#how do I avoid getting put on a watch list?

[absurdthirst]

St. Valentine's Miracle {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.9k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, insults, mentions of prostitution, mentions of rape, violence, fighting, Tovar kills a man, adrenaline fueled sex, begging, slightly subby Pero, cock riding, unprotected sex, anger, miscommunication, pregnancy, morning sickness, throwing up, stubbornness, confessions, oral sex (female receiving), pregnancy sex, gentle Pero, childbirth

Comments: Pero Tovar infuriates you. One night, things boil over and you shift from enemies to lovers with a surprising result that changes everything on St. Valentine's Day.

A/N: ❤️❤️HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!❤️❤️

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Pero Tovar tilts his cup back, letting the last swallow of ale slide down his throat before he slams his cup down on the worn smooth rough hewn table in the middle of the tavern. A belch comes out and he smirks when he opens his mouth again. “Another ale, wench.” He demands, knowing that the request will infuriate you. Not because of the coin he spends. No, you will greedily pocket that. It’s because of him calling you a wench. Even though that is what you are, you seem to think you deserve to be called the tavern keeper. So, just to irritate you, Pero calls you a wench every time he gets a chance just to set your teeth on edge.

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you pour another ale for the ill mannered mercenary and you carry it over to him, slamming it down in front of him so it spills. You grab the empty tankard and he smirks, tilting his head towards your cleavage that's in his face when you lean over him. "You're a pig." You scoff, grabbing your rag to wipe down the table.

Pero grunts as he reaches for the mug. Ever since he arrived in this village, ready to settle down and put his sword down for good, the two of you have been at each other’s throats. It might be because he asked how much it would be to fuck you along with he room he had wanted for the night, but how was he to know you weren’t a whore? He had assumed it was a brothel when he walked in and found a woman behind the bar. “And you are a shrew.” He shoots back.

You scoff, “I’d rather be a shrew than have your unwanted attention, Tovar.” You intentionally drag the wet rag over his face when you walk past and he sputters, “bitch.” You smirk as you stride to the bar, looking to the other patrons who are waiting for their drinks.

He scowls as he watches you stroll away from him without the extra swish a whore would put into her step. Not trying to entice a man, but your hips move generously on their own. You are confident and since that first disastrous interaction, you tolerate him like a festering sore. It wasn’t his fault he had thought you were to be bought although it never crosses his mind to apologize for the mistake. He never had to do that before. William was the sweet talker, he did the glowering. He takes another sip of his mug and then decides that he’s hungry. “Wench! Bring me some stew!” He demands, waiting until you are busy again just to get back at you.

You clench your jaw, unable to believe he is demanding. “Bastard.” You murmur under your breath, deciding to take your time to serve everyone who has been waiting before you head into the kitchen to pour a bowl of stew for him. You are tempted to spit in it but you don’t, carrying it over to the grumpy Spaniard. “Here you go.” You slam it down so it spills over a little, “impatient prick.”

He chuckles darkly. “You decided to take too long.” He huffs. “I am not hungry now.” He smirks when you whirl around and glare at him. He knows he will eat it, but it is satisfying to see your eyes flash with anger and hatred for him. “It is probably poisoned anyway.”

"I wouldn't waste the poison on someone like you." You retort, "eat it or don't. You are still paying for it." You hiss and he chuckles, enjoying seeing you so riled up and you take a breath, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "Enjoy your meal, sir." You offer and spin around, making your way back to the bar.

Pero tucks into the stew after a moment. Eating the delicious meal eagerly. You make better food than he does and it’s not often that he would go a week without coming to eat here while drinking his ale. He just enjoys the way you spit at him.

You watch Pero from the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counter. The men are getting louder, rowdier, and you are glad you have the knife strapped to your thigh. Pero tilts his head back to sip his ale and you can't help but admire his neck, strong and muscular as he gulps. He's dangerous and a prick but damn if he isn't handsome. It's a shame he's such a prick.

“Her cunt has to be tighter than a fist.” His eyes cut over to where the two brothers that he has been at odds with talk loudly at their table. He doesn’t like many men, only one man he has ever counted as a friend and he had turned back to China to chase a woman, but he loathes these two. He itches to put a knife in the youngest throat, just to have some blessed silence from the ridiculous boasts. “Good thing you will never know.” He grunts, smirking as he takes another sip of the ale.

