#getting my sternum done is gonna be so much fun :')

[honeysteaa]

Showing off my newest (and smallest) tattoo 🥰🩷

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love. 

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah!  You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey. 

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this. 

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible. 

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”. 

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands. 

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.  

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance. 

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip. 

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold. 

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller. 

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car. 

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight. 

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists. 

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another. 

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something. 

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany. 

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms. 

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his. 

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again. 

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss. 

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands. 

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic. 

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way. 

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there. 

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle. 

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours. 

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him? 

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms. 

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.” 

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?” 

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.  

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.” 

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him. 

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right? 

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier. 

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you. 

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings. 

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now? 

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music. 

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers. 

I love you. 

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder. 

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him. 

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song. 

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart. 

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.  

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?” 

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.” 

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore. 

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller. 

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over. 

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it. 

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.” 

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage. 

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.  

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage. 

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar. 

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?” 

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage. 

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with. 

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar. 

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords. 

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place. 

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel. 

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games  No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see  Our future days  Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing. 

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women. 

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?” 

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.” 

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you. 

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints. 

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit. 

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once. 

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane. 

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him. 

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties. 

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you. 

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him. 

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you. 

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady. 

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours. 

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are. 

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you. 

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?” 

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office. 

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused. 

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful. 

I love you. 

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side. 

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull. 

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.” 

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.” 

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright. 

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego. 

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet. 

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?” 

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.” 

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?” 

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.” 

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him. 

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours. 

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy. 

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants. 

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric. 

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!” 

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.” 

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.” 

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently. 

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.” 

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back. 

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

 The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him. 

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says,  “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you. 

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips. 

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”. 

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now. 

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does. 

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.” 

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers. 

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece. 

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen. 

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel. 

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat. 

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

  He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.” 

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling. 

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip. 

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you. 

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way. 

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl. 

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips. 

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk. 

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…” 

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating. 

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you. 

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.” 

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask. 

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.” 

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep. 

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed. 

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany. 

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

[luveline]

jade i don't know if you're taking requests, this could be something super short if you want it to be! i am just dying to see rockstar!eddie and reader at a halloween party. i think he'd look so dreamy

rockstar eddie forever <3 fem, 1k

cw friendly use of the word harlot, rough kisses mdni

"Nice costume." 

You pick your head up where you've draped yourself across the pouffe and smile when you realise who it is. "Thanks, Munson. Yours is better. Super brave." 

"Fuck off." Eddie, very much not in costume, puts a knee between your thighs and bends over the pouffe and your splayed body, careful not to drive the stake in deeper. "Superglue?" he asks, hitting the stake in your chest lightly before putting his hands behind your head like a net to lift you up. "Come on, you'll give yourself a migraine." 

"My hero," you croon, sitting up at his insistence. "I have fake blood in my bag, if you want to be my slayer. Or I can just give you a hickey." 

"I'm good, sweetheart. Vampire wasn't outlandish enough for you?" 

"You know I don't stop at what's already been done." 

He snorts and drops your hands, not without kindness. "Where have you been?" your bandmate asks, the curls of his hair dark like oil slick in the red lighting. His pale skin is blushed with blood. 

"Around. Waiting for the hiatus to be well and truly over." 

"Well, you got your wish." He bends down to kiss your cheek. "Missed you, babe. Had a nice vacation?" 

"I did! Saw the 'rents, saw the world." 

"Don't tell me you stayed here?" he asks, gesturing to the walls of Jamison's lavish house with disgust. "The point was to get away from each other." 

"I like his company." 

"You let him fuck your brains out," Eddie corrects. 

"Come on, Edward, you know I only have eyes for you." You bring his hand to your lips and kiss the bone of his wrist, leaving behind a dark lipstick print and a more syrupy splodge of fake blood. "Your refusal to commit the sin of interband relationships is bumming me out." 

"Well, we can't have that," he says, knee again between your thighs, unafraid to rough you up a little as his hands get acquainted with the slopes of your cheeks, pressing your skin back to get an unfettered look at your blood-splattered face. "Once I kiss you, that's it. Not turning back." 

You beam. "Holy shit," you say, breathless, chest heaving in your tight corset and eyes like hearts as he smirks at you. "I don't wanna turn back." 

"You really didn't fuck Jamison?" he asks, eyes heady as they pour into yours. It's hard to distinguish the irises of his eyes from his pupils, the dark of them like dimes in the red-light. 

Eddie has a talent for removing the rest of the room. Whenever you're together, on stage, behind a camera, you have eyes for him and only him, and he's known that for a while. This will they won't they flirting has been a fun pregame but you're ready for the climax, the culmination, the bite of his rings digging in as he bites your lip. Your breath hitches as you think it, giving a wordless nod. "Of course I didn't fuck Jamison," you say, fighting to keep your voice smooth, soft. 

"I know," he says, leaning down. 

The wood of your stake aches between your sternum as his chest hits it, digging in, the kiss of a new bruise as his lips inch closer and closer. You can't close your eyes; you don't believe him. He won't really kiss you. 

"What?" he asks, blinking at your still-open eyes in milk confusion. "Don't want me to?" 

"You're stabbing my heart." 

Eddie rolls his eyes, yanking the stake off of your corset with a cropped ripping sound. "You're always so dramatic." 

"There's gonna be a real bruise there, I'll show you–" 

You lose your sentence as he kisses you. You truly aren't expecting it. Here, now? At some lame party in the Hills, where the biggest celebrities are literally him and the lesser known members of Cat's Club? You always thought Eddie would kiss you on stage in a throw of passion, or slammed up against a wall, a tour bus, a hotel bathroom door. This kiss is tame in comparison, though his knee juts between your legs and the grip he has on your face is as biting as you imagined, lines of rings embedding themselves in your soft cheeks, his lips stickied by the glucose blood and your wet lipstick. You grab a handful of his curls and there, as you've always imagined, is the scratch of his teeth as he pulls the flesh of your top lip between them and pulls. 

You're startled as he kisses it better. Dizzied as he sighs into your lips, a sound that feels like praise. You give into the pressure of his kiss and let your lips part under his, heat like nothing you've ever felt passed between you. His nose digs into yours, the bridge sliding hard as he turns his head this way and that, like he's trying to kiss you dumb. 

"Is it the costume?" you ask as he pulls away for breath, wide-eyed, startled and wanting and needing him closer. 

He tugs at your corset strings teasingly. "It's fucking everything. We were on a hiatus for two weeks and the whole time I'm wishing I kissed you before I left. You're gonna let me do it again, right?" 

"Uh, duh." 

Eddie practically rags you up off of the pouffe to the couch just behind it, "Think we can make everybody else leave?" 

"No–" He cuts you off again with a kiss, two rough kisses, a third, hands at your waist and pressing into you hard, lips pressing harder as he wades in, a laugh humming between your lips. White hot delight and the stupid delirium of giving in, no more than four kisses before he's being pulled off of you by the collar. 

"We have one fucking rule," Jeff says, Jamison with a handful of Eddie's shirt at his side having broken through the partygoers. 

You smile lazily and lay back in the couch cushions, a picture of ardency, fake blood smeared by kisses across your face and up one cheek, your corset ripped.

"Fucking look at her, man, what was I supposed to do? I'm but a mere human," Eddie says. He's whining, but he's grinning at you like he usually does when you conspire against the others, like you're his very favourite person on earth. "Fuck. Let me at 'er." 

You laugh more at his ridiculous overplay. Gareth stomps on his foot as Jamison chucks a pillow at your chest. 

"Harlot. You're a fucking siren." 

"I really don't get why you're all so mad," you say, delighted at finally having gotten what you wanted. 

Eddie winks at you. "Jealousy, babe. S'all it is. Jamie, man, unhand me. Me and Y/N have unfinished business. She has a bruise she wants to show me." 

"I'm sure she does. Idiots." 

[barbatusart]

how do you make your art so expressive and fluid-looking? do you have a technique or is it just how you've trained your hand? I try to get my figures more fluid but they always look so stiff! even practicing figure drawings...maybe because you draw so fast that helps? idk man...any advice? thank you!

thank you first off for such a compliment!!! fluidity & shape are the things i prize most in visual art to the point where ive given up gunning for "correctness" in favor of chasing the preservation of motion lol. gonna put my response and my Full Visual Art Journey to where i am now under the cut as it's an image-heavy one and a bit long winded (shocking for me to be long winded i know LOL)

so i absolutely used to have the exact same problem many years ago of my stuff being too stiff, ie my sketch would be loose and fun but my inks would be nervous & tight & not as fun to look at as the sketch

this is a super old thing from 2011 when i was still on my anatomy journey (you can tell cus the sternum and nose are, uh, interesting LOL) but you can kinda see what i mean - the sketch underneath is fun & has movement as sketches do, but these little fineliner inks are so visually Nervous. the issue for me at the time was that i was subconsciously exactly that: nervous of messing the picture up, and that fear of making a mistake telegraphed loud & clear to my inks. using fineliner tools 100% did not help me either, as microns & the like have little to no "give" to them; you put the pen to paper and you get what you get, and you have to sit there & meticulously build the line up to get any kind of lineweight.

i was ultra dissatisfied with my output so i made 2 changes a few years after this: i stopped doing pencil sketches and started just doing straight inks, and i swapped to a brushpen

these are from 2012 or so & some of the first things i did in straight brushpen inks with no pencil, and theyre a total mess but they are LOOSE AND FUN! i had 100% no idea what i was doing with the brushpen and had no control over it because i was so used to the thin lines pencil & microns gave me, so everything i made was sloppy & out of control as i was struggling to keep control of the tool, but honestly it was absolutely freeing for me. now i had the looseness of the sketch right there at the forefront. the issue was though, how could i get enough control of the brushpen to make something that wasnt so messy? even if i had freedom, if i got too wacky with it, itd just turn into a black ink mess. i was completely done with pencils at this point and didn't want to go back & risk losing this looseness & freedom, and then i realized like - what if i just do my straight ink sketch like this & then figure out a way to go back in & "carve" into it to clean it?

enter the next tool in the arsenal, the white gel pen. this was my first experiment with it & it was legitimately a complete game changer, because now i could slop on my inks as much as i wanted & go right back in with the gel pen & literally carve out the black lines to as crisp as i pleased while still preserving the motion & energy of the ink sketch. i noticed even with tons of layers of gel too there was no way to fully get rid of the ghost outline of my corrections, so at this stage i leaned into that quality even harder & changed from white paper to exclusively brown

at this point i wanted to showcase loud & clear to myself exactly what i was cleaning up, i LOVED how this looked. i even went a step further & got some really translucent red ink for a second brush pen (had to fill the cartridges with the red ink manually in the sink lol) so i could do an even sloppier red sketch underneath, half precise slop on black ink on top of it, clean it up with the gel, go back in with the black, forever and ever and ever

and like this was an absolute physical mess of material but it was beyond fun. id completely given up on anything being clean or correct, because i could always clean it & correct it & have a blast showcasing the journey of start to finish as preserved in the materials. i basically gave myself permission to like, be imperfect, treat inks like clay, & draw with complete abandon like a kid again

eventually utrecht stopped making the kind of brown paper i loved (these brown paper books were HEAVY DUTY & could take so much punishment, when i was done with a book id legit flip it over & start drawing on the backs of the pages) & then all the available material physically couldnt handle the amount of medium i was putting on my pages, like legit the paper itself was just ripping & dissolving lmao. so at this stage i got an ipad (i could never wrap my head around a tablet & not looking at my hand and the tool touching the artwork) & pivoted from trad to digital in like uhhhh 2018ish & just did the exact same techniques of slopping inks down, carving with the eraser, going back in with the inks, carving more with the eraser, and so on. and now since it was digital & i never had to worry about my paper literally melting underneath my brushes LOL i could just go forever on one thing

early attempts while learning the new medium in my fury road era

tail end of the SAD SACK roughs in like 2019ish (SAD SACK really was what got me locked in with my digital technique & how i wanted to attack it)

tail end of the SORTIE roughs from like 2021, at this stage i think my style got so fuckin crazy because i wasnt worried about my pages getting destroyed anymore so im like Violent with the ipad lmao, that & it got Really fast bcus since i wasnt bothering with correct anymore & had no medium-being-destroyed barrier i could just gunshot-speed get these down

and then most recently DE RERUM NATURA from like january of this year which i think showcases what im currently doing pretty accurately

this got long whoops lol POINT IS: i dont worry about being correct (because i can fix it later), i dont worry about being neat (because i can clean it later), and i skip the sketch stage entirely by slop-inking & eraser-carving interchangeably, which lets me fix and clean all i want while preserving the energy & action of the first marks. plus, going straight inks all the time i think trained my hand & eye to A. put down the marks i want correctly in the General Space of where i want them, and B. do it faster & faster lol

after all this my advice to you is this: swap to a new tool! try a brush, try paint, try a medium you have no control over but something that forces you to improvise and remember whats so fun in the first place about making a mess on your canvas of choice. remember that any mark you make, you can tweak, fix, carve, shove around, whatever. i think a lot of people get stuck in the rules they have set for themselves with art (i know i did!) and we tend to forget that there are no rules. try & remember that feeling of being little & just going wild on paper without any care whatsoever about being Right. go for it, because you can always tweak it - even inks arent permanent 🤓

[ostrichmonkey-games]

Everything I see from Dark Confluence looks sick, and you should use this as an excuse to talk more about it

I don't think I've actually talked a ton about what Dark Confluence is going to be like as a completed game, so I'll take this as an excuse to do so lmao.

