was not the frozen explorers with their eyes still wide and dove-blue that captivated her, nor the ancient kings with their desiccated, dead-lizard hands, nor yet the strange distorted faces of those preserved beneath honey until even their bones took on a sweetness. Theo, young, had traced the crisply-printed pictures set on slick photo-paper in the centers of her books, memorizing the images of those gone down and buried in the peat. She became something of an expert in names that her schoolmates did not recognize, Tollund and Lindow, Windeby and Old-Croghan. They lay still in black-and-white against their backgrounds of sand, so unlike the living people that walked just beyond her windows, and Theo, in her way, preferred that stillness.

Still, she watched the living move all the same. There was a casual grace to them that fascinated Theo, the way in which hips shifted as the feet fell one in front of the other, how hands settled in close at the waist. She herself stood with her hands apart, her thumbs tucked into the loops of a belt.

Just as other children had run in gleeful circles on the blacktop while she stayed inside, book in hand, they kissed and laughed now in dizzy blue-dawn hours. Theo preferred to sleep instead, lazing curled in bed while the world spun by outdoors. Dressed in pajama trousers with torn-out knees and rolled-up hems, she drew layer after layer of blanket over herself, sinking deeper into the quiet dark. In those solitary nights, though, she sought nonetheless, and dreamed of moss beneath her fingers, of the strange faces of the mire-mummified dead. She would see them sure and true one day, Theo knew, and know the taste of the same tannin that so preserved them.

The North, that was where they were to be found, where ancient peat tracked patchily across Europe and left the dead preserved in its wake. Her grandmother had called that place homeland, and Theo had scoffed behind her hand. What connection had she, really, to that place? Without invitation, she could not walk on that soil with the sort of fierce pride that her grandmother held onto so tightly.

“You’ll see one day, Theodora,” her grandmother said, and nudged back the crooked postcards of green, green hills that had slipped slightly from their places on the refrigerator. The words sat sourly around Theo’s shoulders, and with time, refused to rot away.

They clung, sticky and leaden, and Theo would have liked to scream at the feeling of them. What did her grandmother know, she with her good marriage to her good man, her ticking, soap-sweet house, her fine bed in the back bedroom where she slept as contentedly as a cat? Her grandmother’s hair was short in the fashion of old women, cut so that it hid how pale and thin it had become. Theo’s own hair was just as short, cropped by hand in a dim mirror with a sort of ferocity intended to put the viewer in mind of steel-toed boots and hard-wearing canvas. No use putting them back to back and calling them the same. And so, Theo shut her mouth, dragged her hand down the side of her face as if to tie shut her jaw. For all that she railed against those words, the postcards pinned against the refrigerator door were green, green, green.

Try as she might, Theo never slept well in her grandmother’s house. The air was hot and resolutely mint-sweet, the blankets thin against the heaviness of summer. Time was just as heavy there, a clock always ticking away beside the cabinets in the kitchen, machinery humming uselessly within the walls.

Theo crept from the house and settled in the still-warm chair on her grandmother’s far-too-neat lawn. It had been cut to within an inch of its life just that morning, the first of those two precise twice-a-week rounds of mower and rake and clippers that kept the street-facing yard perfect. All the same, in the warm night, Theo’s skin stuck, sweaty, to the plastic slats of the chair, and the heat of it felt far too alive for her liking. She peeled her arms away from it, drew her knees to her chest, sat folded up in herself like an Andean king of old. Behind her eyes, all was green, the green of hollow hills and deep water.

So she thought on it, and so she laid her plans. She did her work with a tired slowness, her motions static and mechanical even as the tasks, somehow, managed to get done. The grinding stasis of daily life dragged forward, every sample of moss and spreadsheet of data creeping closer to the proper work in the field she sought. And then, all in a maze of mist, there she was in the North of the world, the treads of her boots sinking into wet sedge as the fog drew itself in close around her.