The younger one snorts, "says you, Tovar. She wants me. I can tell. She keeps looking over here with a look in her eyes." He smirks and his brother nods, "she definitely needs a cock inside her. Maybe she will relax a little." He smirks and you look over just as the brother winks at you. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose but he waves you over. You sigh under your breath, knowing you need to go over there if he wants more ale. You make your way through the tavern and approach their table, "what can I get you?" You ask, gripping your skirts.

“Bend over and lift your skirts.” The older brother comments, making Pero snort and roll his eyes. At least he had offered coins for the use of your cunt. “Want to see how loud you scream in pleasure.” He continues, making Pero chuckle in disbelief. “Hard to make someone scream when you can’t find your cock beneath your belly.” He huffs as he finishes his stew and pushes the bowl back.

You chuckle, agreeing with Pero, and the brother scowls, standing from his seat. You fumble for your knife but he grabs your arms, “you dare to fucking insult me? You fucking bitch. Only good for one thing.” He growls, tightening his grip and he tries to spin you to push you face down onto the table.

Pero has no problem insulting you, trading barbs and venom with glee. He wouldn’t touch you without your agreement and he doesn’t allow any other men to abuse women around him. Especially not one who brings him his ale. The chair scrapes back loudly as he leaps up and slams against elder brother, knocking you away from his grip and growling furiously as he faces the bastard. “Don’t fucking touch her.” He warns dangerously.

You scramble away from him, chest heaving, and you watch as Pero sizes up the brother. He’s bigger than Pero but that doesn’t stop the Spaniard from getting in his face. He growls and the younger brother stands, “is she yours? I didn’t fucking think so, Tovar. So she’s fair game for everyone.”

Pero scoffs and shakes his head. “She chooses.” He spits out. “And she didn’t choose any of the limp pricks here.” His eyes cut over to you, finding you watching with wide eyes and he glances back at the two brothers. “Leave and I’ll let you breathe for another day.”

The brother snorts, looking over at you, “do you want me to fuck that pretty little cunt?” He coos and you clench your jaw, “no. No. Get the fuck out of my tavern.” You hiss, “you are barred.”

It’s obvious that he didn’t like that answer, the younger brother reaching for his dagger and Pero chuckles darkly. “Amigo, I would not do that if you wish to see the next sunrise.” He promises. “Leave and fight another day, eh?”

The brother bristles and you narrow your eyes at him, knowing he is going to struggle to walk away but his brother pulls on his shoulder. “Fuck you.” He growls, shrugging off his brother, and he brings his hand up, smacking your face so hard your head turns. “No bitch tells me what to do.”

Pero lunges at the older brother. Growling as he reaches for the dagger that is strapped to his waist. Fury clouding his vision and he grabs the other man’s hand, bringing his forehead down to slam against his, head butting him as he starts a fight with the two brothers.

You gasp, stumbling back as Pero fights the brothers. You never expected him to defend you and you fumble to pull the knife from your thigh under your skirts. Gripping it, you watch as Pero swings his knife at the older brother while the younger one stalks behind him. You step closer, acting before you think as you swipe his arm with your knife to stop him.

He sees the younger man behind him, knowing that he will do something, so he turns right as you cut him with your knife. “Bitch!” He cries out grabbing his arm before he backhands you, launching himself towards you. “I’ll teach you to say no to me and my brother!” He yells, doubling over when Pero punches him in the stomach and grabs the back of his shirt to throw him over the table. The older brother attacks him and without a second’s thought, Tovar turns and drives his blade deep into the man’s gullet.

You stumble back into the benches, watching the man choke on his own blood as Pero withdraws the knife. He falls to his knees and his brother screams in anger, surging forward to attack Pero. You grip your knife, now coated in blood, wanting to help the Spaniard but he swings his fight, punching the remaining brother while the other slumps down on the floor, choking a few more times before he goes silent.