So, I like the souls-borne "series" a ton. But my favorite part of all the games is the world that you're let loose in and get to explore. Piecing together the story through bits and pieces, hidden clues, secrets, implication and interpretation. The goal of Dark Confluence is to do that together at the table.

To that end, Dark Confluence is all about the setting and unfolding story you all put together. It is as much a game as it is a chopped up setting book that never tells you exactly what's going on - because that's the fun! Making it all up! Crafting your own unique crumbling, melancholy universe and then rooting around in it to see what you can make sense of.

Character mechanics draw a lot from my other game Extracausal, so its a lot of tag/trait based stuff, but there's also DNA from games like Wanderhome in there, with how the Realms ("levels") and Lords of the Tower ("bosses") work. I want the game to give the table a bunch of tools for getting into weird and complicated situations, and then stringing it all together into something uniquely cohesive.

Most of the mechanics are mostly done and written at this point, all that's left is just all the other writing lmao. There's 36 character backgrounds (each with their own set of 3 unique items), 12 Realms, 12 Lords, 18 Magical Spells, 18 Artifacts, 18 Major NPCs, 36 Creatures and Wretches (and more!), all of which have embedded within them little "lore sparks" for the table to play around with. Nothing is "canon", but there's a lot of moving parts - building blocks - for the table to play around with.

You're all gonna be wandering around your unique version of the Infinite Tower (the dark confluence of the multiverse), confronting the Lords of the Tower as you shape the universe to come. Along the way, you'll meet weird and interesting NPCs, horrible and dangerous Wretches, and uncover and create your own deep lore and secrets.

As a reward for everyone reading through all this text, here's a new Artifact

Ossifrage Great Bow; tags - ravenous, violent A great bow shaped from many fragments of bones. It glistens in the light, bleeding like an open wound. Effect: The wielder never runs out of arrows, as the bow fires massive, barbed, missiles grown and harvested from the skeleton of the wielder themself. Burden: The wielder’s sternum must be kept pried open, beating heart exposed. Augments The bow can launch a flurry of smaller arrows that darken the sky The bow can steal the bones of another whom it has injured The projectiles fired from the bow leave a burning stream of blood in their wake

And! A new Spell!

Fragmentation Effect: Unleash your manifold soul, allowing the hungry, grasping hands of Fate within you to reach out and unravel whatever they touch. Requirement: Consume an entire age’s worth of Fragments, becoming infinite, fractal, and glorious. Ember Moves Like tangled strands of a knot, all Fragments are secretly connected. All Fragments must take a Curse. The howl of the dying cosmos echoes louder, consuming the dreams of those within the Realm, replacing them with something else. One of your many soul-pieces sloughs off, becoming a Fragment all its own, one with the Fate of bringing about your final Dissolution. They say that souls are the building blocks of the cosmos, and the gods merely stonemasons. From where then, do souls come from?

It's gonna be done eventually. I might be on the lookout for playtesters once I have the text done. So, keep an eye out for that maybe?

[eggcompany]

How can I Resist?

"Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there." Jaskier likes to play with his Witcher

Jaskier had been bedding the White Wolf for a few years now. A few Summers. But this is the first time he’s seen his witcher so... relaxed. Up in Kaer Morhen. He had met the two other witcher's and the eldest of them all earlier. But now he and Geralt were up in his room. Geralt was spread out in front of the fire in his smallclothes, he was laying on a rather impressive pile of furs. Jaskier was sat at a small table writing in his journal. He didn’t get very much done though. Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there. Geralt was nearly asleep by the time he heard the rustle of clothes being shucked off, then a very friendly bard was flopping down on his left side.

“You just looked far too perfect for me leave you be.” Jaskier said has be turned to face the older man. He started tracing his fingers over a few scars that sat on Geralt’s sternum and chest.

“’was gonna sleep.” Geralt said in a very low and soft tone.

“Oh a nap would be just lovely, dear. Do you want something to drink or anything before you rest, my love?” Jaskier sat up a bit more but a sword callused hand wrapped under him and pulled the bard down onto Geralt’s chest. Jaskier hummed and cuddled into his witcher’s chest and started to doze. Right before the bard was asleep he pressed a single kiss to whatever skin was near his face.

However that skin was apparently a sensitive spot because soon the bard felt a shiver run down Geralt’s body. He felt Geralt’s hand that wasn’t wrapped around him come and cover that spot. That interested Jaskier.

Jaskier lifted that scarred hand away and kissed that spot again with a bit more pressure. Geralt’s breath hitched a bit and he push his chest up a small bit.

“Sensitive? Oh my dear Geralt that’s just adorable.” Jaskier said as he lifted up and placed his hands on either side of his witcher’s shoulders. He lowered himself and started kissing all over Geralt’s chest.

Geralt wiggled and moved his chest away from the kisses but also pushed up toward the bard’s attack. He let out little whimpers and small “Jask” and “oh”s.

Jaskier had his fun for another few seconds and then he pulled back and looked at Geralt’s face. Pupils big and round, bottom lip being bitten, an almost blush. A blush that would be there if it could be.

Jaskier threw one of his legs over the witcher’s waist and oh. Oh that’s a lovely feeling.

“Geralt you’re harder than a rock. You really like it that much? Gods your wonderful.”

Jaskier rocked a bit back onto the hardon that was right under his ass. He could feel the heat through his pants and Geralt’s smallclothes.

Geralt turned his head and looked away. His hands flexed in the furs, as if he was nervous.

“Well, sweet Geralt, let me continue” Jaskier said so sweetly before he started sucking hickies onto Geralt’s chest and nipping and licking at his nipples. Geralt was almost thrashing under him. Moaning loudly and holding onto the bard’s hair. Jaskier simply pressed his hips down once before Geralt pulled at his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart Geralt was panting a bit and looked very far away.

Jaskier bent down and kissed his nose.

“Very cute. Now let’s get you washed up and into bed, dearest.”

[whimsipunk]

2, 6, 18, 28, 29 uwu

2. What are you obsessed with right now?

I've been hyperfixating on detective fiction lately! I combed over my entire bookshelf and only found 3 books that would fit the bill (and one of them's technically a crime thriller and not even detective fic proper), so I'm planning on trying out a few Poirot novels in the near future. I used to love mystery stories as a kid but kind fell off the wagon with them as a teenager. Coming back ot them now so long after is really cozy and nostalgic. :3

I also finally saw Knives Out and Glass Onion because of this hyperfixation and I LOVED them, especially Knives Out. Benoit Blanc is my dad now.

6. Describe your dream home.

Something spacious but not like a full blown masion, with a back yard big enough to host parties and a pond with a waterfall. The walls are made of brick or stone and it's got a little tower on one side and a big wooden door with iron hinges. The garden would be full of black flowers and there'd be a trellis swing.

I'd have a room that's a dedicated library, full of dark wood and big cushy seating and warm lights with a dimmer. The door to it would be one of those hidden bookshelf doors. I'd also have a room that's just my art and crafting studio, with big worktops and lots of storage and wide airy windows for lots of natural light. Also a spare bed so if I wear myself out working on a project I can lie down right then and there.

There would also be a fully kitted out kitchen and big dining area for more gatherings, including hosting TTRPG nights for all of my friends. A plush living room, at least one guest room and a bathroom in pastel colors with a big ass bathtub for my goth bathbombs are also in there somewhere.

18. What tattoos do you want?

OOOOOOO YESSSSSS let's see. I want a tattoo of a mandrake plant, probably in the style of those goofy, scrunkly medieval marginalia illustrations.

I definitely need to get a tattoo of a faerie at some point, though I'm not sure exactly what I want that to look like yet.

And I'd really like to get something on my other inner forearm from the Murray twins in Salem, most likely a creepy ass scarecrow or other folk horror inspired piece. That would require me to actually visit Salem though XD

I also have an idea for a sternum piece based on some art from a mausoleum in my local cemetery, which depicts two snakes coiling around an upside down torch with a star above them. That'd be a post top surgery thing, though.

As would my final idea, which I am definitely going to get done, which is a quote from the poem Vultures by Jarod K. Anderson. It'll say "Your old name is not your king/ I rename you 'everything'" right under my top surgery scars.

28. Who's the funniest person you know?

(sweats) idk what you mean all my friends are hilarious....

29.What's the most overrated movie?

OUGH that's a really broad question so I'm gonna take the cowardly way out and give you a broad answer. I think movies being "good" or not is kind of an overrated concept in general. You could make an absolute dogshit movie on a cheap-ass phone camera with horrible acting and an incoherent plot but at the end of the day if someone had fun watching it, even for the "wrong" reasons, then that's all that matters. And maybe I'm biased because I love campy schlok but, really, the important thing to me is not so much that something was "good" but that it was entertaining. If it also happens to be well put together and/or thought provoking that's a bonus.

Thanks for asking my deer friend <3

[ninacarstairss]

right??? i love it when i get packages!!! it makes my day. it’s so much better than going into a crowded shop on a sunday afternoon. and honestly i have no clue why black friday has now become a two weeks thing. it makes no sense

again, i adore you so much for understanding. i miss this app so much but usually when i get back from work i just want to lay down on my bed and play dead 😂

ughh i don’t know if i wanna cry more about the fact that it’s not the worst shift you’ve had to do or that it was three nights in a row 😭 i really hope you’ve gotten better shifts for this week!! it can’t be good to always be up working so late, even if you don’t have uni now!! lol i didn’t think about the gloves 😂 that would have been fun to see. and i can’t wait to see your costume if you have some pictures!!

yayyy i’m so happy for you!!! it honestly looks so cool!!! and it’s great that you can finally get it and you don’t need another round of medications!! i’m really happy it worked so well. let me know when you get an appointment and get the tattoo done!!! :D

speaking of tattoos, i finally found time to get another one!! i suffered so much. it’s right on the sternum so it wasn’t fun to do but i’m so happy with the result!!! i love it!!! (it’s harry styles’ chest tattoo but i did it lighter and smaller)

are you serious?? i’m just gonna watch movies now then hehe i’m always so tired, maybe it’s because i sleep too much and don’t watch enough movies. anyway, i can’t blame you for only reading three of those books. 16 books is a lot to read for a uni semester and if you passed everything you needed to pass, that’s perfect!!! you’re just a genius, no need to actually read those uni books 😌

aw comfort movies are literally the best. i’m so happy you managed to find some times for them!! i’ve been rewatching all my christmas comfort movies lately and they always make me feel better. we’ll just stay in this pillow fort forever and relax with comfort movies <3

yayy they’re gonna be so great!!!

i adore you so much for understanding everything and asking this <3 it’s really so unfair we live in different continents my beloved soulmate <33 i’m gladly taking that hug and hugging you back so tight as i wrap us in a blanket in our pillow fort <3

hello my beloved soulmate nero!!

i’m having the worst week. black friday sales have started like two weeks before the actual black friday and the mall where i work is constantly full. why don’t people go outside every once in a while?? 😭 honestly it’s so full every single day. and the place where i work is soooo tiny. ugh i can’t wait for this black friday weeks to be over so we can go back to normalcy without people constantly pushing you around and being rude :/

anyway i was so stressed i couldn’t even get on tumblr once 😭 i can’t wait for this period to be over so i can get back to our daily chats <3

how are you doing love??