There were other sorts of bogs than the sort that made a face into such a bitter ambrotype as those that so fascinated her. Theo had seen the ones where cranberries were grown before, red as all love in the dark water, crisscrossed with boards to serve as footpaths. This was not such a bog, and made no such deceptions about its helpfulness or its safety. This was peat all the way down, heavy and wet and certain. In another thousand thousands of years, pressure would render that peat down to coal, and in another circling of time, perhaps diamond. All carbon, just as she was, and no light. Cool, static, stable, deep, the water still as it filtered slow and soft through the moss. Not so kind, no, but all the same it might hold her gently in the wide green palm of its hand.

So she knelt down into it, uncaring of the stains it would leave on the knees of her trousers, twined her fingers in among the curls of sphagnum. Pulling it away in fraying chunks, as perhaps the ancestors her grandmother had spoken of had done, Theo dug, watching water rise, grey and changeable as the sky, to fill the opening she had made in the peat. Down below, she knew she would find what she had searched for for so long. And oh — her hand met slick solidity, not peat at all.

The girl in the bog was unchangeable, frozen in amber. She was no body behind museum-glass, lying in state as if to be awoken by a kiss, but sleeping fast in untouchable earth. Her face, leathery and smooth, was unwrinkled despite the years. She could have been born the very same day as Theo, for all that the centuries showed upon her skin. Her hair, falling wispy about her face, had been reddened by hundreds of years of tannins. The sun caught upon it and turned it to the gold of autumn-dried acorns, sharp as straw. There would be grit in her mouth, dust from the rough millstone that had ground down grain, hardly noticeable behind the rich green smell of the bog.

Gloved hands scraped away wet threads of moss, smoothing over skin with as light a touch as Theo could manage. Under her fingers, the girl shifted, drawing up her shoulders as she yawned. Her eyes stayed closed, but all the same, Theo felt that she was seen.

The girl raised herself up languidly on one elbow, water sloughing off in trickles and streams from every seam and crevice of her body. Her ribs stood out in perfect parallel, still wrapped tightly by the skin of her sides.

“Hello,” said Theo, not knowing what else to say. The girl in the bog smiled at her with crooked, blackened teeth, and reached out to her. Her hands were small, round, doll-like, but still soft as burnished leather, the fingernails as neatly trimmed as if she had cut them the day before the peat closed over her.

She stroked the buzzed-short ends of the hair at the back of Theo’s neck as she leant closer, drifts of wet soil sloughing from her skin, and frowned.

“Why did they cut your hair?”

“I cut it myself. I liked it better that way — it felt right to do it before I came here.” Then, pausing, seeing the wind flick at her rust-red, blunt-hacked locks, “Did you—“

“They cut it before they sent me here. But it fits, doesn’t it? It was you that made yourself ready for me.”

“I suppose it was,” said Theo, and meant it. There was a rightness to it, a reason that she had not put words to before.

“Come down with me,” she said, and Theo could not help but follow. Half-laughing, she thought of the promises of the red-haired rusalki she’d read of in her books of tales. To walk down into the sweet water and meet a maiden there, and hear her speak words just as sweet of eternal youth in her kingdom down beneath the riverbed, was an old story, and one that she might find herself believing now. But the water of a peat bog is bitter, as are all things that keep memories safe, and it wasn’t youth, but eternity only, that the girl in the bog had promised her.

To be preserved, young arms entwined with ones that centuries ago were young, was all that she’d receive. But what more had she desired to begin with? The choice had been made long before she had ever set foot there. Theo extended a hand, stripped off its pale blue latex glove like a snake shedding its skin. Placing it atop her clipboard, she set aside the plastic barrier as if laying out an altar’s worth of grave-goods. She shucked the green raincoat and heavy backpack from her shoulders — she’d have another coat of that same verdant color where she was going, once the moss had closed over the both of them. Then, lowering herself feet-first into the open space amid the moss, Theo leaned down and met the girl’s mouth with her own.

The kiss was thick with pollen, and Theo inhaled it without any of the fear she had previously associated with such things. There was a sweetness to it, a choking flavor of juniper and sap as it poured like sand into her throat. Theo wondered, a little, that she could breathe through it, but it was no longer a time for wondering. Instead, her eyes slid softly shut, and the cool, deep darkness was all that remained. It was not the iron-red dark of closed eyes in sunlight, but a bitter and at the same time refreshing green-dark, a soft sort of shadow that spoke of nothing at all but the faintest edges of dreams.