Pero grabs the man’s shirt, hauling him close to growl fiercely. “Take your brother’s worthless body and flee.” He hisses. “Or I will kill you too.” He shoves him away and watches as the man falls back over the broken chair behind him and scrambles over to his brother’s body. Terrified that he would actually be killed. Those patrons who had not fled at the beginning of the fight quickly rush out of the tavern while Pero stands there calmly, wiping his blade clean and resheathing it in his belt. His dark eyes turn towards you, flickering down to the bloody dagger still in your grip and then back up to your wide eyes. “Another ale.” He tells you, bending down and picking up his cup off the floor.

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe he sits down and holds the tankard up towards you. You wipe the bloody knife on your skirts and you lift them to shove the knife back in your sheath and you take his cup with a shaking hand to refill it.

 The younger brother finally hauls his brother’s body out of the tavern, the place quiet except for the crackling of the fire in the hearth as you come and set the cup down in front of him. “The business is gone tonight.” He observes as he picks the cup up and takes a thirsty swallow. He feels kind of guilty that your business has died off for the night.

You glance around, finally realizing that the tavern had emptied and you shake your head, "you've scared everyone off. Now - now I will lose coins." You growl at him, the adrenaline transforming into anger. "Bastard." You murmur as you fetch him another ale. You slam it down on the table in front of him, ale sloshing, and you watch him casually take a sip, "drink up. I am closing."

He snorts and leans back against the chair. “Not very grateful for saving you.” He grunts. “Perhaps you did want your skirts tossed up.” He takes another sip of his ale, draining it until it is gone and stands to walk to the door.. “Should I call the younger one back?” He asks as he strides away

You lean against the table, chest heaving, and you growl before you charge over to him before he opens the door. “You’re a bastard.” You hiss at him, grabbing his upper arm to stop him from walking out, “and you are an ass.” He spins around, eyebrows raised, “I’m an ass for stopping them from taking what doesn’t belong to them?” He asks and you shake your head, “you’re an ass because - because-” You cut yourself by cupping his cheeks and you press your lips to his, heart pounding in your chest.

Groaning, Pero’s arms wrap around your body and he spins you around to press you against the same table he has just left. Ravenous as he licks into your mouth and tastes you when you gasp in surprise. He wants you. He’s wanted you from the first time he had seen you, thinking to buy the night between your thighs but you hadn’t been for sale. He reaches down and squeezes your ass as he hardens in his breeches. The adrenaline is still racing in his blood and turning to lust until you push him away. “What-“ he frowns, confused. Your chest is heaving and your lips are swollen from his attention.

“Shut up. Don’t talk and ruin this.” You demand, grabbing his hand from your ass to guide him through the tavern to your quarters near the kitchen. No one is allowed in here except you and that’s how it’s been until now. “Strip.” You order, wanting to see his body, one you’ve imagined more times than you’ve ever admit, even with a knife to your neck.

His brows pull together but he starts to unbutton the vest that he has started wearing over his shirt. It’s not as thick as the leather armor he had been used to, but it’s an extra layer of protection. Pulling out extra daggers that he has hidden and dropping his clothes to the ground. Pulling his shirt over his head and then bending down and hopping around on one foot as he pulls off his boots. Standing straight to find you smirking as he reaches for the laces of his breeches.

You stand there, watching him as he bares his body in front of your hungry eyes. Your chest heaves and you reach up to slowly undo the laces of your dress as he works on his breeches.

He is already half hard, but he shucks his breeches down with no shame. His cock is a good size and he’s never had any reason to doubt he could satisfy a woman. It bobs heavily, still thickening and growing as he kicks aside his breeches and stands proudly in front of you.

You shrug off the top layer of your dress and you freeze when you see his cock bouncing as he stands there. He's strong, scarred, and intimidating, but you won't let that show as you stand, continuing to undo your dress until it drops from your form. You stand naked before him, heart thumping in your chest, and you surge forward to press your lips to his again, bare skin against his.

It has been a long time since Pero has been completely naked with a woman. He groans, hands sliding down your shoulders and back, over your sides and hips until he is grabbing your ass and pulling you closer. “Hermosa.” He groans against your lip, cock twitching against your belly. So often the women he paid to fuck would just lift their skirts, so to feel your bare breasts against his chest is wonderful.

