#(i cringed so hard the barest hint of “”“smut”“”)

[sky-kenobye]

I'm reading a sci-fi book that is so obviously inspired by star wars (and I'm not saying that as a negative thing) that I get weirded out every time a normal word is used instead of the star wars equivalent.

What do you mean a cleaning "bot", that's a droid.

"Contact gel"? Do you mean bacta?

"Dorétoile"? "Drugs"??? Ma'am that's spice.

[isis-astarte-diana]

One Of Those Days

Summary: “I can help you, if you want. Give you something to cry about.” Missy always seems to know exactly what you need.

Warnings: NSFW. Mummy kink. Spanking with a kitchen utensil an implement. Dodgy dynamics. MIHOW.

Word Count: 5499

NB: Hey, so, uh, this is a thing I wrote! You literally asked for this, I wash my hands of it. This is a kink that walks a fine line and I know that, so I’ve done my best to keep it on the side that I think is more-or-less palatable, ie. this is some fluffy smut about a rough day made better by spanking, snuggles, sex and submission. I think a lot of us could go for that every now and again!

"Now, what was that in aid of?”

The sound of Missy’s voice behind you would usually make you jump; she has a tendency to appear out of nowhere, catlike and silent on her feet despite her Edwardian heels. There’s a faint glimmer of amusement to her tone that, on any typical day, would have you prickling with delight.

Today is not a typical day.

You scrub a hand over your face, turning away from the cupboard door that you’ve just slammed with vicious force.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your jaw tight. “I’m just in a bad mood.”

“Yes, I can see that much.” The teasing lilt is still there, but you can hear a hint of warning blooming in the words. “Quite the stroppy little thing, today, aren’t you?”

“Missy,” you caution, trying hard to keep the bite out of her name. “Just- don’t. Seriously.”

“If you think I’m going to tiptoe around you just because you’re on the rag then-”

Incensed, you turn on her, snapping back, “I’m not on the fucking-!”

The words die in your throat when her hand slams down on the kitchen counter beside you.  She’s much closer than you expected, close enough to make you cringe back until the edge of the countertop digs into the base of your spine. She cocks her head, her eyes sparking dangerously, her painted lips curled into a half-smile with too many sharp teeth behind it.

“Careful, dearest,” she chimes sweetly. “Try again.”

Your gulp is deafening in the stillness.

Tentatively, you make another attempt. Your sour mood still shines through in your voice. “I’m just- I’m having one of those days. I don’t know why.” Missy raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue, waiting with all the patience of a half-submerged crocodile for you to make another mistake. You turn your face away and take a steadying breath. “Everything- everything is getting to me. Everything’s too much. I feel like I’m gonna scream or break down in tears any second.”

“Maybe you should.”

You scoff wryly at her response and her other hand darts out, cool fingers taking hold of your chin, guiding your eyes back to her. Bristling at her audacity, you shrug her off. Her palm lands on your cheek, not harsh enough to be called a slap, but certainly with sufficient force to remind you that she would strike you if she had to. It pushes you into acquiescence as she turns your head once more.

Her expression has you dragging your bottom lip between your teeth, averting your eyes to avoid her gaze. She’s looking into you, through you, leaving you feeling pitifully exposed.

“I mean it.” Her thumb sweeps across your cheekbone with tenderness juxtaposed to her stern voice. She has a perfect way of doing this, of trapping you between severity and softness, disorientating you so that you never quite know if she’s about to kiss you or bite you. It consumes your attention and starts to unravel some of the throbbing knots in your mind. “I can help you, if you want. Give you something to cry about.”

Only Missy could make such a threat sound like a consolation.

Reaching up to cover her hand with your own, you risk meeting her eyes. Her lips quirk in encouragement. You’ve played this sort of game before, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to ask for; and she will make you ask for it.

Regardless of what you do now, pain will come. You were rude - downright nasty, in fact - and while she loves an argument better than anybody, she has her limits. Being snapped at like that is one of them. Your chances of sitting comfortably tonight are already miniscule. All that remains is for you to decide the context.

“Please.” It’s quiet, strained, the best you can manage. “Please... mummy.”

It’s hard to say if it’s uttering the words that knocks the wind out of you or if it’s the beaming smile that spreads across her face.

“Good girl,” she praises gently, her fingers curling under your chin with ticklish pressure that softens your tense posture immediately. It’s remarkable how easy this is for her, how swiftly she can turn you into whatever kind of creature she wants you to be, without even the barest hint of hypnosis. She can have you howling with rage, scratching and swearing and fighting her for all you’re worth, in one moment, and falling to your knees to worship at her feet in the next. If it weren’t so mutually beneficial it might frighten you.

Sometimes it still does.

“Mummy,” your voice is a cracked whisper as you nuzzle into the touch. She gives you a sympathetic pout and a soft click of her tongue. “I’m sorry I was rude.”

“I know you are, poppet.” She brushes a stray bit of hair behind your ear and loops her other arm around you, pulling you into her embrace. You gratefully accept it, tucking your head against her shoulder. “You’re just a sulky little girl, today, aren’t you? It’s not your fault.”

“S’no excuse,” you mumble into her blouse. It’s awkward, physically, to fold yourself up against her like this, but the soft cotton under your cheek and the scent of her perfumed neck call to you irresistibly. Your fingers press into her corseted back, savouring the warmth of her.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, without reprimand. “But I’m not cross with you.” Her fingers card through your hair, her nails dragging soothingly against your scalp. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, hmm? We could have nipped this in the bud first thing this morning, before it ever got this far.”

“I don’t know.” You hold tighter to her, the soft admonition making you feel faintly ridiculous. “I just thought it’d go away on its own.”

“Silly girl.” She sweetens the words with a soft kiss to your ear that sends a pleasant tremor through you. Her palm presses between your shoulder blades, rubbing firmly. “You know that that’s what mummy’s here for.”

You’re already close to tears just from this tenderness, and you nod against her shoulder, sniffling them back. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, none of that, love,” she croons. “It’s alright. I’m here now, and I have the perfect medicine for a fussy girl like you.”

Missy, expertly as ever, changes your mood like she’s flicking a light switch. Desire creeps slow and warm down the back of your neck. The gentle touch of her nose, her lips, against your ear becomes a caress as sensual as anything you’ve ever felt. With one last peck she looses her arms from around you.