Drawing the peat back over them, the girl curled herself fast around Theo’s back, cradling her in earth as if in the palm of a hand. Twining together beneath the moss, the water crept up over them both one more. As Theo sank, her eyelids slipped closed, and her head drifted downwards all the while. It twisted sideways on Theo’s neck, slipping bonelessly forwards, and down with it she went into dreamless sleep, bog water growing ever sweeter in her mouth.

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #bogstory #there are some things that I would do differently if I was writing this now. however this one is going to be what it is.#look! they are posting an original ghost story on a day Other than halloween! what a rare occurrence!

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nicxl333 · 11 months

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MEETING IN MY BEDROOM- NANAMI KENTO X FEM!READER

warnings: 18+, smut, prolonged orgasm, oral (f!recieving), light bondage (tying up with a belt), praise, breeding, unprotected sex

summary: you’ve been feeling neglected, so nanami makes it up to you

word count: 1.4k

you lay on the couch in the living room,

ignoring the tv, bored out of your mind. your boyfriend, namami, was late coming home yet again. this was the third time this week and you were starting to grow annoyed. yes, he was busy due to his packed life of being the ceo of his company, but it wouldn't kill him to take some time off to spend it with you.

the dinner you made earlier, lay uneaten and cold on the kitchen counter so you decided to pack it into a container before heading off to bed.

you did your nightly routine and dressed yourself in a silk two piece pajama set before slipping yourself between the covers, glancing over towards the empty spot where he would lay. you sighed to yourself and turned around in the bed, trying to sleep the stress away.

that's when you heard it.

the jingle of keys in the front door, the door opening and footsteps walking into the apartment. he was here.

the sounds of scuffling resounded through the apartment before you heard small quiet steps approaching the closed door. there stood nanami, watching your figure as you lay and turned towards him.

"well you clearly have your timing under wraps."

he sighed at your sarcastic remark, walking towards you and sitting at the edge of the bed, mere inches away from you before beginning to lightly stroke your face.

"i know sweetheart and i'm sorry. i got caught up in a meeting and had to stay behind. i'm sure you understand how long my work can be."

you leaned into his touch, enjoying it for a moment after being without him for the entire day.

"i do kento, believe me i do, and i appreciate just how much effort you place into it. but it's constant now, i just feel so lonely without you here next to me. is it too much for me to ask my boyfriend to be here a little bit more?"

he leaned forward and placed a kiss on your forehead, looking at you with a loving smile.

"of course not y/n, trust me, i go crazy without you by my side." he moved towards your cheek.

“without your beautiful smile lighting up the room.”

he moved lower, kissing your lips slowly and sensually.

"without your perfect body."

he moved lower still, latching his lips onto your neck, instantly finding your sweet spot, making you moan out in bliss.

"without your angelic voice, moaning my name."

you couldn't take it anymore, your lust level hitting the roof. you wanted him now.

"k-kento please fuck me..."

he looked up at you, a smirk gracing his face.

"what was that princess?"

"please just fuck me!"

"hmmm...tell me what you want me to do to you first."

he then got on top of you, his knee leading directly to where your clothed clit lay. he started slowly rubbing on it, driving you insane.

"go on...i'm waiting."

"fuck! i w-want you to pound into me so damn hard until i'm crying out for you to stop. then...shit! then, i want you to tell me just how good i'm being for you."

nanami then stopped rubbing you, moving away for a second to take off his suit. he did it painfully slow, trying to tease the shit out of you. it was clearly working though, as your eyes were silently pleading for him to hurry up.

first the suit jacket came off, then the shirt, his chiselled abs being revealed, like a greek god on display. next went the trousers. he took of his belt and kept it in his hand while removing his bottoms at the same time, his body bare save for the black boxers, with a very prominent bulge poking out.

"i think this'll come in handy for the time being. arms up darling."

he then hovered over you, whilst you followed his instructions. he placed your wrists against the headboard, entwining them with the belt. he tightened the strap, making sure it wasn't too tight for you. he stood back and admired his work.

"now i would grant your wish, but i want to have my fun first. spread those legs for me y/n."

"but kento...i want you-"

"i know princess, i know. how about this then; if you can be a good girl for me then i'll give you what you want. but if you're bad..."

he came up to your ear, his hot breath hitting your skin.