You moan as your hands caress his back, feeling the scars from battles he survived, and you slide your hand lower until you're gripping his cock. His groan is muffled against your chin and you chuckle, squeezing him and feeling him grow in your grip. "Beg me." You demand, "beg to cum."

He scoffs, scowling at you. He doesn’t beg to cum. You squeeze his cock again and he twitches in your hand. “I want to fuck you.” He admits after a moment. “I want you to beg.” You repeat and he huffs, knowing you could just as easily send him away and he would be left with just his hand for pleasure. His own hand comes up to cup your breast as his other squeezes your ass. “Let me fuck you, hermosa.” He croons softly. “You won’t regret a night on my cock.”

“Not good enough.” You squeeze his cock, pumping him slowly and his eyes flutter at the sensation. You know you won’t get what you want by telling him so you’ll get it with action. “Go lay down.” You order, pointing to the cot in your room.

It is rare that he takes orders that don't benefit him and this is no exception. You want him and if you want to ride him, he has no objections. Especially with your bare tits in his face. He moves over to the cot and lays down, finding it soft and sweet smelling, smelling like you. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts to pump it as he watches you with dark eyes.

You watch him, your cunt clenching with need, but you refuse to show it as you slowly make your way over to the cot. “You look desperate.” You mock him as you shift to straddle his thighs, looking down at the almost purple cock in his hand, “it’s pathetic.”

“It is.” His voice is raspy, low. He doesn’t stop moving his hand up and down his aching cock. “It has been a long time since I have been buried deep inside a hot cunt.” He licks his dry lips and reaches out to caress your breast. “Hermosa.” He murmurs softly.

You bat his hand away, liking how needy he looks. So unlike the harsh and demanding mercenary that orders ale in your tavern. You reach down to cover his hand with yours, working his cock. "You have to beg to fuck me." You remind him, leaning down to dribble your spit on the purple head of his cock.

“Mierda.” Pero hisses. His thighs tensing and his hands harden on your skin for a brief second before he makes himself relax. He has no wish to hurt you and make your soft skin tender. You are beautiful and he moans when your spit is rubbed over his cock with your hand. “Let me have you.” He begs breathlessly. “Sit on my cock. Let me feel your cunt around me.”

You giggle, happy to see the glazed look of lust and need in his eyes. You are dripping between your thighs and you hate how much you want him. The terrifying experience makes you desperate to feel something other than fear. You let go of his cock and he whines, making you chuckle. "Patience, Tovar." You tut and you shift up to straddle his hips, lifting yours so you can grip his cock. "Please." He murmurs and you position him at your entrance until you slowly sink down onto him.

Pero makes a strangled sound, his hands whipping to your hips and he holds them in an iron grip but he doesn’t force you to take him faster. He doesn’t snap his hips up to bury his cock deep like he wants to. His toes curl and he hisses out curses under his breath in Spanish as you take him. Loving how hot and tight you are around him.

You take him slow inside you, loving the tortured look on his face, and you shift your hands to press your palms to his chest. He's thick and he stretches you in a way that makes your breath catch. "You look so desperate, Tovar. Like my cunt is the gateway to heaven." You smirk, caressing his chest.

Scowling at you, he growls under his breath as his cock twitches inside you. Pulling a moan out of you and it’s his turn to smirk. “You are the one riding my cock like a needy whore.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, to spit at him. Lunging forward, he pushes you back while he lowers his head to wrap around one of your nipples.

Your breath catches and you moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair to push him harder into your chest. “You’re a bastard.” You declare breathlessly but it doesn’t hit as hard as it should when you are grinding down onto his cock.

He chuckles against your skin, eyes flicking up to your face as his tongue slowly flicks against the distended nub. He sucks it into his mouth and hums as he pulls deep and harshly against it. Loving how your cunt walls clench around him.

You pull on his hair, dragging his face from your tit, and his neck tilts as you look down at him. “You’re a bastard.” You repeat with more conviction, rocking onto his cock a little faster as you tug on his hair and you lean down to kiss his neck, nipping it seconds later.

He groans in pleasure, sliding his hands down to your ass to help you rock on his cock before he slaps it. “You like it, eh? Me being a bastard? You like a man who is rough?” You roll your eyes at him and huff when you pull away so he drags your lips to his, his hand around then back of your neck to hold you close.