and as for our previous letter, i literally just saw a picture of a heartstopper tattoo that included like six different scenes. it was so cute and perfect but i could never even narrow it down to just six scenes lol we really need some options to just choose from

and i’m so glad you’re relaxing more because you have no uni!! it’s so great!! you definitely deserve some time off now

omg that is so tumblr of you and i love it!!! honestly i feel like a 1975 concert is gonna be so perfect!!!! i can’t wait to hear about that next year

i’m sending you the tightest hug and a kiss on the forehead <3

hello cece my beloved soulmate!!!

that sounds awful! i'm so sorry you're having such a rough time 😭😭 no worker deserves to be treated like that, especially when there is such a massive sale going on. i'm praying that it only gets better for you as this sale ends, and you can breathe a little before the christmas sales start 😭😭😭 (i honestly do not understand how people are so motivated by sales that they go at the busiest of times?? i do all my christmas shopping at the start of the month just to avoid people 😭😭😭)

you poor thing :( i'm sure you were more stressed because you had no time to relax. hopefully, it will all calm down soon, so yes, we can have our daily chats again <3

and as for me, i am slowly getting there myself. i had three 1am finishes in a row 😭😭😭 but one day, we had a fundraiser, so i could dress up. (and i know you might be thinking, "nero, did you wear your spidey costume?" i did not because i did not want it to get ruined. HOWEVER. i did have some old wizard robes and a slytherin tie hanging around, and so i took it in my power to dress as draco malfoy) (obviously i was best dressed) i did have the chance to housesit and that gave me a little moment of pure peace (when i wasn't working) but i am going to housesit for a different place next week with the cutest dog and i am so excited :')

that tattoo sounds so cute, but yes, i really would struggle to just choose six. BUT I MUST SHOW YOU WHAT I AM PLANNING ON GETTING!! I FOUND EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED ON PINTEREST!! (pinterest my beloved)

LOOK HOW CUTE!! i only have a month or two until i can actually start getting my tattoos!! it was the one thing that sucked about being on acne mediation, but my skin is clear now, so that's a good thing.

i'm trying to make more time for movies because i haven't watched movies all year. i'm not even kidding. and i'm also trying to get back into reading stuff that isn't leftover uni material too.

i'm going with one of my best friends and i am so excited!! i will probably cry and make a complete fool of myself at the concert if i'm completely honest, but who cares? and of course i will tell you all about it <3

giving you some tea and a tight hug <3 know that i miss you, but don't feel pressured to come back when you're too stressed to <333

[halloweenhoneylover]

vanity project

summary: steve keeps the reader company while she gets ready (steve harrington x fem!reader)

word count: 2.8k

warnings: nothing i think? but lmk if not

author’s note: idk if milf was slang in the 80s but im gonna hope it was

“Can I come over early?”

The handset is tucked between Steve’s ear and shoulder as he finishes categorizing the returned tapes. Despite a rocky start, he’s rather good at his job at Family Video, so his dexterous fingers sort through the tapes quickly and without much extraneous thought, allowing for most of his brain space to be occupied by you. 

Hunched over your kitchen counter, you hold the phone in one hand and snag a grape with the other. “I mean, yeah, you can, but I can’t promise I’ll be fun ‘cuz I have to get ready.”

“I think you’re fun all the time.”

“Suck-up,” you tease, munching on the grape with a grin that says that you don’t mind the praise at all. 

“I don’t care as long as you don’t.”

You pause a moment. Insecurity snags in your stomach. Yeah, he’s seen you with no makeup, and yeah, he’s seen you all done up, but he’s never seen the process before, and something about it makes your nerves tingle. Your thoughts are clouded for a half-second, but clarified with the realization that it’s Steve. He’s the nicest boy you’ve ever dated, so you set aside your worries, your desire to see him trumping. 

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay.” You can hear his grin through the phone. “See you at 5.”

—

Steve’s a punctual guy, so he’s knocking at your door at exactly 5 PM. Jogging down the stairs, you swing open the door, greeted by the sight of him with his hands tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker. He looks like something out of a romance movie with his hair and his chest and his long legs, and he smiles. “Hi baby.”

Leaning down, he pecks your cheek, and despite the fact that this greeting of his has become a habit, your cheeks glow with warmth, and you hope he doesn’t notice how deep you’re in it for him. 

Brandishing a small smile, you greet him, “Hi, Steve.”

“Steve!” Your mom’s voice echoes from the kitchen where warm yellow light pools on the hardwood. “Hello!”

Ever the gentleman, he walks to the kitchen’s entry and leans on the doorframe. “Hi, Mrs. [Y/L/N]. What are we making today?”

You press the front door shut and come up behind him, resting a cheek on his shoulder to watch the interaction. Shutting the oven door and smoothing her hands on her apron, your mom preens at his interest. “Some curry recipe I got from the lady a couple doors down. Smells pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Smells wonderful,” he lauds, and she throws a dismissive hand.

“You’re too sweet, but I won’t keep you. I know you two have to be ready to go to that party soon.”

You’re already dragging him away, but he leans against your tide to reply, “We won’t leave without trying some curry!”

Throwing him a playfully disdainful look down the stairs, you chide, “I feel like you’re starting to like her more than me.”

He shrugs, stepping onto the landing. “I’m just a big hit with moms.”

“Please don’t hit on my mom.”

“That’s not what I said.”

Turning to him in your doorway, you stop him in his tracks. “The only mom you should have eyes for is me in twenty years when I’m a hot and sexy milf.”

“We’re gonna be such a sexy old couple.”

Twin grins, you poke him in the stomach and kiss the corner of his mouth quickly before turning to sit at your vanity. You plop into the chair but notice him trotting along at your heels and witness a moment of aimlessness when he can no longer follow you. It makes something sweet and lovely scratch at your sternum, and you point at the bed. “D’you wanna sit there?”

Climbing onto the bed, he reclines at your headboard. “So far from you though.” 

You pay little mind to his lament as you busy yourself with the makeup in front of you. Absentmindedly, you respond, “Such a hard life you lead, Steve Harrington.”

Hearing a slight commotion behind you of squeaking bed springs and rumpled duvets, you look back, and he has situated himself on his stomach, head propped on his hands at the end of the bed. You lift an inquisitive brow.

“So I can watch you,” he answers.

“You’re insane,” you murmur, but you can’t deny how pleased you feel at his nearness and his insatiable desire to be close to you.

For a moment as you pump some moisturizer into your hand, you think this might happen in relative silence, only the soft sound of Simon and Garfunkel pouring from your cassette when he’s pointing at your hands. “What is that?”

Flashing a glance to him in the mirror, you recognize genuine interest in his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. You start to rub it in while you speak. “It’s moisturizer. It’s what makes my skin soft.”

“Love that stuff.” He crosses his arms and rests his chin on his forearm. “‘Cuz you’re really soft all the time. One of my favorite things about you.” 

Gesturing with the bottle, you ask, “D’you want some?”

His eyes narrow more, and he juts his chin out. “What does it smell like?”

You bring the pump to your nose and sniff, cocking your head in contemplation. “I dunno, kinda nothing?” You hold it out for him, and he sniffs too. 

“Yeah, I’ll try some.” He hauls himself up into a sitting position, putting out a hand that you pump the white lotion onto. Quizzically, he inspects it before mimicking you, patting some onto each region of his face before hesitantly rubbing it in. “‘S kinda nice.”

You reveal your teeth with a Cheshire cat smile. “You’re gonna be glowing, Stevie baby.”

“Gonna be the belle of the ball at this fuckin’ party.”

That pulls peals of laughter from you, and he’s pleased with himself, having made you laugh.

He points at your assortment of makeup. “What do you do next?”

Picking up a tube that you start to unscrew, you chatter mindlessly. “Lotta people like to do foundation, but that’s too heavy for me, and it always ends up wiping away by the end of the party, so I just put some concealer on the bad parts of my face to cover all th—”

“There are no bad parts of your face,” he points out.

“Ha ha, Steve.” You stare in the mirror, carefully placing the doe-foot on any spots and ignoring the sweet boy behind you, but this doesn’t sit well with him.

“No, I’m serious.”

Something about his tone urges you to look at him, and when you do, you can see he’s telling the truth. The gravity in his gaze sits deep in your gut and shushes when you try to speak, so it only comes out a whisper. “Thank you, baby.”

He reaches out to tame a cowlick on the side of your head, so his eyes are focused on your hairline when he speaks. “Prettiest girl I know.”

You don’t really know how to move after that, and you’re looking at him with those big shiny eyes, so he tempers the heavy silence by licking his thumb and going for your hair again. “Got some stupid hair though. Never wants to listen to me.” You find yourself smiling again as you swat his hand away gently. 

You can’t stop grinning as you pat in the concealer with your ring finger. “Next, we’re gonna do our brows, okay?”

Instinctively, he raises a hand to his eyebrows which have resumed their furrowed state. “What is there to do?”

You’re pulling out another tube, unscrewing it to reveal a wand, and he scrunches his forehead further. You brush it through your brow hairs, pushing them up and smoothing out the tails, and he taps your jaw, wanting you to turn to him. You do, and he quizzically inspects your brows, squinting like that’ll somehow help. “I don’t see a difference.”

Tilting your head, you send him a lazy, knowing smile. “You might not, but I do, and that’s all that really matters.”

He nods his head with a relenting expression. “Yeah, alright.”

Picking up a compact, you pop it open and show him its contents. “‘Kay, so this is blush—”

“I know this one!” he announces triumphantly. “Makes your cheeks pink. I’ve seen my mom use this one.”

You’re beaming at him, his pride probably the cutest thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. “Exactly.”

He points at the compact and with deeply serious eyes, he asks, “Can I try putting it on you?”

You’re trying to keep your smile from growing embarrassingly larger but failing miserably. “Course you can.” 

With eager fingers, he snags the compact and stands unnecessarily close to you (you don’t mind), urging you to look up with gentle fingers on your jaw. He’s tall, so your head is tilted all the way back, and it’s a good excuse to shamelessly stare. Popping the blush open, he inspects the rouge. “How do I do this?”

You have to clear your throat to get your voice working again, but you still gaze at his face because why not? “It’s a cream, so you can just put some on your fingers and tap it on my cheekbones.”

He hums in assent, looking very serious about his new duty when all of a sudden, he dives down to place a flurry of kisses over your face, holding your jaw with his empty hand and pulling surprised giggles from you. “Steve!”

Finally he relents, pulling up to his height with a breathless smile to inspect his work. Mirth gleams in your eyes as you stare up at him, and just as he suspected, the prettiest pink dusts your cheeks. “See? Why would you use makeup when I’m a pro at making you blush.”

Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you see that he’s right and shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re a menace, Steve Harrington.” But your smile betrays the harshness of your accusation. “Besides, this kind of blush fades.”

“I can keep kissing you, that’s not a problem.” He’s cocky in the best way now, and it’s insane how he reduces you to quickened heartbeats and butterflies with such ease. 

“PDA freak,” you murmur.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, bringing his attention back to the abandoned compact in his hand. “Since you wanna take the easy way out.”

With great care, he smears the flat part of his middle finger in the rosy cream, and once satisfied with the amount of it, he begins to gingerly pat his finger across the plush of your cheek, and he tries to ignore the way your eyes have grown immeasurably large and pinned him down with your gaze.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, still entirely concentrated on the blush. “Performance anxiety.”

“Sorry.”

You don’t stop looking though.

He gathers more rouge and switches to your other cheek, gentle as all hell, and you don’t think you’ve ever put this much intense care into makeup application. Lifting his finger to hover over your face, he squints down at you to inspect his work, and he takes his thumb back to the first cheek to blend some smudge you can’t see. “How’s it look?”

A light hand on your jaw encourages you to look at the mirror, and he leans down close to you to see the reflection of his work. “Pretty good if I do say so myself.”

And he’s not wrong. Maybe a little generous with the pink, it’s still blended nicely and makes you look freshly kissed which was his ultimate goal. 

“Still think we should’ve gone with my original method, but this looks pretty good too.”

Grabbing his face with both hands because you’ve gone so long looking without touching and you’re desperate, you bring his face to yours and plant a big kiss on his lips. “Thank you, baby.”