"i'll see to it that you'll be crying for me to stop."

he then moved back, lowering his body until he was face to face with your lower half.

"may i?"

you nodded and he slipped your shorts down, nearly melting when he saw that you had nothing on underneath.

"no underwear? bold statement y/n."

he took in the sight before him. your cunt was wet and dripping, a sight he often liked to see. he wasted no time in diving right in, licking a long stripe, then latching onto your clit. you moaned out and squeezed your thighs against his head, trying to trap him. which resolved in a harsh slap to them.

"aht aht, what did i say y/n?"

he then pried your legs open making sure they stayed there while he started eating you out like it was his last meal on death row. you were restricted so the only thing you could do was lie there and take it all. as if the pleasure wasn't enough already he then proceeded to add his fingers in, thrusting at a fast pace.

"fuckk kento, it's too much!"

he ignored you, carrying on thrusting right up until he felt you clench onto him. he pulled away while you started whimpering at the loss of contact. until you saw him pulling down his boxers. he then placed his dick on your entrance, rubbing it until the head was coated in your juices.

"god princess, you're dripping for me." he groaned.

"kento please stop messing around and fuck me already!"

"oi. now we'll never get anywhere with that bratty, impatient attitude will we?" he then started teasing your clit with his dick.

“is this what you want?”

you shook your head. he then moved lower back to your entrance again.

"perhaps this?"

"nanami please...j-just fuck me i can't take it anymore!"

that's when all forms of self control snapped within nanami and he pushed himself in, bottoming out instantly. your walls encaged him, blocking any forms of escape.

"hmmm...you're so fucking tight sweetheart. it's like you don't want me to ever leave." he grunted while starting to rock his body back and forth.

"pick up the pace nanami, please god."

for once, he complied, starting to pound into you with great speed, making the both of you moan and groan in pleasure.

“god isn’t the one making you feel good y/n, what’s my name?”

"kento! baby please, i wanna hold you."

he stopped for a second and undid the belt buckle, releasing it from your sore wrists. your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and he continued his pace.

"fuck y/n, you feel so good." nanami groaned into your neck. his words of praise added to the pleasure making you moan out more for him.

the smell of sweat, sex and pure love wafted throughout the room while the both of you neared your climax. nanami felt himself getting close before you so he reached down and quickly started rubbing on your clit, which made you instantly reach your limit. the grasp you had on him made him weak and he felt him self release right after, his cum flowing into your body.

all was silent for a moment, the pair of you taking a moment to calm down from the intensity of your orgasms.

"you didn't pull out kento."

"ah shit!"

he bounced up, ready to get the plan b pill from the bathroom.

"wait! kento. what if i wanted to keep it. would you?"

he stood there, eyes bulged at you. you were talking about a baby. a living, walking, crying baby. this would mean so much for the both of you and to be quite frank, he liked the thought of it. after a second he gained composure and opened his mouth to talk.

"i think we're ready."

#nanami x reader #kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen

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leclsrc · 1 year

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i love your proposal drabbleeee! could i get another about time based one where theyre planning the wedding? happy 1k!! i love u and the movie so much<3

honeymooning – cl16

You find a creative way to quickly plan your wedding.

auds here... ik i said that was the last req but i have so many im just ignoring jshdhs and i just rewatched about time so this was Birthed... sorry

“We’ve officially broken the world record for time spent engaged and not married,” you announce, walking into the living room of your flat in a hoodie and loose pajamas.

Charles looks up from where he’d been reviewing something—finances for the team, if you recall correctly—and adjusts his reading glasses (that he will never admit he has to use.) And he laughs, like this is all a joke. You place your hands on your hips, rolling on the balls of your feet as you stare at him menacingly.

“I am not joking. The only thing we’ve—you’ve—decided about our wedding is that I’m going to be walking down the aisle to some weird song you heard in The Godfather.”

“A lovely song,” he interjects, watching you walk until you’re just a few metres in front of him.

“Absolutely not.” You pause, breathing slowly. “And we have no other mutual free days for a while. So here’s the deal—for every decision you make about the wedding, I take one article of clothing off.”