Being let go of after she’s peeled back your defences like this, baring all of your rawest parts to the world, is torturous, but she entwines her fingers with yours and squeezes your hand to soften the blow.

“I think that this,” she reaches past your shoulder and plucks something from the counter behind you, utensils rattling together in their holder as she disturbs them, “should do very nicely. Don’t you?”

Smiling like she’s presenting you with a gift, she holds up the wooden spoon and shows it to you.

The sight of it makes your mouth go dry.

You’d always assumed that there was such a thing as a cruel implement; that pain and pleasure hung upon the tools used to create them, in at least some small way. That notion has long since been cleared from your mind. Sensation, in all its guises, is what Missy chooses to make of it. She can kiss you into agonies or beat you into euphoria, depending on her mood.

She’s used this on you before, but only ever with playful intentions. In this moment, playful she is not. The fact that she isn’t cross with you doesn’t mean that you will be spared; only that she’ll whisper words of encouragement rather than sharp reprimands while she takes you apart.

“So quiet, now?” She purses her lips, a soft note of displeasure in her voice. “Cat got your tongue, dear?”

You shake your head, not taking your eyes off of the spoon. “No, mummy.” You have to pause to wet your lips. “That- that would be good.”

Her face softens as if she’d been braced for you to protest. “Oh, my poor girl.” Once more, she squeezes your hand. “You really have had a miserable day, haven’t you?”

Feeling tears tug at your throat again, you nod silently.

“We’ll have you feeling better in no time. Come along.” Letting her chosen weapon hang at her side, she gently tugs you away from the counter. “I think we’ll do this in the bedroom today.”

With your eyes cast down you follow her through the TARDIS, its warbling hum a familiar comfort. Like everything else she does, Missy’s choice of location is always symbolic. If she were to bend you over the kitchen counter you could expect to have your arm twisted up behind your back - not necessarily with unkind force - and your clothes in disarray to expose you best. In the bedroom, things would be tidier. You would, you will, be bare across her lap, your fingers twisting in the duvet, the rhythm of her breaths and the shifting of her thighs reverberating through you like an extra heartbeat.

She’s utterly fearless as she strolls the halls, humming something to herself under her breath, the wooden spoon in her hand for all and sundry to see if you were to be witnessed. You doubt that your private activities are a mystery, as such, to your travelling companions, but the thought of the tableau that you would make as she leads you to the bedroom like this is enough to make you wince.

All shame is forgotten when you arrive.

“Would you be a dear, and fetch mummy’s box of tricks?” Missy lets go of your hand to brush your cheek with her knuckles, her voice a sweet and conspiratorial whisper. The feathery touch has you ducking your head with a shiver. “I’m certain I can find something in there to turn that little frown upside down.”

“Okay, mummy.” She flicks the tip of your nose with her fingertip and makes you squeak. Her smile widens.

“You see? It’s not all so bad, is it?” Her lips follow her finger, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. “Go on, poppet. You know where it is.”

The box of toys that she refers to is, you believe, a reupholstered sewing box, lined with black velvet. It sits on the middle shelf of the armoire, its mahogany grain gleaming in the rosy light of the bedroom, and you bring it to her with nothing short of reverence. It’s heavier than it looks.

It is, of course, bigger on the inside.

Missy takes it from you with a saucy wink and sets it down on the bed, atop the damask sheets, balancing the wooden spoon across its lid. It’s an impossibly tempting sight; she holds relief of every kind in her delicate hands. Something, almost a giggle, anticipation making you giddy and restless, bubbles up from your chest. You bite your lip to stifle more.

“Oh, my lovely girl.” The corners of her eyes crinkle as she takes both of your hands in hers, pulling you closer to stand in front of her when she sits at the side of the bed. “This is all you needed, isn’t it? A little bit of attention. A little bit of discipline.”

The words make your throat feel tight. Your eyes flit from her face down to the shape of her knees beneath the plum skirt. It’s too easy, teetering here on the precipice between symptom and cure, to let anxiety overtake you again, and your face heats with prickling self-consciousness. 

“I’m not doing this because I’m cross with you.” She lifts your right hand to her mouth and brushes a soft, damp kiss across your knuckles, her eyes trained on your face all the while. “It’s for your own good. You’ll feel better for it.”

You offer her a shallow nod and murmur, weakened by the tears that bite in your throat, “I know.”

With another encouraging squeeze to your hands she lets them go, lets you brace them on her shoulders as she takes hold of your hips and guides you between her parted knees.

“You really are ever so pretty, you know.” Her fingers creep under the hem of your long shirt, trailing light and ticklish at the bare skin above the waistband of your leggings. You shiver under the touch. “I’m terribly lucky to have you.”

Your breath hitches. “Missy-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she stills her hands, cool palms flat either side of your waist. One eyebrow quirks. “Mummy’s talking. It’s rude to interrupt.”

She’s almost too good at this. 

“Sorry, mummy.” Pressing your fingers into her shoulders, you bend to kiss the dark, unruly hair at the crown of her head. She curls her fingertips against your sides and rubs slow circles there.

“Such a soft little thing, you are.” It’s uncanny, how you can be stooped over her like this, your cheek pressed into her hair, and feel entirely at her mercy. When her fingernails drag across your skin, sending you twisting and whining at the feathery sensation, she titters. “Oh, I could just eat you all up!”

Missy bunches up the fabric of your shirt in her hands and lifts it to your waist, baring a few inches of skin above your leggings. Her mouth descends with unbridled glee. Cool, slick kisses attack your stomach, and you squeal, caught off guard and entirely delighted. Emboldened by your reaction, she pulls you tighter to her mouth, fastens her open lips to the soft flesh just above your navel and blows.

It tickles, of course, rippling through you until you almost lose your breath in a shriek, but it does more than that. You draw tighter around her, wrap your arms around her shoulders, shifting your thighs together as the sensation washes down your spine as well as up. Another flicker of arousal unfurls in your abdomen and licks at your cunt. Obviously aware of the effect that she’s having, she nuzzles her nose just above your waistband, tickling the skin there with her breath.

“You're such a good girl for me.” When she starts to work at your leggings you straighten up, keeping your hands on her shoulders, widening your stance to help her ease them over your hips and down your thighs. It’s impossible to ignore how close her face is to your exposed underwear. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, today, are you, hmm?”

It feels like a lot to promise. Still, you nod.

“You’re going to be a brave girl, and come over my knee without a fuss?”