He keeps you close to kiss you more deeply. “‘Course, pretty girl.”

Unhappy to depart from this closeness, you turn to your vanity with a sigh, and he sounds shocked when he exclaims, “There’s more?”

“Yeah, there’s more, idiot,” you chastise lightly as you grab an eyeshadow palette.

He collapses onto the ground in a huff but tucks his feet under his knees to sit criss-cross, ready for the long haul. When he looks up at you, you’re bathed in the warm light of the mirror, and he thinks you can’t be of this earth, looking all angelic and golden above him. You’re smoothing something soft and shimmery on your eyelids, and he’d gladly prostrate himself at your feet in worship. 

You pull out another tube, this one is black, and when you unscrew the wand, he remembers watching Nancy reapply her mascara in his bathroom, and he finds himself fascinated by the rituals of beauty. You brush it through your lashes, and they were long before, but now they’re positively luxurious, and attraction stirs in his stomach.

“Just have the lips left,” you say as you run one last swipe of mascara through your lashes. “Are we thinking lipstick or lipgloss?”

“Lip gloss,” he says too quickly. “Always.”

Your narrowed eyes are turned towards him with a suspicious quirk in your brows. “You said that so fast. Should I be weirded out that you seem really into the idea of me wearing lipgloss?”

“Not weirded out,” he says sheepishly with a hand coming up to scrub the back of his neck. “Just appropriately appreciated.” He pauses before deciding to be plainly honest. “You look hot.”

You have to turn your head away, avert your gaze because suddenly your blush was back in full bloom, and you couldn’t keep looking at him because it would only get worse. “Lipgloss it is.”

Something burns in his chest, right behind his ribs, and he thinks it might be fiery happiness and gluttonous attraction and something that starts with an L that he can’t name. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he watches you hopelessly as you apply the sticky gloss, and he knows he’s down bad. Down terrible. Down atrocious. 

When the gloss is on, you rub your lips together to smooth it all out before putting the tube down and moving the chair you’re on so you can sit next to Steve on the floor. With two hands, you smooth the hair out of your face and turn your whole body to him directly. “Okay, what do you think?”

He doesn’t really know quite what to say. Your newly done face shines up at him, and he feels like he’s choking down an outpouring of words that are embarrassing, and he’s not quite ready to be so vulnerable in this moment. So instead of speaking, he scrutinizes every little part of your face: the glow of your skin, the warmth of your cheeks, the brows that he finally recognizes as tamer than usual, and most importantly, your sheeny eyes looking up at him from under long, soft lashes and shimmery shading that makes you look like a proper sin. You’ve already pushed your hair away, but he takes a steady hand to brush at your hairline anyway, anything to touch you. 

“Can’t believe I’ve got a real life angel sitting in front of me,” he whispers, and you duck your head.

“You’re too nice to me, Steve Harrington.”

“I’m not being nice, I’m telling the truth. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” Palm on jaw, he runs a thumb gingerly beneath the swell of your shiny bottom lip, and you reach up and grab his wrist, not stopping him, just wanting to touch and be near. 

“You’re pretty handsome, too.”

He furrows his brow. “We should skip this party, right?”

You laugh, but he’s not entirely joking.

“Just want you all for myself, gonna wanna leave the second we get there and somebody else gets to look at you like this.” He takes your hand and presses chaste kisses to each knuckle. “I wanna be selfish.”

Your brows are upturned, and your eyes glassy. “Me too.”

Before he can rile you up, you grab both his hands and cradle them into your chest. “But we can’t abandon poor Robin.”

His head hangs in defeat. “She’ll be fine,” he mumbles.

You drop his hands and stand with great effort. “Yeah, she would be fine, but we’re not gonna do that because we’re friends, and we’re nice, and if we don’t go to this party, you won’t get to see the dress I bought for tonight.

That perks him up immensely, and his head pops up with newfound enthusiasm. “You bought a dress?”

Smiling, you know you have him exactly where you want him. “Yes,” you purr. “And it’s silky and soft and you won’t get to see it unless we go.”

He cocks his head with a dramatically pensive expression before nodding his head, and his lips stretch into a devilish grin.

“I guess we should probably go to this party then.”

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[sweettodo]

a simple competition.

⟿ Hisoka Morow x freader x Chrollo Lucilfer

Includes : threesome, toys, smut, not even a good plot but yk, consumption of alcohol

word count : 2,7k.

my last little surprise for you guys, some more threesum action .... here you go puppies. THX FOR 300 [ almost 400 rn :) ] <3 !!! your favorite men at your disposal... [y/n is aged].

fun fact, I'm eating takis rn, are these spicier than usual or am I imagining things ? i’m also watching ‘malcolm and marie’ AMAZING movie, i highly suggest it, the dynamic of the two is so detailed, such a good movie.

••

Maybe it wasn't a clever idea to drink, but once you attained that nice and warm sensation in your gut, there was certainly nothing stopping you from finishing the already half-empty bottle of pink whitney.

Laying sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the room slowly spins around you. Content and relaxed with your position.

It wasn't your fault, Pakudona reassuring you that it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun tonight, that Chrollo wouldn't heed if you crashed here for the night, he was tipsy, manspreading on the other end of the couch, eyes puffy and glossed over, enjoying the quiet.

Music was playing thirty minutes previously, but as the night went on, one by one, the others hit the road to sleep off their intoxication, it was already past midnight.

One person had yet to leave, that was Hisoka... of course.

He wandered back into the living room, plopping down next to you and your friend on the couch, "leaving anytime soon? Y/n?"

You shook your head, "staying the night." Hisoka's arched eyebrows rise, a little smile tugging at the niche of his mouth.

"Is that so?" Chrollo sits up, staring at the kaleidoscopic man, a sarcastic undergone on his tongue.

"That's what happens when you drive here, and drink" You nod, "although I didn't quite intend on you staying the night, Morow." He hums, Hisoka pinches the corner of the thin card, waving it back and forth teasingly.

"I can't let you have our playmate all to yourself," you roll your eyes.

"It's not like that," you mutter, staring the magician in the eyes, "I couldn't leave if I wanted to."

"That is true," Chrollo interjects, "that doesn't mean you want to leave though, is it?" you shrug.

"No, I wanna stay, got an issue with that?" you ask, he shakes his head.

"Of course not- although, I suppose Hisoka would be better off on his way."

You estimated things would only get progressively worse from here, the moment Hisoka's bloodlust began to fill the air, you felt this was your cue; before you're able to leave the room, Hisoka's hand is fastened around your wrist, sitting you back down.

"Oh, you can't flee now," dread fills your face, "come on, we might as well finish the conversation."

You and Chrollo both knew what he was talking about. No matter how petty or pathetic, it appears to be that the rivalry between the two never seemed to subside, even drunk.

"Go on, since you have so much to say."

"Am I wrong for thinking my friend is a pretty girl? I seem to remind her more than you do."

"You seem to think you own her, it's pitiful honestly, " Blushing, you look down at your thighs, "do you think she's pretty, Chrollo?"

"I do. I think she knows that right?" you peek up at him, he gleams and tilts his head.

"Look at her, my, you must like us flattering you." You shake your head.

"That's because you neglect to tell her more often, does Chrollo ever call you pretty?" with Hisoka pushing Chrollo's every button, tensions were surging, both men now at the edge of their seats- literally.

"No, he doesn't," you speak, the magician letting out a deep chuckle, you felt like you were being scrutinized, the eyes burning into you felt poisonous and dour, you felt minuscule compared to them.

"I could do so much better than call you pretty, right kitten?" your heart sinks to your stomach, gulping hard. It was too hard to look at them in the eyes as you sunk further into the couch.

"Are we making you nervous?"

The inquiry continues.

"Yeah- you are." You retort, "you guys are talking about me like I'm not here."

"Then let's ask the lady herself, y/n." Looking up to meet Hisoka's gaze, "who do you think could take better care of you?"

Heart pounding out of your chest, your stomach filled with butterflies, "I- I don't know, I've never thought about it." Laughing, you look to see Chrollo, who's standing to his feet.

"I think I know a way to help you decide," smug smile peeking from his face, "unless you don't want to?"

A single nod is all they needed to know, Hisoka standing to his feet, seeing how you sat on the couch as still as a statue, "please don't be so tense, you know how good we are to you." Hisoka slowly picks up your hand.

He's steering you to your feet, "what do you have in mind, Chrollo?" the man leading you two upstairs.

"I think I have something that'll work out for all of us."

The dress you wore to this get-together now seemed like you were exposed, bare, and vulnerable, you knew what their agenda was, you didn't fancy the idea of being the center of attention.

Chrollo slowly clicking open his door, walking in, and promptly turning on the light, you're led to the side of his king-sized bed, his room was both contemporary and warm, comforting feeling; the walls a deep vermilion, the sheets plush, soft and black tones.

"We should leave it up to our little kitten to decide," the buttons on his shirt slowly coming undone, stopping at his sternum.

"What do you think, Morow?" Hisoka looks at you with low eyes.

"I'll go first."

Chrollo stalks towards you, sitting there falling apart at the seams, Chrollo's large and reaching behind your ear, thumb gently caressing your jawline, side to side, "you okay with this? Sweetheart?" you nod, the name sending jolts between your thighs.

Hisoka's rubbing your bare leg, sitting next to you on the mattress as his fingertips trail up and down, his hand stopping inside your thigh and pressing a leg open, Chrollo clasping your other knee and you lay on your back

"I'll get some time to please you, Hisoka gets the same when I'm done, yes?"

You're breathless, Hisoka grabbing you and pressing your back against him, his hands pinching the seams of your dress, "cute little dress- you should wear it more often for me." He hums, rolling it up, your thighs buckled together while lifting your back off the mattress, the dress sitting bunched up at your hips, the panties you wore sitting on your hips.

"My, who knew she would wear something so- revealing." Arms linking around your own, Hisoka keeps you completely locked in place.

"Did you wear these for me? Kitten?" Chrollo asks, shaking your head no.

Tugging at the little strong which hardly kept you covered, “I'll keep these, yeah?” you nod, the pants of Chrollo’s fingers barely ticking you, brushing against your already anxious body.

"Stay still for me, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe.

Hand leaning over past Hisoka, he's opening up the drawer beside his bed.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the little pink toy, compact in nothing bugger than four inches long, he sits on the bed in front of you, bringing the little object to your core.

He switches it on the lowest setting, the only noise in the room was the quiet buzzing of the vibrator as he barely touches your clit, the tiniest contact with the toy having your chest rise and fall, "keep these open for me, okay princess?" his fingers hook below your panties, pulling them down and placing them beside him.

"Such a pretty pussy, don't you think, Hisoka?" You're gnawing on your bottom lip from the teasing little touches with the toy, he was doing this on purpose; your legs laid open, the other man holding your arms to where you couldn't do anything if you wanted to.

"It is, I'm sure it's even prettier when it's cumming,"

Chrollo finally presses the vibrator onto your clit, he leans over your cunt, spitting, your mouth opens, the saliva hardly cooling your excited cunt.

He uses his free hand to finish unbuttoning his shirt, dropping it on the floor, he leans down leveled to your cunt, holding your leg over his broad and muscular shoulder, his tongue licking a stripe towards your occupied clit. Your body shakes, digging further into Hisoka's chest, he holds you tighter.

"Fuck, p-please!" you gasp, wanting to dig your hands into his hair, thrashing against Hisoka's arms, "let me touch-" your pleads fall on deaf ears, Chrollo’s tongue swirling into you in sinful ways, your legs twitching, the toy too much to handle.

The euphoric feeling of the overstimulation sending a pool of cream right onto Chrollo's tongue, lapping up every drop of you.

You were dizzy, Chrollo drinking up all of your essences, his hand pressed into your thigh to keep you from buckling onto him, your back grinding against the pressure of Hisoka's growing erection, his hands had grabbed the straps of your dress, one by one pulling them down and releasing your tits from the braless dress.

It's almost too good to be true- the man spending a dangerous amount of time eating your pussy like it was his very last meal, tasting everything he possibly could, the vibrator maintaining its spot in little circles around your swollen and screaming clit.

Ripping orgasm after orgasm out of your body, you're dripping sweat, he pulls off of you, your cum covering his reddish swollen lips, chin soaked. You looked a wreck, makeup streaming down your face, legs numb, his head coming to yours, he kisses your panting lips, releasing you from Hisoka.