He laughs outwardly, nodding and setting aside the thick stack of paper he’d been perusing. “Deal. You have my attention.” He settles further into the chair, staring at you with want and amusement.

“Um, okay. Where do we get married?” You smile.

“Italy. Everyone knows everyone here in Monaco, and everywhere else is too far.”

“Okay,” you agree, wrestling the hoodie off and revealing your bra underneath. “Good.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says quickly before you slide into the next prompt.

“Sweet talker,” you retort, settling your thumbs into the drawstring of your trousers and readying them to pull downward. “Alright. Band or DJ?”

“Oh, shit.” He thinks. “Band. It’s got to be band. And if that goes to shit we plug in a phone and play Spotify the rest of the night.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “Smart,” you huff out, pulling your pajamas down. He stares, eyes running up and down, anticipatory. Fingers make their way to the clasp of your bra and you mull over the next question. You’ve both settled on a few things—catering and cake and the like—so you skip over those. Then you remember the reason why your guestlist remains unfinished and unfinalized.

“Best man?”

“Oh, nooo,” he moans. “Damn, no.”

“I need an answer,” you sing-song, playing with the clasp. “Or these stay covered all night.”

“It’s too hard, beautiful,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. “Okay. Fuck, okay—Joris.”

“Your choice,” you say, brows raised.

“He’s going to make a fool out of me during his speech, isn’t he.”

“Very likely.”

“Okay, no—Lorenzo.”

“You sure?”

“No—no, Pierre. Pierre.” He nods once. “Pierre.”

“Pierre, final answer,” you say smilingly, unclasping your bra. He smiles, giddy when he finally gets to see almost all of you.

“Yeeee—no, no, Lorenzo.”

“What?!” Your hands flee to cover your breasts and you narrow your eyes at him. “You are such a—that is cheating. Cheating!”

He just laughs, shrugging his shoulders as if to say what can you do. You roll your eyes, but maintain composure, nodding slowly. “Alright… oh, honeymoon.”

“Uh, uuuh—five days in Paris,” he says eventually, grinning.

“Oh, these panties are not coming off for Paris.” Granted, it’s a beautiful city, but both you and Charles are there nearly all the time for work, and it’s so near Monaco it’s basically the same thing.

“It’s all I can do for my schedule,” he retorts, insistent. “Take off your panties.”

He has a glint in his eye that strikes both amusement and competition in you.

“I will not,” you shoot, smiling and stepping backwards once, hands still covering your chest.

“Take! Off! Your panties!” He hollers, getting up and making a beeline for you. You squeal, turning around and bounding up the stairs toward your bedroom; he’s hot on your tail, laughing.

“Never!” You yelp, a high-pitched sound as you take refuge in the bedroom. “I want three weeks in Hawaii!”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x reader

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just4uniquecom · 2 years

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#casual trousers for men #denim crop jeans #flared skinny jeans #how to wear flare jeans #men's pajama sets

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veinsfullofstars · 3 months

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See you in July.

(ID: Good Omens fanart of Aziraphale & Crowley during the 2020 Lockdown special. They sit back to back glancing over their shoulders at each other, Aziraphale on our left sitting in a high-backed chair of brown wood and red cushions, Crowley on our right, sitting lower to the ground against a fluffy white pillow, a red blanket covering his legs. Azirpahale wears an olive-green sweater vest, his signature bowtie and pinkie ring, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, beige trousers, and white socks. He holds a maroon corded phone to his ear, several towering stacks of books behind him, some topped with plates of tea and cake. Crowley wears a set of simple black pajamas, holding a smartphone to his ear. END ID.)

I thank Neil and the team every day for putting that out there during a time when we all really, really needed it.

Started 05/02/20, finished 05/09/20, and posted 05/10/20 a.k.a. Good Omens’ 30th anniversary... which is not 05/01/20 like we’d all collectively thought it was at the time, Neil included. A silly mistake, but, hey, we got two celebrations out of it, so win-win. Also NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 08/07/23.

#veins art #veins old art #veins ships #veins fanart #fanart #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #good omens lockdown #no spoilers for season 2 #I care them a normal amount #veinsfullofstars

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gullei · 6 months

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Make your winter dreams come true with our Couples Matching Thick Fleece Pajamas Set. Cozy up and stay warm together – order now!