“Yes, mummy.” That much, you think you can manage. What comes after is anybody’s guess. “I promise.”

Bravery, for so long, meant stoicism to you, as if the two were interchangeable. You’d always assumed that they were. The first time you’d done something like this, been brought to a helpless flood of tears at her hand, the shame of losing control in such a way had almost crushed you; the memory of her fingers combing through your hair as she crooned how well you’d done, how brave you’d been for her, never fails to give you strength now. For all of her madness, there is method, and for all of her sadism there is an odd sort of compassion.

You don’t doubt that she enjoys her role in this. Missy has no pretences about her desires, and even while she soothes or rebukes you in the midst of your torment she makes no bones about how gratified she is to be inflicting it. The pleasure of watching you endure for her is only ever made sweeter by the shrieking, sobbing, squirming evidence of just how much you’re suffering.

Your devotion is paid in blood, in sweat, in boundless tears. Hers is paid in the freedom to give them.

She strips off your leggings and your knickers and leaves you standing there in your oversized shirt, braless beneath it. The hem covers what little modesty you may have.

“On, or off?” Missy toys with the fabric, cocking her head as she gazes up at you. You pause for a moment to consider the question. It’s comfortable, this shirt - one of your favourites, one that smells of her and feels soft and warm enough that you reached for it this morning as soon as you knew what kind of day it was going to be.

“On,” you answer eventually. “Please.”

“As you like, poppet.” She sits further back on the bed and pats her lap. “Come on, then. Let’s have you.”

It should be absurd, this entire scene, the way you eagerly climb onto your knees on the bed and lie yourself across her lap without hesitation. When she lifts the hem of your shirt higher to expose your arse it should make you feel ridiculous, and it does, in a way, but there’s an inexplicable comfort that comes with that. She revels in it, in turning you into this - whatever this is - and you bask in her obvious pleasure with complete abandon.

“So well-behaved for me,” she murmurs, one hand curling into the bountiful fabric of the shirt, resting low on your back with grounding weight. “My good girl.”

You cross your arms on the duvet and cradle your face with them, cheek pressed into the damask. The first touch of her cool palm on your arse makes you shiver, and then sigh contentedly when she begins to massage and squeeze the soft flesh there.

“It’s been too long since we’ve done this, hasn’t it?” Her voice is soft, a little teasing lilt to it that makes you smile. “You know that you can ask me whenever you like.”

“I know,” you tell her again, feeling your toes curl and flex from the gentle stimulation. “I just... I feel silly. Asking you.”

“Oh, poppet.” She presses her knuckles into your back to rub there. “Taking care of you is never a chore to me, you know. It could only ever be a pleasure.”

It’s too much for you to answer to; too much for you to think on, for long, without falling apart. Luckily, she doesn’t wait for you to speak. Her ministrations cease abruptly and she lands a single, hard smack on the left side of your arse.

You jerk across her lap, breath catching. As the sting begins to sink in you hiss, near-silent, “fuck.”

“Such language,” Missy chides, hiding her amusement with enviable skill, completing the symmetry with another swat that makes you gasp. “Do you think that’s appropriate for a little girl?”

She hits you again, and you squeak, shaking your head emphatically “No, mummy. I’m sorry.”

“I should think so.” Another smack; the warmth is slowly building under her hand, a wash of prickling pink heat. Some of the tension is starting to ease from your back, your shoulders, your neck, muscles you hadn’t realised were tight beginning to loosen. “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Oh, please don’t!” There’s barely a trace of play-acting in your panicked whimper. The first time she’d made such a threat, you’d assumed that it was in jest; you had, of course, assumed wrongly, and you have no intention of repeating that experience. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Bold words, my dear.” When she lands a particularly sharp slap low on the curve of your arse, she follows it through, digging her fingers into the stinging flesh and squeezing hard. Your fingers wind into the duvet cover as you turn your head and cry out into the fabric. “I shan’t warn you again.”

Frankly, you’re lucky that she warned you the first time.

With that, she begins to warm you up properly. Because she is not cross, and because this is not a punishment, she doesn’t tease you. The rhythm she takes up is steady and unflinching, a pattern of blows delivered with clinical precision. That sting of warmth blooms into a glow, and then a burn, until your breaths are short and your lips are curled back in a tight grimace.

The sensation is not yet much beyond discomfort, but it’s enough to draw you out of the depths of your own mind, pulling you back into the body that she holds against hers. Beneath you is the soft wool of her skirt, the comfort of the bed you share, the stability of her powerful thighs. Above you she presses the heel of one hand into your back and uses the palm of the other to set you alight. Nothing matters, nothing exists beyond these sensations.

All too soon, she stops.

“There we are,” she coos, rubbing at the sting with tenderness you know better than to mistake for mercy. “Isn’t that nice?”

It’s beyond you to answer, but you offer her a stunted nod, nuzzling into the duvet beneath your face. You draw a steadying breath. Tears sit heavy in your eyes, waiting to fall, impatient for the pain to come.

“You’re so lovely and pink.” Her fingernails drag a spiralling pattern across your sore arse, setting your thighs trembling. “This always calms you down so nicely. You’re such a meek little thing, really. You just get yourself in a muddle, sometimes.”

She tightens her grip on your shirt, replacing the ticklish touch of her fingernails with the cool, smooth back of the spoon. It's the most tantalising threat she can give you.

“Aren’t you lucky, hmm?” She adjusts her position, lifting one leg just enough to tilt your hips and expose you better. “To have a mummy who cares about you so much?”

The first snap of wood against your already-heated skin is like a lit match. You cry out, pulled from your stupor, hands fisting into the duvet cover. It takes all of your strength to turn the expletive that races up your throat into a wordless yelp.

“Oh, you are so cherished, my love.” Her voice is soft when she strikes again, on oh, god, the exact same spot, sharp as anything. “I just adore you.”

Three, four, five times she brings the back of the spoon down in the same place, low on the curve of the right side of your arse. The skin there turns tight with blistering heat. Your throat thickens as the tears gather momentum, pitiful whimpers spilling from your grimacing mouth. Just when you think you can bear it no more, this repetitive pattern of merciless strikes, she switches sides and begins to do the same on the left.

“You really do make me terribly proud, you know.” The cadence of her words is a dizzying juxtaposition to the steady rhythm of her unfaltering smacks. “Entirely vexed, at times, but always unutterably proud.” Without warning, she switches back, catching you off guard with a blazing strike to the red-hot patch of skin she was previously administering to.