You let him push his tongue into your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair again, and he grunts when you bite down on his lip when he withdraws his tongue. “You’re a prick who thinks he can act how he wants.” You hiss back at him, reaching for his hands from your back and you shift, pushing him back when your fingers wrap around his wrists, lifting his hands above his head. Your tits sway in his face and you are surprised he allowed you to do this. “Need someone to show you how to behave. You’re an animal.”

He watches your breasts bounce, twitching inside you but he doesn’t try to thrust up into your heat. You obviously want control. “So you will teach me?” He chuckles darkly and twitches inside you again. “You are not a princess though, are you?” He rasps out. “You are a violent wench, drawing blood tonight.” He is honestly proud of you for defending yourself, for helping him when you could have just watched. “A demon.”

You growl at his depiction of you, knowing that he’s not wrong but hearing it spoken out loud has you squeezing his wrists in your grip. “Had to help you since you had two on one and I wasn’t sure if you could handle it.” You taunt him, knowing it’s a lie but you want to rile him up.

He smirks, enjoying your banter and the way you taunt him. “I would have had no problem killing both of them.” He promises. “You are the one who was shaking when bringing me an ale.”

“In anger. You infuriate me. I have been groped and you - you escalated it. I still need to mop the blood from the floor.” You hiss. “You act without a thought.” You slam back onto his cock.

He huffs. “No, I kept a man from taking what was not his.” He grunts, correcting you. “No one else was coming to your aid.” Everyone else in the tavern had silently watched. “A man who rapes a woman deserves to die.”

“I had it handled.” You lie, knowing that he stopped one of the worst things from happening to you. You grind down, shifting to press your chest to his and he hisses at the change in the angle. “Whatever you want to believe.” He growls and you let go of his wrist, gripping his chin instead, “I don’t need rescuing.”

His dark eyes are steady on yours, watching you. “You don’t need rescuing.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around you and starting to move his hips. Thrusting up into your body while he holds you.

A cry escapes your lips and you lean down to press your lips to his, cupping his cheek and you caress it. You slide your tongue into his mouth, letting him fuck you and you moan, rocking back onto him.

This is what he craves. Kissing you back as he drives his hips up again and again. Burying himself so deep in your cunt that your walls spasm around him. One arm anchors you in place while the other cups your breast, pinching the nipple roughly as he groans into your mouth.

You pant, getting lost in the sensations, and your breath puffs against his neck as he thrusts up into you. “Fuck.” You curse, “Pero.” You are getting worked up as he thrusts up into you.

He loves the little sounds you make. The desperate mewls of pleasure that pour out of your mouth as you cling to him. Your body is getting slick with sweat and he pants out your name, rocking steadily up into you. “Cum for me.” He growls, desperate to hold out until you shout his name. 

You struggle to breathe as he thrusts up into you, your cunt pulsing as he pushes you and pushes you until you break. You cry out his name, falling apart around him, and you soak his cock. “Fill- fill me up.” You beg, needing to see and feel him fall over the edge.

Pero’s eyes roll back and he hisses through his teeth. Snarling at the command and eager to give you what you want. His grip on you tightens and it only takes a few thrusts before he is burying his cock deep and flooding your womb with his hot seed, groaning your name.

You watch him as he cums, filling your cunt and you caress his cheek, leaning down to rest your forehead against his as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck.” You curse, feeling exhausted and it takes you a while to remember the man beneath you but when you do, you shift off him, walking over to the basin to clean yourself up with a wet rag.

Pero watches you. His eyes follow you as you clean up and he doesn’t know what to say, sure that you will kick him out of your bed. So he is surprised when you bring the rag back over to him and climb into the cot with him again. “Do not ruin this.” You huff when he opens his mouth, so he doesn’t say anything. Smirking slightly as you settle down beside him and he tosses the rag to the floor after cleaning up and he closes his eyes. Eager to sleep after such a long day.

You find yourself curled into him when you wake up in the middle of the night. His arm around your waist and you smile, closing your eyes and you let yourself drift back off to sleep. You feel safe in his arms. 