#Couples Matching Thick Fleece Pajamas Set Winter Sleepwear #loungewear sets #Nightwear Dress #women sleepwear #women loungewear #pyjamas #pajamas #trouser pajama #matching pjs for couples #family xmas jammies #couples xmas pjs #matching xmas pjs family #family christmas pj #family christmas pajamas #matching sleepwear #matching couple pajamas #gullei.com matching couple pajamas

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five-miles-over · 11 months

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For All Time, It Was Always You

Chapter 3 - Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm

A/N: It's a series now! Thank you all for your positive comments, your likes, and reblogs. Click here for Chapter 2: Mrs. Laufeyson

(Pairing: Loki x Wife!Reader)

Summary: The best way to a man's - or a god's - heart is through his stomach.

Warnings: Fluff, silliness, an infomercial that's not meant to offend anyone.

You turned the knob of the television in the living room, letting a soap opera play in the background while you washed the dishes - including those from Loki's breakfast - and preheated the oven. Then, following the cookbook's instructions, you prepared the batter for an angel food cake, a dessert you were hoping to dress with whipped cream and strawberries for your - yes, you were really saying it - husband. If there were two jars of strawberry jam, maybe it meant that Loki really liked strawberries. Or there was some kind of two-for-one deal at the store.

While the cake baked in the oven, you took a shower after tinkering with the hot and cold faucets. With a towel wrapped around yourself when you were done, you shuffled your feet into the master bedroom. You opened one of the large wardrobes opposite from the window, finding an entire rack of crisp white shirts and brown dress pants - probably Loki's uniform for work - along with tuxedos and pajamas. You didn't think about opening the drawers beneath the racks of clothing, assuming they would be filled with your husband's underwear and socks.

Speaking of underwear…where was the laundry room? You made a mental note to find it at some point, so you could use the washing machine. Also, did Loki wear boxers or briefs? Biting your lip, you brought yourself to imagine which of the two it could be, thinking of the way you checked out his ass that morning while making breakfast. How nicely the fabric hugged the curve of his rear. It definitely had to be boxers, surely briefs would've left some kind of outline. Or…what if he wasn't wearing any underneath those pants? You bit the inside of your cheek and crossed your arms, still damp from your shower.

The smell of vanilla wafting into the bedroom silently reminded you that the cake was done, like an invisible tap on the shoulder. You snapped out of your reverie, looked through the other wardrobe and found a flattering midi-dress to wear over a lacy bra and a girdle. Now dressed, you took the golden-brown, light to the touch, warm cake out of the oven and let it cool. Meanwhile, the soap opera on the living room television was now replaced by a vague infomercial for a fancy kitchen gadget made by Stark Industries. You didn't know what it really did, or how much it cost, but it was apparently 'life-changing', 'ground-breaking', and only made by Stark Industries.

It didn't take long for you to find a few other gadgets laying around the house. Inside a closet within the hallway was a vacuum cleaner, which you used to clean the living room and the other carpets in the house. Not that there was anything much to clean, considering the house seemed spotless to begin with. While you moved the vacuum around the welcome mat, you looked over your shoulder at a new infomercial.

"Are you tired of playing the dating game over and over again? Exasperated by the lack of paramours unwilling to cuddle with you? Does the loneliness of the night bring you sadness? Tired of all the nights alone with you and your fingertips? Do you wish for an attractive sweetheart you can flaunt to your friends and family, and to all the nosy strangers who ask why you're still single? Introducing the newest product from Cambridge Technologies, TOM H."

The spokesperson gestured to a six-foot tall male with perfectly combed dark-blonde hair with a slight curl, wearing a navy blue blazer and a matching set of trousers with a light blue dress shirt underneath. "Look at him," the spokesperson beamed. "His cheekbones are so sharp, I could grate cheese on them!"

The male smirked. "I love cheese, 'specially when paired with wine. And the company of a lovely lady."

Wait…this man looked familiar. Where had you seen him before? Squinting, you turned off the vacuum and began to fluff the pillows on the couch, keeping your eyes on the screen.With a fake laugh, the spokesperson turned to face the camera.