The dam breaks with a vengeance.

You shriek, lurching forwards, holding tight to the duvet as the tears begin to fall, it seems, all at once. The speed with which it overcomes you is startling. Your hips shift over her lap, legs kicking weakly, vainly seeking to retreat from the pain.

“Good girl,” Missy croons, winding more of the fabric of your shirt into her fist to keep you from moving too far. “There you go. You just relax and let me help.”

Having achieved what she’d set out to do, piercing the thin skin that held back your cries, she sets to work on turning the rest of your arse as sore as the two spots she’s been abusing with such precision.

You might be begging; it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to notice anything but the faultless way she applies her chosen weapon to your stinging flesh, carrying you on a wave of incandescent pain through that horrifying moment of losing control. You twist, you writhe, you push your face into the sheets until the fabric turns wet and cool with tears, and all the while she feeds the fire in your skin and soothes you with soft praise.

When you finally reach back, overcome by the pain, every square inch of skin tight and blazing, she knocks your hands away.

“Enough,” you manage, through great, hiccupping sobs. “Enough, that’s enough-”

“Almost, poppet.” She presses her hand down into the small of your back again, rubbing firmly, easing the cries from your lungs. “Just a little bit longer.”

“No, no, but-” wiping your streaming eyes with the back of your hand, you squirm in her grip. “I’m done, I- I don’t want-”

“Oh, hush now.” She cuts you off, striking again, this time lower; the sensitive patches at the very tops of your thighs, the spots you feel when you walk or sit, are still due to be paid attention in full. “If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, dearest. I take my duty to you very seriously. I’d hate to leave you wanting.”

Wanting is, perhaps, a strong word for it, but she does have a point. Being pushed just beyond the limits of your comfort never fails to leave you feeling better, in the end, once the tears have dried up and the endorphins begin to fade.

Fortunately for you, pushing is Missy’s speciality.

You’re a mess before she’s finished. The duvet cover is twisted up in your hands, folds of it stuffed into your mouth to muffle the helpless cries streaming from you. Your shoulders shake with desperate sobs. The heat that radiates from your punished skin seems to flow all the way down, merging seamlessly with the warmth of the slippery arousal that spills from you almost as readily as your tears, until it’s impossible to recall the border between desire and distress. Every nerve is alive and screaming. For half a second you wonder what could have possibly possessed you to ask for this.

And then she stops; and you remember.

“There’s my brave little girl.”

Slender fingers card through your hair, the palm of her other hand sweeping across your overheated skin. You keen miserably into the duvet, struggling to catch your breath, nuzzling against her hands. She clicks her tongue in sympathy.

“Oh, poppet.” The heel of her hand presses into the sore flesh of your arse, making you yelp and jerk, but this deeper pressure helps to ease the worst of the overwhelming sting. “Shh, shh, it’s alright. Just let it go. Mummy’s got you.”

Missy takes to this role as she takes to everything; with complete and utter mastery. She coaxes every drop of pent up emotion from you with her tireless hands, soothing pain as readily as she inflicts it, consoling what feels inconsolable. With immeasurable patience she cradles you in her lap while your wracking sobs die down into pitiful whimpers.

“There we are,” she coos eventually, scratching gently at your scalp with her blunt fingernails. “Do you feel that? It’s all gone, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a sniffle. “Think so.”

“Oh, I know so, dearest.” Satisfied that you’ve calmed down, she lightens her touch again, letting her fingertips trail across the intense heat left behind by her ministrations. Her touch feels like ice and you shiver. “Just like magic. I’m really rather good, if I do say so myself.”

It strengthens you, and you roll your eyes fondly, blinking away the last of the tears. Your smile is watery and genuine. “You’re the best.”

“Oh, you know it makes me all tingly when you say things like that.” Her fingers spiral lower. As they creep towards the apex of your thighs you start to shift over her lap again, for an altogether different reason. In the afterglow of pain, the catharsis of weeping, your earlier arousal makes itself known once more. “My sweet little girl. You look delightful like this.”

It’s supposed to be teasing, but the brush of her fingers against the inside of your parted thighs makes your breath hitch, turning the question into a tentative whisper. “Really?”

“Really.” You spread your legs wider, allowing her the space to spider-walk her fingers along the inside of your right thigh, drawing your attention to just how slick you are. “All pretty in pink, and behaving so nicely for me. I could do anything to you.”

“Would you?” You risk a glance over your shoulder for the first time and find her eyeing you with a mischievous twinkle. It makes your heart race. “Please, mummy?”

“Oh, you are incorrigible, my dear.” She pats the back of your thigh, just shy of the sore spots. “Up you come. Let me see that lovely smile.”

Shifting back up onto your knees is awkward, and the hem of your shirt falls back down with the movement to irritate your stinging skin. Missy holds you steady as you sit back on your heels beside her.

“There it is.” Her fingers curl beneath your jaw, gently tilting your face to her. Conscious of the state you must be in, cheeks flushed, eyes red, dry tears cracking on your face, you smile weakly. “Do I get a kiss, now that you’ve finished sulking?”

There’s no trace of admonition in the words. Your smile widens, and you nod tentatively. “Yes, please.”

“Such good manners.” She grins sharply, leaning in to nuzzle your nose with hers. “It’s a wonder I don’t do this every day.”

Her fingernails skim along the curve of your jaw when she kisses you, tickling your earlobe until you giggle into her mouth. In her lips you can feel the curve of a genuine smile; not teasing, not mocking, utterly without performance. It makes your heart flutter.

When you break away your arms loop around her shoulders. “Thank you,” you murmur against her cheek. “Really. Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure, dearest.” Trailing her fingertips down your neck, she adds softly, “I mean it, you know. Every word.”

You hold tighter to her, feeling yet another prickle of tears. It’s easier, like this - easier for her to say it, easier for you to hear it, how deeply she cares for you. When your role is meek acquiescence you can lie still and let her worship you, and she, for her part, can do it, free of interruption or inhibition. In these moments it occurs to you that you are not the only one liberated from shame.

Your lips catch the corner of her mouth. “I know.”

Again, with effortlessness that astounds you, she catches you before you can fall into another well of emotion. 

In a vertiginous display of speed she knocks you onto your back on the bed and straddles you to pepper your face with soft kisses. You shriek with delight, squirming underneath her, the raised pattern of the damask duvet cover irritating your stinging skin in a way that feels entirely too sensuous. The plentiful folds of her wool skirt warm your hips and thighs.