****

The early morning sun hits your face and you wince, blinking as you try to adjust to the brightness. You inhale deeply and stretch, shifting to look at Pero, but you frown when you find the space he occupied is empty. The sheets cool when you touch them, and you hate that tears spring into your eyes as you get out of your bed. You reach for your shift and pull it over your head, making your way out into the tavern to see if Pero is out there. He isn't. You cross your arms and shake your head, glancing around and your eyes widen when you see the blood on the floor has been cleaned up. You are surprised and you huff, unsure of why he left without even saying goodbye.

Pero curses as he pulls the stone out of the horse's hoof, pressing against the beast’s belly and then dropping the foot. The hoof is bruised and even though he only got half of the field planted, he couldn’t make the poor beast lame by making it work while injured. “Mierda.” He hisses, straightening up and starting to unstrap the horse from the plow to guide it back to the barn. Since he was done early, he could fix the chair that had been broken in the fight last night and take it back to you. Finding himself eager to see if you are happy that he had cleaned up and fixed what was broken. Maybe he could spend the night in your bed again. It was the best sleep he had since the exhausted sleep at the wall. He smirks as looks at the barrel of water. He will have to bathe before he visits the tavern again.

You are in a sour mood all morning, preparing the stew and bread to serve and when you allow your first patrons to enter around midday. You sigh and wipe your hands on your apron, hating that you search for Pero in the crowd of men that appear. You get lost in your work, serving ale and bowls of stew until he finally walks in. He left you this morning without a word and that hurt.

By the time he had cleaned up and finished fixing the chair, the sun was starting to hang low in the sky. Holding the fixed furniture in his hand, he strides into the tavern. Immediately seeking you out, finding you bending over a table to serve ales to a group of travelers, he grunts in appreciation of the curve of your ass. Remembering how it had felt bare in his hands as you bounced on his cock. “The dead man did not stop visitors today.” He grunts, eyeing the travelers with a small smirk on his face.

You frown when he seems to return victoriously to the tavern. You huff, "I wondered where the chair went." You look down at the chair he fixed, your heart thumping, but you know he only fixed it because he felt guilty.

“What kind of stew did you make tonight?” He isn’t offended at your lack of enthusiasm for his appearance, setting the chair down and sitting in it. Secretly happy that the damn thing didn’t collapse. He’s not a furniture maker. He was a mercenary and now he’s trying to be a farmer for all the good it is doing him.

You stare at him, remembering that empty bed. He may be trying his hand at farming but he doesn’t get up at dawn with the others. Always a late start, so that excuse doesn’t wash. You swallow and glance around the tavern, taking a moment, before you look at him again, “chicken.” You declare, “killed it this morning, imagining it was you.”

He frowns at the venom in your voice and then tightens his jaw. “Then I’ll just have an ale, wench.” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at you and trying to figure out why you are still spitting at him after letting him spend the night in your bed. He had thought cumming would have made you sweeter. “I have no use for a stew to curdle my stomach.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him when you realize he likely killed the man because he wanted your cunt for himself. You make your way through the tavern, pouring a tankard of ale, and you just barely resist slamming it down in front of him, wanting to pour it over his head, but you sarcastically say “don’t choke on it” and spin on your heel.

Pero watches you stalk off, frowning slightly as he reaches for the ale you had poured him. He had hoped things would be different, but you still despise him. It was a good thing he had left your bed when he woke up, hating to think what your wrath would have been like had you woken to find him still asleep in your bed. “Shrew.” He huffs under his breath, tipping the mug up.

****

You frown as you look in the mirror. Standing naked, you turn to the side and back again, confused by your rounded stomach. “I can’t be.” You murmur, rubbing the small bump as you try to remember when you last bled. You squint as if it works to help you think but soon your eyes widen. “Tovar. You bastard.” You growl, knowing it’s not the man’s fault. In all your emotional turmoil after he abandoned your bed once he got what he wanted, you’d forgotten to drink your tea. You’re with child. You try not to panic, knowing you have a stable income and a home in the tavern but you worry for your child’s acceptance in the village. They will be branded a bastard, cast aside, but you know you’ll love them. Inhaling deeply, you dress and decide whether to tell Tovar. You don’t have long to decide as your name is called and you need to get to work. The stew needs to be prepared.