"Short for Technologically-Optimized Male Humanoid, TOM H. is equipped with the ability to speak seven different languages, including French, Spanish, and even Latin. He can open doors for your, pull your chair out, hold an umbrella for you when it rains, and even apologize for calling you beautiful! That's right, ladies, he's got every single piece of etiquette mastered at the back of his hand. No more worrying about guys who laugh at misogynistic jokes, or guys who treat you like a piece of meat. Our new android will make sure you spend everyday feeling like a princess!"

You continued to reluctantly clean the living room while the spokesperson continued to brag about the abilities of this supposedly life-like android. How many other people were watching this advertisement right now? And were any of them actually considering buying this android? Moreover, how would one actually take care of an android? Did it require charging like any other electronic device? Did it pretend to sleep at night?

On-screen, the spokesperson showed the android relaxing in bed, wearing nothing but boxers, and droned on and on about the android's ability to give warm cuddles and recite poetry at the drop of a hat. Then the scene changed to the android standing in the kitchen, wearing a black apron over a three-piece suit and preparing some kind of pasta dish. The android gave a cheeky smile to the camera, as if it was perfectly aware that somewhere, some touch-starved single person would be watching and immediately reach for their checkbook.

"Call the number on-screen," the spokesperson announced, "and for just four separate payments of $599.99, TOM H. can be all yours. And for a bonus payment of $49.99, we'll throw in a blue jumper!

Please note that all clothes are sold separately, including the boxers. Cambridge Technologies is not responsible for the android crying. The android may experience urges to play with puppies and babies, do kind deeds for strangers, or dance in public. For optimal performance, we ask that you refrain from raising your voice in the presence of the android, and to feed the android tea every six hours."

"Oh my god." You gulped, standing still for a moment. The commercial finally ended with an image of the android giving the spokesperson a shoulder massage, and smiling at the camera. You switched the channel, and put away the vacuum, shuddering at what you'd just seen.

The next thing to worry about was the spaghetti bolognese, another recipe from the cookbook you chose for tonight Luckily there was a pack of ground mince in the fridge, otherwise you would've had to either rush to the supermarket - wherever that was - or pick something else to make for Loki's dinner. With the cookbook propped open on the kitchen countertop, you flipped to the recipe and did your best to follow every instruction. Chop the carrots, the celery, the onion, and the bacon, it said…Then, heat the pot with a generous amount of butter, add bacon…Put the rest of the vegetables in the pan, along with the mince. While that cooked in the pan, you opened a can of tomatoes from the pantry, poured it into the pan, causing it to sizzle loud enough to overpower the television for a moment. The final ingredients to add were dried herbs, a splash of red wine, and for some reason…milk.

After moving the cake to the center of the table, you stirred the pot with the Bolognese mixture until the alcohol from the wine boiled off. The final step, according to the cookbook, was to place the entire pot in the oven at one-hundred eighty degrees Celsius for…well, enough time to stew everything.

You closed the oven door with a sigh, wiping a trace of sweat on your forehead before taking a box of spaghetti out of one of the cupboards. Yes it was true that you'd only known Loki for a few hours, not even a whole day. And yet, you found yourself wishing and hoping that he would be pleased when he walked into the door. That when he opened the door, the smell of dinner would entice him to the table, and the sight of you would entice him into your arms. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at you this morning, with affection in his eyes as if you were the most priceless thing in his life.

As the noodles cooked in a pot of boiling water, you dressed the cake with whipped cream and chopped-up strawberries, and then chopped cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, and red onions for a side dish. Within about thirty minutes, you had a pot of cooked spaghetti dressed in bolognese sauce, a lettuce-free salad dressed with olive oil and red wine vinegar, and an angel food cake reserved for dessert. And just as a finishing touch, you set the dining table for two and lit a few candles.