“That- ah!” Her hands dart underneath your shirt, fingers wriggling against your sides. “Mummy, that tickles!”

“My goodness, does it really?” Feigning innocence, she shifts lower, working feathery kisses over your throat now instead. “And this?”

“Yes!” You shiver under her touch when she drags her fingers further down, over your hips.

“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll stop, then.” Missy pauses dead still, her fingers curling into the dimples of your hips, her keen eyes fixed on your face as she peers up at you. She’s poised to strike, moments away from slotting herself between your thighs, and you bite your lip.

“Well... no.” Face heating under her gaze, you shift against her, rolling your hips. “I didn’t say that.”

“Make your mind up, poppet,” she teases, but she resumes her journey and swiftly has your legs hooked around her shoulders, her arms looped about your thighs to keep you open for her. Your back arches when you feel her breath against your vulva. “Are we playing, or aren’t we?”

The sight of her, lying on her stomach, her stockinged feet in the air and her ankles demurely crossed as she gazes, catlike, up from between your legs, plucks your spine with desire.

“Yes, please.” Once more, you tangle your hands in the duvet. “Please, mummy.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Her face splits into the familiar predatory grin and she holds your gaze as the flat of her tongue strokes the length of you. It’s enough to make you quiver, a hoarse cry ripped from your mouth at the heat, the velvet-soft touch of her. You can feel her throaty chuckle in your bones and when she pulls back, the loss makes you whimper.

“If you’re a very good girl, I might even let you choose a toy.”

[sh-rare-pair-exchange]

All-In

Summary: Jace is nervous about coming out to Alec as grey ace, but Alec reassures him that he has nothing to worry about. He is, and always has been, perfect for Alec.

For @mewsiex

A/N: I hope you like it, Kissa <3 I tried to incorporate a few of your prompts into this. I'm really bad at writing smut and I'm terrible at doing it "on command" so I wanted to give you something that wasn't smut - read: something that isn't completely awful, lololol. I really hope you enjoy it, anyway!The title comes from my strange urge to put poker into this fic (which I did, for about a line aksfjks) after playing about three hours' worth of Texas Hold 'Em last night with family. No warnings within (for once)! I hope you enjoy this!

Read it on ao3: HERE

The noise at the table was comfortable, but Alec knew Jace sometimes wasn’t in the mood to deal with even the barest hint of laughter or the quietest of jeers, so he couldn’t say he was surprised when Jace excused himself to go to the bathroom and never came back.

Alec let him be for a few minutes; he knew Jace liked his privacy. But after a half hour passed and it became clear that Jace had disappeared with no intentions of returning, Alec was sent by Maryse to find him and check on him. It was rare that the family got a chance to play poker together, and Alec knew that Maryse knew Jace wouldn’t have left without a good reason. Secretly, Alec was worried, too, but his family didn’t need to know that.

Alec checked all of the usual spots first: his bedroom, the training room, Alec’s room, the ops center. When none of those turned up anything, Alec sighed and began to climb the stairs to the roof. It was rare, but sometimes, when he was upset or needed to think about something, Jace would find his way to the Institute’s roof and stay there, oftentimes for hours on end.

Alec reached the top of the steps and pushed the door open, revealing - not to his surprise, but still to his dismay - the hunched figure of his parabatai standing near the edge of the roof. He could tell Jace was tense by the set of his shoulders, and he was gripping the concrete so hard Alec feared it might crumble underneath his fingers.

“Hey,” he called, and Jace froze, his back going rigid. Alec frowned. Usually Jace was happy to see him, or at the very least relieved that it was Alec who had gone after him instead of someone else who understood him less.

“Are you okay?” Alec asked, moving closer to Jace in the frigid night air. His breath made little white clouds as he exhaled. “Dude, come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Jace shook his head, not saying anything. Alec worried his bottom lip between his teeth and approached Jace cautiously. This wasn’t like him.

When he reached his parabatai, Alec placed a gentle hand on Jace’s shoulder, turning him around until they were facing each other. “Hey,” Alec said, his voice soft, tone inquiring. “What’s wrong?”

Jace shook his head again, avoiding Alec’s eyes. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but Alec could tell he wasn’t angry. Alec stepped forward and took one of Jace’s hands, unfolding his fist and tangling their fingers together. “I know something’s wrong, Jace. I know you. Talk to me.”

“It’s not - ” Jace broke off, sighing. “It’s not anything we need to be worried about yet.”

“That’s obviously not true,” Alec pointed out. “You’re worried about it right now.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m just being stupid.”

“Hey,” Alec said, “I’m not saying you can’t be stupid sometimes, because you definitely can and are, but if something is bothering you? That’s never stupid, Jace.” He shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around his parabatai, placing one hand on the small of his back and moving it up & down his spine in a comforting manner. “I won’t think it’s stupid.”

Jace cringed, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You might think it’s weird, though. You might not want to be with me anymore.”

“Jace, there is nothing you could say, short of ‘I killed your friend’, that would make me not want to date you anymore.”

“You might not feel that way after you hear this,” Jace cautioned him, his voice tight and unsure. “It’s, uh.” He broke off, pulling away from Alec and twisting his fingers together anxiously. “It’s just, not heard of in the Shadow World.”

“Being gay used to be unheard of in the Shadow World, too,” Alec said, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, Jace, whatever it is, I’m going to be fine with it.”

“Okay,” Jace agreed reluctantly. “If you say so.” He was clearly still unsure about it, and Alec was at a loss for what to do to make him feel better about the whole ordeal.

A sudden wave of guilt crashed over Alec, and he was suddenly filled with remorse. He hadn’t meant to force Jace into telling him something he wasn’t ready to speak about.

“You know you don’t have to tell me, right? Only if you want to. I’ll love you either way.” Alec sent Jace a reassuring look and gave one of his hands a little squeeze.

Jace chuckled, smiling a little. “Yeah, I know.” They were quiet for a few minutes, aside from the occasional cars driving past and the buzz of pedestrians’ chatter. Alec tried to communicate supportcarelove through their parabatai bond, resisting the urge to take Jace’s hand in his and kiss how much he loved him into the other boy’s palm. The ball was in Jace’s court now, and whatever he said, Alec knew it had to be his decision.