The taste of your cum filling your mouth, his tongue licking past your bottom lip and into your mouth.

"Take this off." tearing at your dress, peeling it over your head, unzipping his pants, "you're gonna straddle me and stay still, is that okay with you, kitty?"

"O-okay, what about Hisoka?" Grabbing your hips, you straddle him. He raises you a little.

"He's gonna watch me make you cum a few more times-" hissing in the air as he assists you to slide down onto his cock, the stretch was unbearable, but you push through, trying not to slouch over in pain.

"-hurts, bad!" You sob.

"You take me so well, it'll only hurt for a second, promise."

His hand's move, one to your waist and one loosely around your throat as he holds you up to get a better grip on your already weakened body.

Keeping eye contact with Hisoka as your body is demolished by the man beneath you, eyes boring into you seductively, captivated by your mess of a face.

You felt as if you were being torn in half, crying out his name as he knew just how to fuck you; fucking your pussy just right.

Fucking you so hard you were going numb.

"Gonna cum! Gonna cum again!" you screamed, head falling back as you searched desperately for air, Chrollo rolling his hips into you as he released you, slumping to his chest, his chest stick from sweat.

"You wanna be filled with my seed, kitty?" Nodding in his shoulder.

"Please fill me- I want your cum,"

The feeling of his cum seeping down his cock and deep into your beaten-up cunt, his breath heavy against your ear.

You sit up, large arms wrapping from behind you and pulling you off of your straddle, Chrollo getting off the bed to clean himself off as Hisoka sits you on the bed, tucking your hair behind your ear gently, smiling as you look up at him, blurred eyes.

"My my, I don't think she can handle it, or can you?"

"I-I can, trust me." He smiles, pleased with your answer, his soft hands taking up your arm before leaning you back, onto your back, he was sweaty, so his shirt was clinging to his body, his hair was messily draped over his shoulders, pulling his tie loose while standing between your open legs, "let me see your wrists, princess."

He's leading you against the bed frame, linking your hands together and finishing off the knot around the post of the frame, the man getting on his knees between your legs, letting his shirt hand open as his hands work at his slacks, unbuckling the leather belt and tossing it to the side, "you look so innocent, tied up and quiet as a mouse, even after you just got fucked out," he pushes down his pants, erection throbbing from underneath his underwear.

The area between your legs throb, he was beyond ready to feel your walls tighten around him, he was ready to hear you begging for more.

He needed to one-up Chrollo.

He lifts your hips, your legs propped against his thighs while remaining restrained, his tip aiming into you accordingly before pushing into your beaten cunt.

His arm propped, flexing as he grips the headboard, drilling into your cunt with no tenderness, he spares you no pain as he ruts into you, ready to split you in half the instant he saw you spilling cum at the hands of his rival.

The size of him left you perplexed, the way he was splitting you open while bringing you to an indescribable state of heaven had you a sloppy mess, the thick cock he had with his veins filling in the little nerves you had yet to feel seconds earlier. He filled you, and he filled you well.

Hisoka fucks you until your head is blank, eyes seeing white, one of his hands gripping your hip, keeping you from laying fully on your back.

You try to cry put to him, and he notices.

He slows only slightly, rolling his hips back and forth into you so you can speak, "s-so good, it feels so good!"

Each rut of his hips sends you into oblivion, the way his hips bumped and clashed against your body left you spitting out a mantra of his name, Chrollo inches away from you, rolling your perked nipple in between his fingers, sending chills up your body.

Hisoka brings his eyes to you, "joining in, my friend?" Chrollo pulls his hand back, you almost find yourself whining.

“Did I fuck you better, y/n?” Chrollo taunts, his lips barely pressing against the life of your ear, “is Hisoka making you feel good?” Hisoka's beautiful golden eyes stalk you, waiting for your answer; stabbing right into your soul.

“Answer him, go on, kitten; did he fill you as good as I am?”

The questions were throwing you in for a loop, your stomach twisted, digging your head back deeper into the pillow of Chrollo’s bed.

“Fill me, please- daddy.” You cry, you longed to touch him, to feel his soft hair as he pummeled into you; you tugged on your wrists softly, already weak, the tied limbs going numb and tingling.

Before you know it, another orgasm is torn out of you; groaning out as you tightened and clenching around him, body once again convulsing, legs tightening around Hisoka’s waist. Each time they made you cum, the more came spilling from your cunt, it was almost unreal how much the bed was soaked, how soaked your thighs were, Hisoka’s pants being stained in the process.

This pretty little soaked pussy, sucking me in so good.” Panting, his head falls back, his dick quaver’s while his thrusts become more staggered, hand gripping tighter around your already sore hip.

His seed bathes both you and his cock, hips sputtering as he slowly slips out of your abused cunt. your head spinning, a panting mess at you blink and stare at the ceiling.

You could barely move, the men in the room throwing on clothes, hearing zippers, you lift your head.

Chrollo hands you a blanket, draping it over your body.

Sitting up, the blanket around you, you look at the two men who were fiddling around doing nothing but looming around the room.

While Hisoka buttons up his shirt, he tilts his head towards you, “tired, princess?” you nod.

A devious smirk dances on your lips, they look at you confused, “perhaps though, I might need another round, you know- to decide who was better.”

[waka-chan-out]

for the mini event: 23 and atsumu please! congrats on 300 you deserve every one of them!

300 Follower Event

Miya Atsumu

Prompt 23: “Wanna make a bet?”

this fic was part of my 300 follower event. check out the rest of the submissions here.

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 1.5k

content warnings: established relationship, gamer!atsumu, teasing, hand job, blowjob, atsumu miya continues to be a stubborn bastard and i love him for it

thank you so much anon 🥺 that’s so sweet of you to say. i’m sorry this took a while to write, but i hope you enjoy :)

“I’m telling ya, you’re not gonna beat me.”

“Yeah?” you said, then shoved at Atsumu’s arm. His cart on the screen went flying off of the road and he yelled in frustration.

“You’re cheating’!”

“Street rules, ‘Tsumu. Anything goes.”

“Physical violence wasn’t part of the deal.” He slowly gained speed as you crossed the finish line. You smiled as the screen scrolled through highlights of Atsumu falling off the map and getting hit.

He let out a frustrated groan and jumped on you, pinning you against his couch.

“I don’t like playin’ with you.”

“Why? Cause you lose?”

“A little.”

You ruffled his hair and he buried his face into your chest. He let out another groan, then propped his chin up on your sternum.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Yeah? What’s your idea?”

He grinned.

“Wanna make a bet?”

You carded a hand through his hair.

“What’s the bet?” you asked.

“We play another three tracks. Whoever wins gets to be in charge.”

“In charge of what?”

He smirked.

“You know what.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Can I distract you?” you asked.

“Yes, but I’m going to do the same. And you aren’t allowed to interfere with what the other person is doing. Offense only. No defense.”

“Oh, easy. I’m winning.”

He pushed himself off of you and braced his arms on either side of your head.

“How can you be so confident about this?”

“Because I’m very good at this and you aren’t. I’m going to win.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, sweetheart,” he said. He ran a large hand up your side to gently squeeze around your neck. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

You smiled.

“Prove it.”

He rolled his eyes and sat up.

“I will. Don’t cry when ya lose.”

“I don’t think I need to be the one worried about that, ‘Tsumu.”

“Shut up and let me start the game.”

You settled next to him as he opened up the game.

“What track are we playin?” he asked. You leaned over and placed a hand on his inner thigh.

“I don’t care. You choose.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s cheatin’ to start early.”

“Says who?” You sat up on your knees and leaned in, placing a few quick kisses on his neck.

“You’re a pain,” he grumbled.

“You made the deal, babe. Now pick your stupid character.”

He grinned and you groaned.

“Not Waluigi this time!”

“What? I always play him.” He laughed to himself. “Scared the shit out of ‘Samu when we were little.”

“Fine. Remember that when you have to listen to his defeated yells.”

“So competitive. Are you going to be a sore loser when I kick yer ass?”

“You seem confident, babe, but the game is about to start and you haven’t even picked up your remote.”

“Shit!”

Atsumu scrambled to begin as you pulled ahead immediately, laughing as you went.

He shoved you a few times and managed to knock you off of the track once, but you maintained a comfortable lead.

“I don’t think I thought this through,” Atsumu said.

“Why’s that?”

“I can’t do anything while I’m playing besides push you around a little.”

You smiled to yourself and took your hand off of your controller.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I need two hands to play, stupid.”

You grinned and set your hand between his legs.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Jokes on you, now I’m gonna win,” he said. You began to rub him with your hand. He took a deep breath. “Keep that up and you’ll fall off the track.” You laughed.

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs to worry about that.” You steered with one hand and continued moving your hand against him. You could feel him getting hard quickly. He always was eager about this kind of thing. Your palm kept consistent pressure on him while your fingers shifted, touching him everywhere you could. He swore and leaned forward, like he was trying to speed up his cart with his mind.

“How the hell am I still behind you?” he said. You smiled and tilted the remote to go around a curve.

“I’m incredibly talented. Give up yet?”

“Absolutely not.” He cursed and fell off the track. You laughed as you rounded the curve to the finish line. He threw up his hands in disbelief and yelled. “How do you do this?”

You set your remote down in your lap and laid a kiss on his shoulder.

“I told you you weren’t going to win.”

“Bullshit. I’ve got you in the next two.”

“Sure you do, babe.” You reached over into his lap and started to unbutton his pants.

“Woah, what’s up?” he said, catching your wrist. You sat up so your eyes were level with his.

“No defense, Miya.”

His face screwed up into a frown and he moved his hand away. You finished undoing his pants and pulled down the front of his boxers.

“Doesn’t this feel like cheating?” he asked. You shook your head and licked your hand. He took a deep breath. “Not at all. You decided on a game. I’m just playing.” You wrapped your hand around him. He swore and made a frustrated face.

“Fuck you. Now I have to win.”

“Good luck with that.” You repositioned the remote in your other hand as the next race started.

Atsumu had a significantly harder time with this track. He ran into wall after wall and fell off the map repeatedly, all while trying to hold in small gasps as you slowly pumped his cock. You did as well as you could while having to keep a steady pace between his legs. It was so fun to watch him squirm, to see his thighs trying to close but realizing that wouldn’t help at all.

You passed the finish line first and pulled your hand away. He gasped at the lack of contact and turned to face you with frustration in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“Before you say anything.” You held your hand up between you. “I have a proposal.” He raised his eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“We play an all-or-nothing round.”

He leaned away from you, unsure.

“What’s the catch?”

“New rules. I try to distract you. If you can win against the computer, you win the bet. You don’t, you lose.”

“You’re not playin?”

“Close your eyes.” You avoided the question and he hesitantly complied. You adjusted the settings and handed the controller back to him. “Go ahead and choose the track you’re best at.” He frowned and did as you asked. For the first time in a long time, Atsumu looked nervous.

“Comfortable?” you asked.

“I guess so.”

“Good.” You slid off the couch and settled between his legs.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

“Start the race or I’ll accept my win.”

He inhaled deeply and pressed start. As the countdown began, you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock.

He inhaled shakily and began steering over your head. You closed your eyes and ignored the obnoxious sounds of music and rotating boxes. You didn’t hesitate in setting a quick pace, your lips making lewd noises as you moved. He tried to hold back and pretend it didn’t affect him, but when you ran your tongue around the head again he let out a quiet sound and his character nearly stopped moving.

You had to stop yourself from smiling as you continued, moving your mouth and tongue exactly the way he liked it and hearing him respond as unenthusiastically as he could. You’d never seen him so stubborn, so determined to not show how you affected him.

“Almost . . . done,” he groaned. You quickened your pace, just enough to throw him off. His hand fell from the remote into your hair and tugged slightly. You hollowed out your cheeks and his grip tightened. You were starting to think he might finish until you heard the familiar sound of the race ending. You pulled off of him and wiped your mouth. He stared down at you with pink cheeks and glazed over eyes.

“How’d you do?” you asked. He shook his head lazily like even he didn’t know. You turned around and looked at the screen. You smiled. “First place?”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Pretty good for a guy gettin’ head.”

You smiled and kissed his leg.

“I have to agree with that.”

You moved upwards and straddled him.

“I think I’m okay accepting your win.”

His brows raised. He looked genuinely shocked.

“Are ya serious?”

You pressed a short but heated kiss against his lips. His hands settled on your hips. You pulled back and smiled.