"Darling, we're home! Something smells amazing." At the doorway with a large grin on his face was Loki, standing in his work clothes with his dark curls slightly messy, dirt caking his fingertips,…and a black kitten in his arms. Tagging: @anukulee @smolvenger @pineappleandro @lotsoflokilove23 @talklokitome @rumin8ting @12-pm-510 @painedfever @iambetterthanbefore @princess-ofthe-pages @thenotoriouserg @lokischambermaid @lokiismineforever @lokidbadguy @lokisgoodgirl @lokisprettygirl22 @holdmytesseract @wheredafandomat @wolfsmom1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @evelyn-kingsley @muddyorbsblr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life @huntress-artemiss @itsdoni @gruftiela @ellooo0ooo @ireallyneedtherapy @jennyggggrrr @turniptitaness

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #tva loki #mcu loki #loki x y/n #loki x reader fic #loki x reader fluff #loki imagine #loki imagines

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

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Dream found himself as findom for two men. He meets Corinthian, ceo of a big tech company, online before he even knew findom was a Thing. Hes just a natural tho and proceedes to humiliate Corinthian for being such a pathetic man for needing to buy the privilege of taking dream shopping in the first place. Dream hasnt even let Corinthian do more than place a hand on his lower back when theyre out and Corinthian wants to take dream to a luxury fucking beach resort even if dream decides to ignore him the entire time.

Dream meets hob gadling by accident. Hes also in the tech industry, not that dream cares or listens when hob is buying him the most expensive drinks at the bar theyre at. Dream knows what hes doing by now, and he thinks he would rather like to cuck the both of these men against each other.

Corinthian is furious when dream cancels an appointment with a jeweler with him to go to DINNER with his business rival HOB GADLING whos one of the cockiest assholes hes ever met and hes not even suave or cool about it like Corinthian hes loud and brash and obnoxious and he gets to take dream on an actual DATE???

dream plays them against each other relentlessly and industry conferences have never been more tense.... it all errupts when Corinthian finally gets the privilege of taking dream to a gala (whatever gown jewelry and shoes dream wants are provided ofc) and dream even allows him to kiss the back of his ringed hand like this is seriously the best night of the Corinthian’s life and he knows hob fucking gadling is going to be there and see who his plus one is which is even better... until near the end of the night dream has slipped from his side and Corinthian sees hob gadling helping dream into his stupid little sportscar. He shows up to hobs hotel room and dream answers in his little silk pajama set.

"Believe it or not Corinthian but i do need someone who can pleasure me sexually"

Thats how dream gets two very eager to please service tops and dream has them bid on whos allowed to eat his pretty cunt out<3

-🔪

Hnnnggg we'll stick with the findom theme tonight because I'm low-key obsessed. I love how you've flipped it make Dream the dom. I think he would be amazing tbh. Those cold blue eyes, that slightly sneering mouth. He was made to walk on pathetic men in his $10,000 dollar heels.

Poor Cori, showing up at that hotel room. He's so hard in his perfectly pressed trousers. And he's almost pathetically grateful when he's allowed into the room! Except for the fact that Hob is there, shirt sleeves rolled up, holding a glass of something expensive and alcoholic. Dream sits delicately in Hob’s lap while Cori just stands there, seething with rage and lust.

First they bid for a kiss. Dream sets up a time limit and sits back, sipping his drink while Hob and Cori spit bids at each other, higher and higher with little or no regard for the consequences. Cori wins - he doesn't even flinch as he writes a cheque for $80,000. Oh, its so worth it. Dream swishes over and melts into Cori's arms. The kiss is the most wonderful, delicious, intoxicating thing. Dream mewls into his mouth and submits when Cori licks at him, and it's just perfect. Until it's over. And Hob is still there, legs spread, smirking as Dream slips away from Cori's grasp.

"I hope you enjoyed it, because that's all you're getting." Hob says, and he slips his arm around Dream’s waist. Cori is outraged - he's never been allowed to touch Dream like that... without paying. "Or maybe he could pay to watch while i eat your cunt. What do you think, darling?"

Dream just smiles. "If he can afford it."

And Cori knows that he's being goaded, but fuck it feels so good. He knows he's going to cum his brains out tonight, whatever happens. Hob hasn't won the next bet yet, after all.

(Dream will reward both his lovely money-slaves, don't worry. Everything he does is for the sake of bringing pleasure to his sweet boys. He'll even let them buy him breakfast in the morning, if they keep being so good for him <3)

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #corintheus #hobrintheus #nsft #cw findom #cw financial domination

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