Finally, after a few long minutes, Jace inhaled shakily and began to speak. “So, uh, y-you know I’ve been with lots of people.”

Alec nodded minutely. Jace’s body count was impressive, and they both knew it, but it had never bothered him. Alec was the only one Jace had ever loved.

“Well, it’s helped me realise a few things about myself,” Jace continued. He took a deep breath, and then asked: “Do you know what it means to be asexual?”

Alec thought back to the LGBTQ+ articles he’d read online when he was first discovering he liked men, and he remembered one that had gone into detail about asexuality. “I think so,” he answered. “It means you’re not interested in sex?”

“Well, kind of,” Jace replied. “Not, uh, not exactly.”

“Okay,” Alec said, nodding. “Tell me more?” He kept his voice soft and free of judgement, hoping to communicate to Jace that he was listening and supportive and willing to accept whatever it was he had to say.

“See, asexuality is like, well, it’s kind of like a spectrum. Some people who identify as asexual or a form of it aren’t necessarily uninterested in sex. F-For instance, there’s a certain label called grey asexual, or grey ace, and it can mean, among other things, that there’s only certain parts of sex that you’re interested in. Like maybe you’re only interested in it when playing a certain role or in a certain position.”

Alec nodded, taking in the new information. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Jace fell silent at that, avoiding Alec’s gaze. It took a few seconds for everything to click in Alec’s mind, but when it did, he grabbed Jace’s shoulder, searching for his golden eyes in the darkness of the roof. “Wait, are you trying to tell me that you’re grey ace?”

“Maybe?” Jace hedged, his voice small and vulnerable. “What if I was? Would you care?”

“Of course not!” Alec exclaimed. “The only thing I care about, Jace, is that you didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me this sooner.” He wrapped his arms around his parabatai, one hand going to the nape of Jace’s neck to comb through the fine hairs there. “I don’t care about the sex, okay? I don’t care about...any of that. I care about you.”

Jace exhaled shakily, burying his face in Alec’s neck. “Good. I - thank you.”

Alec said nothing, pressing a light kiss to the top of Jace’s head instead. They swayed together for a few minutes, and Alec wondered how long Jace had been hiding that, waiting and hoping and praying that Alec wouldn’t turn him away because of it. The thought filled him with an overwhelming feeling of love for his parabatai, and he held Jace that much tighter for it.

“We should go inside,” Jace said eventually, sighing and pulling away. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Poker can wait ‘til next time,” Alec countered. “We should go inside - it’s fucking cold out here - but just...let’s ditch for the evening, yeah? I want to kiss you.”

“Yeah, well, what are you waiting for?” Jace teased, sidling closer.

Alec chuckled and obliged him, leaning forward and placing a soft, tender kiss on Jace’s lips. He rested his forehead against Jace’s, his fingers groping for his parabatai rune on instinct. “I hope you know,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “that I’m in this for the long haul, Jace. I-I’m here for whatever life throws at both of us. You’ll never be alone. I’m here for it all.”

Jace nodded, too overcome with emotion to respond, and Alec tactfully ignored the tears that he felt dampening his jacket as they embraced one last time before heading to the door and towards home.

Eventually, Alec knew that they would have to talk more about it, establish limits and discuss what Jace was & wasn’t okay with, but for now, he just wanted to hold his parabatai and remind him that there was nothing wrong with him, and that Alec was all-in, no matter what, for as long as they both lived.

[hungline]

a not-so-passing fancy | ch 1

pairing: namkook  genre: smut, fluff, strangers to lovers au, uni au, rated xxx  warnings: explicit sexual content, anal sex, oral sex, come eating, come swallowing, multiple orgasms, loss of virginity  words: 3050 

summary: With college graduation so soon, Namjoon decides to lose his virginity in what may or may not be a one night stand. Jeongguk is sweet and eager enough to help him out and tastes even sweeter.

⇢ day two of namkook week 2018 

⇢ chapter one of a not-so-passing fancy 

His lips are sweet against Namjoon's. His cherry chapstick and saliva all that Namjoon can taste by this point.

Namjoon's never done this before and he isn't sure if it's excitement or apprehension that's running through his veins right now, but he finds that he doesn't really care.

He's kissed people before, yeah. He's just never had sex before. And he hadn't thought his first time would be with a complete stranger, but college graduation is only a few weeks away and it's high time that Namjoon finds something to sink his dick into.

Except, Namjoon doesn't think that Jeongguk's just going to be a one-night stand. There's something in the arch of his back, in the way he moves his lips against Namjoon. It's in the mole underneath his bottom lip that Namjoon can't help but trace with his tongue over and over again. In the tremble of his thighs above Namjoon's, in the snug heat of his ass that Namjoon's cock weeps to be engulfed by.

It's something that Namjoon can't quite put his finger on, but Jeongguk doesn't let him think about it for too long.

"I'm ready," Jeongguk gasps against Namjoon's mouth, pulling his three fingers away from his ass and Namjoon grips his hips, hard, reluctant to let go just yet. "You can put it in now."

Namjoon doesn't miss the way Jeongguk's cheeks flush as he speaks though or the nervous way he said it and Namjoon feels reassured that he isn't the only one who's fumbling around in the dark a little bit when it comes to this. Jeongguk presses his face into Namjoon's neck and lifts his hips up, sighing when Namjoon grips the base of his cock, being mindful of the condom, and leads it towards Jeongguk's waiting hole.

The shiver that runs down Jeongguk's spine when the head of Namjoon's cock presses against his rim is something that both men are able to feel. Namjoon kisses Jeongguk's neck and lets his tongue lick a stripe up his soft throat, doing his best to distract him from the fact that he's pushing past now and clamping his hand down hard where it sits on Jeongguk's hip to keep him from blowing his load right then and there. Jeongguk whimpers as Namjoon pushes in, pausing at the sound to look at him.

"Fine," Jeongguk says through clenched teeth. "'M fine."

"Are you sure?" Namjoon asks, cringing inwardly at the mess that is his voice but Jeongguk only shivers again when he speaks and a warm flush of pride rushes up into Namjoon's chest at the reaction. "We can stop if you want."

Jeongguk stares at him for a long moment, his doe eyes wide while he bites his lip and Namjoon keeps perfectly still, meeting his gaze head-on. Namjoon doesn't know what to think but he's almost certain Jeongguk didn't expect him to care enough to stop if Jeongguk was uncomfortable and that thought makes Namjoon ponder who Jeongguk's been sleeping with if he's so used to that kind of behavior already.