“You won, didn’t you?” You leaned in so your lips were barely brushing his ear. “Now have your way with me.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. He looped an arm around your waist and threw you down on the couch, following close behind.

You didn’t tell him you had adjusted all the settings to easy.

[writing-in-april]

Erotica Explained

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer discovers his girlfriend’s writing.

A/N: Hey Heyyy- this is my twenty-sixth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! It’s based on this request- and I did end up using a small snippet from one of my other fics! Sorry this ones out late too lol had a very difficult day. Feel free to leave me an ask here (I promise I don’t bite) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Sub!Spencer, Unprotected sex, A little bit of grinding, A little bit of overstimulation, Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count:1.7k

I don’t use technology often, if I can help it I don’t use it at all. But, I had to use it right now, there was something I needed to look up on the computer. It wasn’t for a case or anything, I was just too curious and too impatient to wait to go to the library.

Because I don’t use technology often at all, I didn’t own a personal laptop. The only one I regularly used was the one I was given at work, and that was done begrudgingly. Though I couldn’t use that one right now as I was at my apartment I shared with my girlfriend. My girlfriend however, happened to have a laptop that she wouldn’t mind me using.

When I opened up her laptop, it was already unlocked with a tab already opened. My eyes unintentionally quickly glazed over the page, my eyes widening as I flitted across the page. It was some sort of story, one that contained things that made me blush. At the end of what was visible without scrolling down it read,

His fingers twitched at his side when you blew cool air onto his length, you sneered again, “If you touch me I’ll stop.”

My own trousers started to grow a little tight after reading that, then confusion made its way into my face, wondering what in the world I was reading. I clicked around, not really knowing what I was doing and I fell into a wormhole of reading. It wasn’t until I glanced up to see who owned the documents it all clicked together. They were my girlfriend’s stories.

They were her stories about a slew of characters that already existed in other media, the first one I had read even happened to be about a Star Wars character- Poe to be specific. Once it all clicked together I slammed the computer shut, feeling like I had invaded her privacy. Then I swiftly got into a cold shower, ready to freeze my arousal and wash off my shame.

—-

My foot was tapping even crazier than normal as I sat next to my girlfriend. We had decided on a night in, choosing to order take out and watch a few movies on a rare night off for me. It was her turn to choose, and unsurprisingly she chose Star Wars.

“What’s wrong?” She asked me when I started to basically vibrate when Poe came onto the screen. I couldn’t keep it in any longer, the guilt was eating me alive sitting here while I watched a constant reminder of what I read.

“I’m sorry-“ She was about to open her mouth to probably ask me why I was apologizing, but I steamrolled over it by ranting, “I looked at your writing- the erotica you write. I- I think it’s about already existing characters? Which I hadn’t heard about before-“

She finally did get a chance to cut me off by calling out my name, getting me to stop my nervous rant, “Are you mad- that I umm am writing about someone who’s not you?”

“No! It’s natural to be attracted to different people even while you’re with someone…” I was already falling down into another rant, this time however I caught myself and found the point I had been looking for, “I actually think it’s kind of hot.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyebrows had shot up almost high enough that they were up into her hairline. I flushed a little at that, feeling vulnerable under her gaze even though I knew she always kept me safe.

“I- um actually was wondering if you could do to me-“ The words died on my tongue when my eyes met hers again, and just by her eyes I could see that she knew what I wanted. She just wanted me to say it out loud.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Wh-hat I read- can you umm-?”

She didn’t let me stumble any longer, cutting off my stuttering, “You want me to do the things you read about to you?”

I nodded vigorously, but that wasn’t enough for her. She leaned forward, grabbing my cheeks between two of her fingers, then prompting me, “Use your words.”

I whimpered at that, remembering seeing it in one of her writings. I learned from the character, who had mouthed off in the fanfic, instead breathily answering, “Yes, I want you to use me like you wrote.”

Soon enough my clothes had been taken off by me as I had to follow her command to ‘strip’. She did so as well, then straddling me, starting immediately to grind on my cock. I moved my hands to her hips to try to get her to do something more, but they were quickly pushed off. She then pinned them above my head, leaning forward to whisper into my lips, “No you don’t get to touch unless I tell you too.”

“Yes, Miss!” I gasped out instantly, wanting to be perfect for her.

“Mmmm good boy.”

That made me keen even more, loving the praise she gave me a dash of, I craved her showering it onto me. She kept her course of action, grinding onto my cock until her own arousal completely soaked it. All it would take was for the head of my cock to notch at my entrance, she was so wet I could slip in easily. But, all I could do was wait until she let me have her. I’m sure if I begged she’d only smirk at me, so I kept my mouth shut and took what I was given.

She finally sunk down onto my cock, though it was excruciatingly slow. I tried to fight my instincts, keeping my hips flush with the couch so I wouldn’t get scolded for moving without permission.

When the backs of her thighs finally hit the tips of mine, I groaned unintentionally. She seemed to love it, starting to buck her hips enthusiastically at my response. My hands balled up into fists, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping them. It was taking so much to not cum already, her hands pinning me and how beautiful she looked above me making it overwhelming.

“Awww are you already so close? You love getting used like this don’t you?” She goaded once she realized how much I was fighting my release with my squinted eyes.

It took me a minute to find the words, as all my mind could focus on at the moment was how she felt around me. My IQ was completely slashed to 60, but I did eventually get out, “Yes miss”

She sped up her pace at my words, alternating from grinding down into me hard and bouncing vigorously on top of me. When she lent forward to give me a bruising kiss, she swallowed all the noises I was making, until she dipped her head down to mark up my collarbone. It was all too much; I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on.

“You’re such a good boy for me Spencer.” She gasped above me, writhing on my cock while she continued to bounce. It was getting so hard to bear, especially with more praise, but I wanted to wait until she came. She looked like a goddess, especially just as she was about to cum, which she soon signaled by saying, “Oh god baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

All I could do was watch as she removed one hand from where they were wrapped around my own to rub circles into her clit. She tipped her head back, mouth dropped open in a moan, and thighs shaking as her orgasm washed over her. She shook above me for a minute, hips stuttering as she tried to continue the pace she built while her orgasm was ripping through her. Once she had come down from her release she then focused on mine, building the pace back up to be even faster than her original one.

“Go ahead and cum baby boy.” With one more swivel of her hips, I fell off the edge at her command, filling her all the way up with my release. She held my hands up above my head still and still moved her hips while I rode out my high. When she stopped her movements once I whimpered loudly out of overstimulation, she finally let go of my hands.

I let myself relax as she slumped over onto me, resting her head onto my still somewhat heaving chest. With my hands once again free I wrapped my arms around her middle, entrapping her this time.

Looking up I then noticed the movie was still going, completely unobstructed by our actions. It was towards the end of the movie already, telling me how long we had been going at it. Though I didn’t care that I missed it, I got to act out a partial storyline from it, even if it was a made up one. The movie could only hold my attention for so long, there was someone far more interesting with me.

“So are you gonna write some with me?” She giggled out while tracing her fingers up and down my chest, lingering over my sternum. Her proposition was an intriguing one for sure, especially now that she explained some of it to me. Though, I think my writing style is more suited for more of an academic setting.

I snorted a little, giggling a little myself, then brushing my hair out of my eyes so I could see them more clearly. When I tipped her chin up with my fingers and their eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. She was definitely trying to get me riled up again, but I had a quip back of my own, “I don’t think I’d be good at it- but maybe you’ll let me read from now on? I wouldn’t mind editing some as well, it sounds fun.”

Ask Me Anything

——

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[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 5 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

The next few weeks were a blur of activity.

When he wasn’t off on patrol or a mission, Mina and Kaminari kept Bakugou busy with dozens of team exercises, all of which needed your analysis. They ran him through any and every scenario that entered their brains, and after the first few rounds, Bakugou seemed to resign himself to their ministrations, his explosions no longer rattling the windows of the training room in displeasure. You’d reviewed footage of the first couple of rounds all together, the trio of heroes jammed into the tiny surveillance room with you, grimy with the ashy residue of Bakugou’s explosions, someone or another’s shirt partly melted off, and all of them looking exhausted but pleased.

Eventually, though, it became difficult for you to spare time in between your meetings with the other agency heroes. Bakugou was not helping matters by kicking the door down in the middle of your meetings and attempting to bodily remove anyone you were in conversation with whenever he wanted an update. You were dedicating almost as much time to breaking up fights and rescheduling appointments as you were to having the actual meetings themselves.

In the interest of maintaining the peace--and health and safety the Miruko agency employees--you wrote a quick script that monitored the training room footage and automatically ran your analysis program any time it keyed in on Bakugou, Mina, and Kaminari together on screen. It forwarded the results to their phones so that Bakugou wouldn’t come stalking in and making any more enemies than he already had.

That seemed to pacify him for a couple of days, and you managed almost twenty blissful meetings uninterrupted, until a Friday morning when no sooner had you flipped the lights on in the surveillance room than Bakugou was ripping the door open after you.

“Enough slacking off, nerd,” he growled, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely menacing manner. It was early but he looked wide awake, maybe a little mussed like he'd already been training, the same combination of annoyingly handsome and intimidating as always. He was also dressed in some variation of his usual training set, dark fabric clinging to his chest, arms bare. The sight was really way too much for this early in the morning.

His sudden entrance startled you out of a yawn, and you just barely managed to catch your laptop before it slipped through your fingers.

“Good morning?” you hedged, looking up at him in apprehension.

He made an angry, dismissive noise. Before you could dredge up enough energy for a proper eye roll, something small and warm was thrust unceremoniously into your chest, briefly winding you.

You looked down at the item he was attempting to fracture your sternum with and found yourself staring at a white takeout cup.

You looked up at him in confusion but he just glared passively until you looked down again.

“....what is this?” you asked. Your hands raised automatically to take the cup from him.

“Battery acid,” Bakugou said.

You stopped, gaping at him, and he rolled his eyes. “The fuck do you think it is, idiot?” he demanded, gesturing at it forcefully.

You looked down at the cup again, a soft swirl of steam issuing from the opening in the cap. You brought it hesitantly to your face. A cursory sniff revealed very little in the way of poison--not that you had much expertise on the subject--but it did smell suspiciously like the house blend from the nice bakery down the street.

You stared at Bakugou with misgiving. “What is this, actually?”

He made a disbelieving noise. “You spend all this time acting like such a smartass and you don’t even know what a fucking coffee is? The fuck do you think you drink every morning?”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was absolutely no way Bakugou Katsuki was bringing you coffee. This had to be some kind of trick.

His threats from a few weeks ago floated to the forefront of your mind. I’m going to win the bet, he’d said, and then you’re in for it. Was this part of "in for it"? What was “it”, exactly, and was it likely that “it” entailed poisoning you in broad daylight in the middle of a hero agency?

The offing you in broad daylight seemed very much his style, but poison seemed a roundabout way to do it. No, if he was going to settle a score with you, it was going to be something much more immediate, and probably obnoxiously flashy.

You brought the cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip. No acid tang of poison met your tongue, only the rich, buttery taste of the coffee. Though arsenic was said to be flavorless... Damn that was good, though.

Bakugou hovered impatiently, like he was waiting for something, wearing a strangely blank expression. You watched him nervously. Was the poison slow acting or something?

His scarlet gaze locked onto yours, and it suddenly hit you what he must be doing. You almost dropped the coffee. Was he...waiting for a thank you? As in, he was aware of and actively acknowledging that he’d just done something for you?

You decided to test the waters. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

He made an impatient clicking noise. “Fucking took you long enough.”

You frantically schooled your features into a mask that betrayed nothing of your shock. Christ, he was serious. He’d actually brought you a coffee, and he knew it was a nice thing to do? There was no way he was doing this just to do this. He had to want something from you.

“...So, what is it that you’re bribing me for?” you asked.

Bakugou’s face went dark, the tips of his ears strangely pink. “Fuck you. I don’t need to fucking bribe you for shit, with your obvious little crush on me.” He took a threatening step closer, and that familiar scent of gunpowder and caramel filled your nose.

You felt your face heat, your heart jumping into your mouth. Not this shit again.

So, it was absolutely true that you had a lot of trouble detaching your eyes from the width of his biceps, and that your brain ran wild loops every time he was close. But just because you had difficulty looking anywhere else when he was in a room, didn't mean you had a crush on him. He was way too much of a brat and it was exhausting trying to keep up with his weirdly intense personality. Just because he was pretty did not mean you had a thing for him...