"It's okay. You can keep going," Jeongguk murmurs a little while later, and Namjoon breathes out a sigh of relief, gripping Jeongguk's hips with both hands now. "I'm just really sensitive during the first round."

"First round?" Namjoon asks, feeling completely out of his depth.

The smile that spreads across Jeongguk's face is so at odds with his demure behavior from before that Namjoon can only blink at him. Jeongguk's smile morphs into something else as he pushes down firmly into Namjoon's lap, sheathing Namjoon's cock all the way down to the base in one slick movement. The air in Namjoon's chest feels like it's been sucker punched out of him and he barely has a moment to recover before Jeongguk starts working his hips, moving them in quick, short jerks.

Namjoon feels like heaven has sprung into existence right here on his bed and it takes all he has not to fuck into Jeongguk's giving heat with vigor. He wants Jeongguk to set the pace, to see how far they can both hold off until the inevitable happens. Jeongguk rides him like a champ, focused on moving his hips and clenching around Namjoon every time he brushes against a spongy bundle of nerves that makes his toes curl and his back arch even further.

It's with no surprise that Jeongguk manages to comes first, moaning and groaning as loud as he can and leaving Namjoon grateful for his neighbors not being home. His hot semen coats their tummies and Namjoon runs a finger through the mess, sucking it into his mouth before he can think better of it while Jeongguk watches him, chest heaving and sweat heavy on his brow.

Jeongguk's come is salty and a little bitter but not entirely displeasing so Namjoon smiles shyly back at Jeongguk's dumbstruck expression and eases him off Namjoon's still painfully hard cock. Namjoon peels the condom off and only then understands why Jeongguk grabbed two out of the box in his top drawer before they had started. Jeongguk looks like he's about to say something once Namjoon turns back to face him after tying the condom and aiming it towards the rubbish basket in one corner of his room, but whatever it is, Namjoon cuts it off with another kiss, trying his best to be soft and gentle.

Jeongguk had said first round after all and despite not knowing what he meant exactly, Namjoon has a pretty good idea anyway.

Cherry chapstick glides their lips across each other, the motions turning lazy and unhurried as the seconds tick by and Namjoon scooches backward inch by inch until he's got them both onto the center of his bed. He lies back, hands pressed to the small of Jeongguk's back so that he ends up laying across Namjoon's chest, and then turns them on their sides, still kissing Jeongguk as he does. Jeongguk goes willingly, his body soft and pliant enough to do pretty much anything Namjoon wanted him to do.

Right now though, Namjoon just wants to get Jeongguk hard again.

Jeongguk pouts when Namjoon pulls away to break their kiss, his hands immediately burying themselves into Namjoon's hair to make up for the loss. Namjoon smiles reassuringly at Jeongguk then dips down and drags his tongue through the mess on Jeongguk's lower abdomen, pausing afterward to see if the taste has somehow changed.

It hasn't and so he swallows, readying himself to do it again and loving the way Jeongguk's entire body tenses with anticipation as Namjoon leans over him. The come on Jeongguk's stomach is already beginning to dry in some places but Namjoon heeds it no mind as he continues his ministrations, pausing again once his tongue has found its way down underneath Jeongguk's navel. Jeongguk pulls on Namjoon's hair, his cock already beginning to chub a little and just that alone pushes Namjoon to flit his tongue into Jeongguk's slit. Jeongguk's hips arch off the bed and pleased that Namjoon has warranted such a response, he pushes Jeongguk back onto the covers and lets his mouth envelop the head only, teasing and prodding enough that he knows Jeongguk will be hard again soon.

Namjoon lets Jeongguk shift around underneath him, hands clamped down on the boy's hips to keep him from fucking into Namjoon's mouth when he least expects it and once they're both comfortable, Namjoon sinks his mouth down further on Jeongguk's cock. Jeongguk hisses through his teeth, expecting this but still quite unprepared anyway. Namjoon smiles around his girth, quite enjoying the feeling of a cock heavy on his tongue. Jeongguk still tastes a bit like his come, bitter and salty, but the taste of his skin is altogether different. It's something musky and sweet with the barest hint of sweat.

It's clean though and Namjoon quickly finds that it's intoxicating as well.

Jeongguk is standing at full attention now, his hole fluttering as Namjoon lets his finger slip past his rim, testing him out. Jeongguk sighs happily at the touch, his hips arching the teeniest bit to better the angle of Namjoon's finger and Namjoon lets him, his mouth still working firmly over Jeongguk's cock to not really be bothered by anything at the moment. Namjoon pushes another finger in, finding that Jeongguk is still pretty loose around him and ventures to add a third quickly after, relieved when all Jeongguk does is bite his lip in concentration as Namjoon begins to move all three of his fingers inside him. It's not painful, just distracting and hot because Jeongguk is roaring to go for round two and Namjoon has been dragging this out long enough.

He tugs on Namjoon's hair, the silky strands soft between his fingers and Namjoon hums around his cock, his breath hot and heavy on Jeongguk's sensitive skin.

"C-can you fuck me again, please?" Jeongguk ventures to ask when it seems like Namjoon won't stop paying extra close attention to his dick. "I want to come the same way I did last time."

Namjoon pops his cock out of his mouth and smiles at Jeongguk, nodding all the while. Namjoon didn't expect for him to grow confident as they continued, but he guesses that an orgasm can do that even to the shyest of people and wastes no time in donning the second condom. Jeongguk grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and places it under his hips, spreading his legs wide for Namjoon to do whatever he'd like to.

A naked and panting Jeongguk spread-eagle on his bed is not something Namjoon envisioned when he let Yoongi drag him to the club, but it's leagues better than whatever Namjoon had ready on his Netflix queue and right hand covered in lotion. Jeongguk huffs as Namjoon takes an extra moment longer to appreciate the sight before him and Namjoon smiles at him, pressing his thumb to Jeongguk's bottom lip as he grabs the base of his own cock and lines himself up again. Jeongguk's tongue flicks out briefly against Namjoon's thumb and then Namjoon's left staring as Jeongguk's mouth opens into a perfect 'o' and throws his head back on the mattress when the head of Namjoon's cock pushes easily past his rim once more.

In one quick slide Namjoon has buried himself up to the hilt in the tight clutch of Jeongguk's heat once again. Jeongguk moans aloud, his voice so high Namjoon's worried it might start breaking when he finally fucks into Jeongguk how he's been wanting to ever since Jeongguk ground his ass against Namjoon's dick with purpose back at the club. Jeongguk must know that Namjoon's nearing his limits because he nods to encourage him, wiggling his hips then grinning from ear to ear as Namjoon pulls out halfway, only to push back in, hard.

Jeongguk's voice does break like Namjoon expects it to when he finally gives in and fucks harshly into him, pressing against that spot that makes stars jump into Jeongguk's vision each and every time. Namjoon hoists his legs up by his thighs and keeps him open to fuck him even rougher, grunting above him with sweat running down the sides of his face. Jeongguk is so snug and hot around him that Namjoon can already feel his orgasm approaching again and this time, Namjoon intends to fully ride it out.

Namjoon opens his eyes and finds Jeongguk's sweaty face looking so pretty that he can't resist slowing down and leaning over him to kiss him, letting go of Jeongguk's thighs to capture his face between his palms instead. Jeongguk responds to the kiss immediately, his thighs welcoming Namjoon's own until their limbs are tangled together. Namjoon sways his hips and greedily swallows every gasp and moan Jeongguk let's rush past his lips when he does. They catch themselves in a seemingly never-ending loop where Namjoon will brush against his prostate, Jeongguk will moan and Namjoon will then kiss the sound away, moving in closer.

It's with great difficulty that Namjoon finally pulls away from the kiss, grabbing hold of Jeongguk's thighs again as he turns the boy on his side once more. Jeongguk moves willingly, expecting to twist all the way but Namjoon stops him with his knees on his chest. Namjoon smiles down at him when he looks towards him for an answer about the strange sideways position and that's enough for Jeongguk to hold his thighs apart again and welcome Namjoon when he leans over him once more. Namjoon plants his hands down on the mattress on either side of Jeongguk's chest, taking a deep breath before he experimentally swivels his hips.

The response is loud and immediate. Jeongguk's breath catches in his throat when he finds that the angle is so many levels of right it's practically sinful. He leans up, lips pursed and looking for something that Namjoon grants without hesitation.

Their lips collide together smoothly and soft, Namjoon's hips finding a steady rhythm again as he fucks into Jeongguk. The whines that he manages to wring out of Jeongguk are sucked up into his mouth, kissing Jeongguk like they're the last two people on earth.

Namjoon's breath is heavy in his chest and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears when his orgasm begins to rise up and thankfully Jeongguk isn't that far off either if the trembling of his thighs is anything to go off of.

Namjoon pulls out, leaving only his head to stretch Jeongguk's rim and then slams back in as he blows his load, rubbing against Jeongguk's prostate while he does. Jeongguk comes just as the blinding white begins to leave Namjoon's sight and Namjoon watches Jeongguk's cock weakly spurt white onto his navel again with his mouth half open and eyes rolling into the back of his head. He lets his fingers form a ring around the head of Jeongguk's cock and strokes him quickly, etching the sound of Jeongguk's cries and the sight of his swollen red cock trembling with each touch into his memory.

When Jeongguk's orgasm passes, he lies on Namjoon's bed, limp and unmoving as he watches Namjoon take off the used condom and throw it away in the same place where the earlier one was disposed of. Namjoon stands on wobbly legs and walks to his desk, pulling out a packet of wet wipes before he stumbles back to the bed and cleans them up. He doesn't know if Jeongguk's going to spend the night, but he at least hopes that Jeongguk will let him spoon him before he leaves at least. Jeongguk twists this way and that as Namjoon rubs him clean, smiling with a sleepy and hazy gleam in his eyes that does wonders to Namjoon's heartbeat.

Namjoon finishes soon enough and moves around, throwing the pillow that was underneath Jeongguk's hips onto the floor to clean later then gets under the covers. Jeongguk frowns at him for one short moment before following suit and Namjoon doesn't think he's ever felt happier when Jeongguk easily maneuvers himself into his spread arms, turning so that he's the little spoon just like Namjoon wanted him to be. Namjoon presses a kiss to the shell of Jeongguk's ear and then buries his face into the boy's soft brown hair, holding him securely in his arms.

"Night, Jeongguk," Namjoon murmurs, his voice so heavy with sleep that it's a wonder he said anything at all really.

Jeongguk presses his cheek into Namjoon's pillow and scoots backward into his hold, not stopping until Namjoon's chest is pressed against every plane of his very muscular back. "Goodnight, Namjoon."

    When Namjoon wakes up, his heart falls at the sight of his empty bed, the other side still warm.

He sits up and finds that Jeongguk's clothes are gone too. The shower isn't on in the bathroom and the toilet isn't flushing either but Namjoon gets up anyway and makes his way towards the bathroom.

Namjoon finds it as empty as his bedroom.

He walks back into his room and pulls on a pair of boxers and sweats, trying to ignore the dejected feeling crawling it's way up from his chest and into his throat. His bare feet pad against the floorboards as he walks towards the kitchen, beating down the tiny flare of hope in his heart that immediately withers away when he finds it just as empty as everywhere else in his apartment.

It's as he's opening the fridge to get some milk that he notices a very familiar sticky note stuck to the front of the freezer.

  This sounds douchey, but I had a family emergency I couldn't ignore. Sorry for running out :( I made some toast and left it in your microwave for you! Last night was a lot of fun and I'd really like it if we did it again.

Text me? xxx-xxx-xxxx

-Jeongguk

 Namjoon holds the sticky note in his hand, staring open-mouthed at the cute little bunny Jeongguk had drawn next to his name and flounders about for a few moments. This sticky note, in particular, is from the pad he keeps on his desk that he reserves for extra important things and by all means and purposes, his not-so-one night stand's number definitely tops the list of what Namjoon deems worthy of his extra, important sticky notes. He finds the pen Jeongguk had used to write his note with on top of the counter and snatches it up, gripping it tightly in his palm. 

He goes out on a whim and opens the microwave, finding the toast Jeongguk had made for him still hot. Which means that Jeongguk had literally run out his door only a few minutes before he woke up.

Damn it.

At least he has his number now though.

Namjoon grabs a piece of toast and nibbles on it as he walks back to his bedroom to get his phone, hooking it up to the charger once he's dug it out of a pocket from the pants he wore last night.

It's with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth that Namjoon shoots off a double-text addressed to Jeongguk, not knowing at all that this is how it all begins for them. For him and his future husband.