“Why are you like this?” you complained, edging away from him as he moved nearer.

He smirked knowingly, taking another step closer. A small, traitorous shiver went up your spine at the thrill of a man so close. To your eternal embarrassment, Bakugou’s keen gaze seemed to catch it, a darker smile curling his mouth.

You opened your mouth to make some kind of excuse--though what you would have come up with was completely beyond you--when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through the door.

The intruder let out a quiet gasp, but that was enough to break the moment. Bakugou whirled on her, red eyes glaring.

“Raccoon, do you ever mind your own fucking business?” he demanded, in the tones of someone interrogating a war criminal.

Mina’s dark eyes widened innocently. “What? How was I supposed to know this is where you’d gone?” she asked. There was note of something gloating in her voice, however, and you got the feeling that she’d been hoping to catch you in some kind of act.

Your face went hotter. Why did everyone think there was a thing with you and Bakugou, including, apparently, Bakugou?

“Anyway, I’m not here for you,” Mina informed him briskly, derailing your wandering train of thought. “I was gonna ask stats girl to give us a hand this morning.”

She turned to you, her smile slightly predatory. “Blasty’s better at sticking close now, so we started focusing team exercises on victim evaluation. Any chance you can play civilian? Denki was for a bit but he started getting too into it.” A grimace flitted over her pretty features. “I almost lost an arm trying to stop Katsuki from blasting him clear into the stratosphere.”

You looked at Bakugou, but an irritated twitch of a blonde eyebrow was all you got by way of an explanation.

Your thoughts turned inward, wondering if this was a good idea. You’d been hoping to use the morning to get a little work done on a prototype of a productionized model, seeing as you had fewer meetings than usual today. And you hadn’t really come prepared for a potential roll around in the dirt and dust of the city simulation training spaces.

As if sensing your hesitation, Mina chirped, “I’ll let you a spare set of my training clothes so yours don’t get dirty! And you would probably be saving Denki’s life here--don’t you owe him one from the Hero Awards?”

Your gaze cut back to Bakugou without any direction from your brain. Bakugou appeared to be making no attempt to look apologetic about the incident at the Awards. He raised an eyebrow in challenge when your look lingered too long for his liking, red eyes narrowing in on you with a sudden heat. “The fuck are you looking at, nerd?”

“He means please,” Mina said, her voice going honeyed and wheedling. “Plus, it will be fun! I promise you I won’t melt any of your body parts off. Just Blasty’s, I swear.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes stayed firmly attached to Bakugou’s face. His mouth twitched in obvious irritation at the implication that he would ever say please, but he made no move to correct Mina, limbs drawn in tight, defensive.

You looked down at the cup in your hand, sighing. He’d brought you a coffee and was doing minimal yelling. He appeared to be making some kind of effort here--though to what end you weren’t sure--and you supposed contributing to his training was ultimately your goal here, anyway. You could reward him for behaving himself as well as he knew how, and work towards your promotion at the same time.

“Fine,” you allowed, watching as Mina startled wiggling in obvious delight. “Let me finish this coffee and then I’ll help out.”

Mina clapped her rosy palms together. “Ahh! This is going to be so fun! You’ll see.”

Mina’s definition of fun was any civilian’s definition of fucking terrifying.

It was one thing to see the three heroes using their powers on screen, or safely tucked away behind a meter of quirk-enforced glass. It was another thing entirely to be in the center of the action, acid sizzling mere inches from your feet.

“You said you wouldn’t melt anything off!” you shouted, stumbling away from Mina.

She’d accused Kaminari of getting too into playing civilian--whatever that meant--but you thought she was way too into playing villain herself. A hard look passed over her pretty features, sending a chill down your spine. With that dark look, those unusual eyes and twisted horns took on a more sinister nuance. She looked almost like an alien, and moved like one too, stalking you through the twisting alleys of the training cityscape.

“Accidents happen,” she cooed, almost happily. She threw up a twisting fistful of acid that hardened into a warped wall in front of you. You skidded wildly on the gravel to avoid it. “Now stay still, you’re supposed to be a hostage.”

A choked little noise escaped you. Honestly, thank god this woman was a hero. You might have trouble sleeping at night if you knew a villain like this was stalking the streets, unchecked and unbound by social mores. You’d probably still have trouble getting to sleep tonight, even after she went back to smiling and bouncing all over the place.

“Actually, maybe Kaminari should take over again,” you managed, stepping back from her. “Not really sure if I’m cut out for this.”

A loud boom drowned out her reply, an office front a few blocks away crumbling under the force of the blast. You gaped at the force that shook the street, even blocks away.

Mina used your distraction to her advantage, grabbing the back of your shirt to haul you towards her. “He’s so obvious, my god--how he got to be number eight is beyond me. Now come over here and do your best to look injured. He needs practice evacuating people instead of coming in blasting.”

She fumbled with something on her belt, pulling out several bright red bands that proclaimed various types of injuries in blocky white font. Then she leaned over you, shoving a band up your arm that announced SEVERE BURNS, and another on your left ankle, proclaiming a DISLOCATION.

She clicked her tongue, looking you over. “Would more be overkill? This is enough that he should at least hesitate before trying to blow me sky high…” She seemed to decide against more, shoving the rest back into her belt. Then she gently pressed you down to the ground at her feet.

“This is the part where I get to monologue,” she said, winking down at you. “Do your best to look helpless and make sure your severe burns thing is showing. I wanna see if he can prioritize rescuing you over my trash talk.”

A soft groan escaped you. Fat chance. Bakugou was the most foul tempered little shit you had ever met, and while it was true that his single-minded focus on winning the bet meant he was tolerant enough to be doing this exercise in the first place, you highly doubted he was going to hesitate if Mina was pushing his buttons as expertly as she usually did.

The chance to find out came soon enough. There was a strangled kind of yelp and a crackle of lightning followed a thunderous boom a few blocks away as Bakugou presumably rendered Kaminari’s perimeter defense useless. Then with another screaming explosion, he was rocketing over the buildings separating you, barrelling straight down on Mina.

Mina threw up another acid shield that hardened into a defensive wall. Bakugou’s first attack cracked it but didn’t manage to penetrate. There was barely a breath between the cracking and another explosion, however, and then the wall exploded inwards in a crackling shower of fizzing pieces. Mina crouched over you, breathing excitedly, “This is the fun part!”

Whatever reply you might have given her was drowned out by an angry series of hissing snaps from Bakugou’s palm as he stalked closer to you. The right half of his shirt had been singed off by lightning, it looked like, and a fine veneer of dust layered in his hair and on patches of his skin. It was just a training simulation, but he looked half-wild, teeth bared and eyes bright over the ash on his face. If he looked nearly this intense in real life situations, it was a wonder that anyone would agree to be evacuated by him at all.

Maybe that’s why he sucked at rescues.

“It’s fucking over, raccoon eyes,” he said. “Hand her over.”

Mina laughed, a delicate sound like bells. “Not another step closer, hero, or I’ll melt a hole straight through her pretty neck.”

You twitched away from her minutely. God she was terrifying.

“Quit it with the fucking villain act, fuckwad, or I’ll blow you all the way to hell,” Bakugou growled.

Mina reached for your arm, pulling you up next to her. “Hmm, then I hope your aim is good. She’s already got one set of severe burns.”

Bakugou’s crimson gaze cut down to your shoulder and the displeased twist to his mouth deepened. “Fucking--of course you got yourself fucking injured. Fucking idiot.”

“Hey,” you protested, shifting against the band. “I’m not actually.”

Mina kicked you. “Moments to live, this one. Unless you can pull a healing quirk out of those glorious buttcheeks of yours.”

You choked on your own spit while Bakugou snarled. “I’m gonna fucking remember this, you strawberry fuck.”

“Maybe. But she won’t,” Mina said, and suddenly there was a rosy palm in front of your face, dripping acid. A drop landed deliberately on the fold of the training pants she’d lent you, searing straight through with a loud hiss. Your heartbeat spiked in violent alarm. You reeled back, but Mina was still crouched over you, and you banged into her collarbone.

In the next second, everything went to shit. Something searing hot blazed just over your shoulder and Mina swore, jerking back from you in the blink of an eye. There was a deafening crack and a rush of burning air over you as Bakugou let loose an explosion at the same time he seized your ankle and pulled you straight underneath where he’d aimed the blast, missing you by inches.

“What the fuck,” you gasped. Bakugou grunted, and yanked harder, pulling you straight to him.

“Quit being such a fucking princess,” he growled, shifting an arm underneath you. You froze, suddenly wishing that his explosion had managed to hit you, searing off every nerve ending.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, sputtering in alarm when he hoisted you against him. You could feel every place your body touched his, and smell the sharp gunpowder and sugar scent of his sweat. He hooked his arm firmly around your waist, glaring down at you with one baleful red eye.

“Fuckstick gave you a dislocated ankle so I would have to fight her off with one fucking arm and carry you with the other,” he bit out, whirling when a stream of acid came hissing your way.

You gripped at his shirt, swearing. “Oh my god. What the hell is she doing, aiming for me? This is a simulation! Also, I can walk.”

He grunted. “You can shut the fuck up is what you can do.”

He executed another agile dodge, pulling you with him. “Now hold on, princess, this is gonna be a rough ride with one arm.”

You didn’t have time to ask him what the hell he was on about. He aimed a shot over your shoulder, the heat simmering and boiling in the air next to your ear, and you heard the impact of Mina hitting the pavement behind you. In the next second, Bakugou tightened his arm around you, and aimed a palm for the ground.

The next thing you were aware of was a strangled screaming sound. It took a second for you to realize the mortifying noise was coming from you. But in your defense, Bakugou had literally blasted the two of you clear above the alleyway. You could see the wreckage from Bakugou’s scuffle with Kaminari, and Mina scrambling to her feet, much smaller and further away that you were comfortable with. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you nearly decapitated him with the force with which you shoved your face into his shoulder.

Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Bakugou hadn’t been kidding about the rough ride. Another blast from his palm jerked you sharply to the right, and he uttered a soft swear.

“Hold tight, nerd,” he said in your ear. There was a series of more explosions and you spun violently in the opposite direction. You went careening over a low roof top to land heavily on the pavement, Bakugou twisting at the last second to take the initial impact to his shoulder, rolling over you to distribute the momentum.

You rolled twice more, eventually stopping with his hard body under yours, your face jammed unpleasantly into his shoulder, his arms bracketing your sides. One of his hands was fisted in the back of your shirt, and a tuft of blonde hair brushed your cheek.

He let out a huff. “If you ever let her put the fucking dislocation band on you again, I’ll melt your damn laptop.”

You pulled back from him, hissing into his face. “If you dare, I'll--”

“The fuck you gonna do, nerd?” he demanded, sitting up. Straight into you.

You gripped his shirt so as not to fall right off of him, widening your knees for balance. Then you froze when you realized he was pressed against you everywhere, hard muscle and the heat of his skin bleeding through your training clothes. He was hot like a furnace, ashy and dust-streaked like one too, and his eyes glowed like banked coals. He gazed back at you, his mouth setting with some kind of a challenge.

Then those red eyes trailed slowly and deliberately down your face, stopping right on your mouth. His fingers tightened in the back of your shirt.

You couldn’t help your sharp inhale. Holy shit, was he...going to kiss you?

You sat frozen, locked in place, neither willing or able to move away, like you were being pulled towards him like some kind of magnet. Was he really going to do it? Was he really going to kiss you? Or, no...were you going to kiss him?

You could, you thought hysterically. That’s what it felt like, watching him breathe shallowly, eyes fixed on your mouth. You could kiss him and he would let you.

Had that been what all the your little crush on me shit had been about? Had he been torturing you not because he’d noted the way your eyes lingered over him, but because it was something he’d wanted to happen? Had that been what all the threats were for, what the crowding you against walls and the frigging coffee had been about? When Mina had said he’d been fixated on you, did she actually mean it less like revenge and more like actual attraction?

You let out a shaky breath. Only one way to find out, you thought wildly, leaning forward with your pulse singing in your veins.

And then an explosion rocked the foundations of the building, throwing you forward against Bakugou’s chest. You gasped, the breath knocked out of you, and whipped around to glare at his free hand in accusation. Bakugou pulled you back, however, a hard looking passing over his face.

It was only seconds before Mina and Kaminari came scrambling out of the maze of training buildings, looking worried. Kaminari was already crackling with static, agitated whips of lighting zipping across his skin. Bakugou's palm started to grow hotter against your back.

His next words threw the situation into sharp clarity.

“That wasn’t from a training room.”

[kiras-sunshine]

I love all of these so I’m interested to hear about whichever one you want to talk about!

thank you so much anon 💛 i'm gonna talk about the best man au because that at the moment is the nearest and dearest to my heart and it is about 155k long and i'm almost done with editing! it is based on @actuallysara 's (who has been a saint with her patience since i have been writing this for months) prompt of tk and carlos breaking up after s1 and then they are forced to come together after they are chosen to be judd's best men and i have had so much fun with this fic and here is a snippet from it

TK hears his own heartbeat in his ears. It is loud and distracting and it is almost the only thing he can hear as he walks around the mostly desolated ER.

There are other people there too, other paramedics trying to treat people and find more injured people, the place is swarming with cops, but TK is only trying to find Carlos.

He sort of hopes that he doesn't find him.

That he remembers wrong.

That Carlos wasn't at work today.

That he has changed his shift.

That he isn't hurt.

He isn't sure if he has ever hoped for something more. The hoping seems to be a physical feeling in behind his sternum. Something heavy. Something that he has to carry around but he might as well get crushed underneath it.

But still the fear of losing Carlos, again and more permanently, is stronger than the hope, but he wants to grab and hold the hope as tightly as possible.

And not to think anything else. Just assume that Carlos will walk around the corner and be safe and be unharmed.

He repeats it in his head, that Carlos is okay, like a mantra and he hasn't prayed in years, but it is starting resemble a prayer.

TK hopes someone hears it.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #6: Senseless: Katsuki Bakugo

In which Bakugo fucks you *senseless.* Hardee har har. 

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please), aged up characters, pro hero Bakugo, sensory deprivation, ice cubes, mentions of bondage, strong language

Notes: Day six! And my first dive into the wonderful world that is writing Bakugo. Lemme tell you, this man can get it any damned day of the week. Here’s hoping I’ve done him justice. 

Today’s prompt is “Blindfolded.” Please forgive the terrible puns- mine, and... “yours.” 😂 

Kinktober Masterlist

“Quit squirming.”

“Come closer. I can see you with my fingers.”

“Ow- I said cut it out!”

Not even the gruffness in Bakugo’s voice is enough to spoil your fun. You’d agreed to try this with him wholeheartedly; now that everything’s in place, though, you’re having trouble taking it seriously.

Considering the rocky way your relationship began, dating Bakugo has turned out to be surprisingly peaceful. He’s got a wicked temper, but to you he’s only ever gruff. A little grouchy sometimes, for sure, but that’s kind of what you liked so much about him. You like knowing about the soft side that he shows only you, especially when he spends so much time out there kicking ass.

Still, he’s not always very good at expressing himself. Or asking for things. Though he’s absolutely feral in bed, when it comes to trying new stuff, he tends to get clammed up and tell you to forget about it before he can even get the ideas out.

That’s why, when he’d actually suggested blindfolding you, you jumped at the chance. Now, spread out on your bed with one of your silk scarves wrapped around your head, you feel badly. He’s never going to open up to you again, if you giggle your way through this.

You let your hands pull back from wherever you’d accidentally grabbed him- mostly skin, with a corner of fabric somewhere by your thumb- and drop them back to the mattress. He’s already threatened to tie you up if you don’t keep your hands to yourself, but you’d never been very good at taking his threats seriously.

You take him seriously, though. Maybe it’s time to start showing him that.

“Okay,” you sigh, curling your toes against the blankets a little before letting your legs go slack. “I’m done. Promise. Have I mentioned how sexy you look tonight?”

You can hear his eyes rolling.

“That’s it,” he grunts, and the bed creaks as he climbs off it.

“Wait,” you plead. “No, come back. Katsuki, please.”

The bed creaks again, only faster this time. His knees part your thighs first. Then his hands land on your wrists, pinning them to the mattress. His nose brushes your jaw and then he nips at the crook of your neck, making you yelp.

You’re not sure if your senses are heightened, but the fact that you don’t know what to anticipate certainly makes it feel that way.

“Behave yourself,” he growls in your ear, and you’re not laughing anymore. Instead you mewl, arching your bare body up against his clothed one. He’s been nice enough to strip you down to your underwear before getting you situated, but you’re starting to wish he’d finished the job.

“I will,” you promise breathlessly, but he’s not waiting for you. Already he’s started to trail his mouth down the column of your throat, finding that tender spot between your collarbones and sinking his teeth into it.

“B-baku… Baby,” you whimper. Already his hands are starting to roam, too, tracing up your bare thighs. He snaps the strap of your underwear as you draw a breath and hold it tight.  

“Who’s laughing now?” He chuckles deeply against your ear. His fingers dip under the hem of your panties and he teases them over the tender mound of your pussy. Your soles dip and press into the blankets at either side of him, and you push them away from you to let your thighs naturally fall open.

“Fuck,” he snarls. His fingertips are nudging further, now, pressing insistently between your thighs to swipe deftly over your slit. It’s not the first time he’s touched you, but it’ll never quite get old. You feel him coming, but you still squirm beneath his hands.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked. That’s what I thought, honey. Laugh all you want, but I know you love this.”

He keeps his face nuzzled right against the crook of your shoulder as one of his fingers presses forward, sliding indulgently into your tight heat. You clench around him and let your head fall back. It’s almost relaxing, to be trapped in cool darkness while he fills you with such heat.

“That’s it, honey. Lemme feel you, all stretched out for me. You feel ready for my cock already.”

“I am,” you whine, and if you could see his face right know you know he’d be grinning. He loves you like this, falling apart and desperate for him.

“Then I hope you’re ready to be patient,” he replies. His voice drops, deceptively tender. “Because you’re gonna be here a while before I give you what you want.”

You hate the lurch of excitement that promise sends through your chest. In the moment, you hate being teased. You don’t like being told ‘no,’ and you don’t like waiting for your release. But Bakugo’s good. He knows how to build you slowly- so slowly sometimes, you forget how far he’s brought you- until he throws you over the edge with reckless abandon.

And the higher he climbs with you, the harder you land at the bottom. It’s worth it. Every. Damned. Time.

He shifts, drawing his weight away from you. You almost protest, but you can hear his footsteps pausing a few feet from the bed and you know he’s not going far. When he comes back, he’s accompanied by another sound. It’s delicate and light- almost musical, but you can’t place it without any visual cues.

“Hold still.” The mattress dips as he sits down on its edge, placing whatever’s making that sound next to him.

“What is that?” You turn your head, as if that’s going to help you at all.

He doesn’t answer, leaning toward you. You feel his hands clasp around your upper arms, and he tugs you toward him slightly.

“Sit up.” You do as you’re told and he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. As he tugs it off your arms and chest you settle back against the pillows, the thrill of exposure sending goosebumps across your skin. He chuckles again- so one of you is allowed to laugh, then.

“Cold already?” He presses. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

There’s more rustling. You clue in a half-second too late.

Something frigid drips onto your sternum, rolling down your ribcage and onto the bed.

“Katuski, whaaaaah- hahh….”

The words die as your voice goes supersonic in response to the freezing dribble of the ice cube he’s pressed to your heated skin. He’s started in that tender spot between your collar bones, but the drips are already sliding into your neck and down your chest as the cube melts under his warm palm.

“You like that?” He’s purring now, prompting you, and you nod shakily because despite your better judgements you do. Despite your better judgements you’ve chosen this man as your life partner and despite your better judgements he continues to amaze you.

As you’re revelling in your choice of partner, he’s busy trailing the ice cube down between your breasts. He’s holding it tightly between his fingers- you can tell, they keep brushing your cooling skin. But when there’s not enough to hold, he just smooths his fingertips across your belly and reaches for another one.

The ice is melting fast under his touch- he’s always running warm- not that you mind. When he comes to you with the next one, he doesn’t waste time building you up to the sensation. Instead, he presses the divot of one cube directly against your nipple and covers the whole thing with his palm. You howl.

By the time the second cube is melted you’re trembling beneath him, both nipples hard and tender and pussy throbbing with heat. He’s peeling your underwear down your legs and you’re not sure whether you’re about to get him, finally, or another ice bath, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Never a dull moment with Katsuki Bakugo.

“You ready for me yet, honey?”

“For the last time, fuck, please, baby.” You don’t recognize the desperate sound of your voice, but you don’t care at this point. Any leftover vestiges of pride have been frozen away.

“Hmm,” he growls, bending close to distract you from the fact that he’s dipping his hand into the ice bowl one more time. You might cry. Two ice cubes and you’re already losing it.

“Want you cold and dripping for me.”

So it’s gonna be like that.

He pushes an ice cube against the swell of your clit- no warning, no build up, and you give a strangled sob of pleasure. Your hips buck and struggle against his palm, but you don’t try to push him away- it’s not that bad- especially not when it starts to melt and the glorious sensation of cool water drips down your slit.

“That’s better,” he hisses. His pants rustle as he climbs away from you, leaving you with fresh drips of cold water between your legs. When he gets back onto the bed, you can feel the warmth of him more powerfully than before and you know he’s naked.

He presses the tip of his cock against you and you both groan from the chest.

“Fuck, you’re freezing. God damn, honey, let me warm you up.”

He pushes forward until the head of his cock slips past the tightness of your entrance, then bottoms out in one smooth thrust. The contrast between your cool skin and his heated body is immaculate- you’re already clenching your muscles, wanting more of his perfect stretch.

“That’s it, honey. That’s it. Take all of it,” he mumbles. He grabs your thighs and settles into a graceful rhythm- smooth and steady, with the easy slap of his skin on yours punctuating every breath.

You reach down before you lose yourself in the pleasure, grabbing his wrists and squeezing tight. You’ll hold on to him until he’s finished with you- you can’t help but want to touch him. And you’re taking advantage of the fact that he’s decided not to tie you up.

“Fuck, you look so good on my cock, honey. Look at you.”

His voice is starting to break already. The buildup’s been bad enough for both of you. You already know you’re not going to last long, but the situation is intensified when his thumb settles over the cooled swell of your clit. The skin is rapidly warming again and he starts to rub you in gentle circles, doing his best to keep time with his pumping hips.

“That’s it,” he groans again. You’re starting to seize and tighten around him- your palms twitching over his wrists, your thighs starting to clench. You don’t even have to warn him anymore. He knows when you’re on the edge. Sometimes even before you do.

“Katsu-ki,” you whimper, pushing the last syllable of his name out alongside a tight cry of ecstasy.

“I got you, honey,” he rasps in an instant of tenderness, and he swipes his thumb urgently across your clit as his thrusts sharpen. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetness.”

You don’t have a choice. Your orgasm rushes over you in a tsunami of relief and pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut in the pitch black and your hips rail down against his, throwing off his rhythm but making him snarl as your pussy convulses around his shaft.

As you’re coming down from the edge, he tugs the blindfold off your head and your vision is thrown into blinding light. Your eyes are barely adjusted by the time you realize that he’s not long for this world, either.

“Fuck, sweetness,” he pants, repeating the same thing under his breath and tossing an airy cry of your name with it. He drives his hips into you with backbreaking force and stops. Every muscle in his body drawn tight.

Then he loses it.

One of the greatest privileges he’s ever given you is pulling off that blindfold in time for his orgasm. He pulls a face like nothing you’ve ever seen, his jaw pulling tight as his brow goes slack.

Sometimes you’re so caught up in your own pleasure that you don’t even get to see it. But this time you get to look and nothing else. You get to stare in awe as the beautiful man above you loses himself. The warm burst of his climax fills you and you are full of him, body and soul. His hips stutter inside you as he forces a few shaky thrusts against you, and then it’s over and he collapses. His torso folds over yours as he buries his head in the pillow just over your shoulder.

Slowly, he goes soft inside you. Then he pulls out and rolls onto his side, breathless. Gorgeous.

After a long few moments of quiet, you break the silence. You stare up at the ceiling, grinning to yourself.

“Well,” you sigh, licking your lips. “Ice cubes, huh? Can’t say I saw that coming.”

Bakugo rolls over to silence you with a kiss and a snarl, but he’s smiling against you.