Pero blows out a sigh as he enters the tavern, sure that he will once again butt heads with you. It’s not as satisfying as it once had been, not when he knows how you moan and how soft your skin is. You’ve never allowed him back into your bed, not that he’s asked. The tavern isn’t full yet, but it will be. The days are getting shorter and he’s just hauled in the last of his crops. It was a decent year and he is ready to rest after the backbreaking work. “Ale!” He calls out as he moves over to his normal table.

You sigh when you hear his voice. You have been worried about how you’d feel when you see him knowing you’re carrying his child. You pour a cup of ale and carry it over to him, setting it down. “Anything else?” You ask softly, so taken back by your revelation that you can’t even muster the energy to be snarky.

He’s so surprised by your lack of attitude that he freezes for a moment, jaw slaw. “Um, stew.” He decides, just as quiet. “It smells good.” It makes his mouth water almost as much as you do. You look pretty, although maybe a little tired.

You nod, knowing you struggled to cook the stew this morning but you powered through after placing some herbs under your nose. Your heart thumps at seeing Tovar, your hands gripping the bowl as you remember what he looked like beneath you, and you shake your head, reaching for the ladle. Your stomach twists as the smell hits your nose but you take a deep breath and carry it through the tavern. Your stomach lurching and you try to calm down but when you stand in front of Tovar, you gag and throw up straight into the bowl of stew.

Leaping up, Pero manages to avoid the splash. Taking your waist gently and reaching up to hold you steady as you grip the edge of the table and empty your belly of pitiful amounts of food and drink. It might be lucky that you haven’t eaten much, but you work too hard to survive off that. “Come, hermosa.” He huffs when you finally stop retching, “let me help you to your room.” He doesn’t give you a chance to argue with him, turning you around and steering you towards the back. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” He jokes.

You shake your head, “I- shit. I’m so sorry.” You manage to choke out but he guides you to the chair in the corner and you watch him as he rushes to grab some water and a wet rag for you to clean yourself up. You sip the water and sigh, feeling a lot better. “Thanks.” You wipe your face with the wet rag and you sigh, “I need to get back.” Pero shakes his head, “no. You’re sick. You need to rest.” You huff, “I can’t. I need to run the tavern.” Pero growls at your stubbornness, “idiota.” He hisses, “you need to rest.” You ignore him and stand up, swaying slightly, and his hands grip your waist after he rushes over to you. “I’m fine.” You push his hands away, ignoring the way his eyes widen. “You’re-” He chokes and you snort, finishing his sentence, “pregnant.”

Pregnant. He’s never gotten a woman pregnant before. At least not that he knows of. Never wanting to leave a trail of bastards behind him because of how the child was treated. As if they were to blame for their parents. “Pregnant.” He whispers, stepping back and his eyes slide over to the cot where you had created a new life. “Are you sure?” He asks, making you snort. “I have not bleed since that night.” You hiss and he knows you would not lie about something like that. “I-I” he trips over his tongue, unsure of what to say. “The babe makes you sick?”

You nod, “yes. I thought it was a malady. I have been sick for a few days and this morning…” You bring your hand to your stomach, “I noticed a bump.” You confess, “and then I tried to remember the last time I bled. It was before that night. I don’t expect anything. I am prepared to have this child alone.” You add, not wanting him to have some sense of duty.

Pero frowns and shakes his head. “The child will be a bastard. Shunned.” He huffs, not understanding why you would say such things. “You believe that men try to abuse you now?” He snorts. “They will come sniffing when your belly grows and they know a man crawled between your legs.”

“I can take care of myself.” You growl at him, “I have a home. I have coins. I can handle myself.” Pero shakes his head, “and a child? You think it’s fair for our child to grow up as a bastard? People telling him he has a whore for a mother.” His growl makes you react before you can think and your hand comes up to slap him. You stare at him in surprise at your action and Pero’s eyes are full of hurt. “Get out.” You demand, clenching your jaw.

He hisses, his cheek stinging from the slap but he would never hit you back. His fist clenches to keep from reaching for you again and he bows mockingly. “As my lady wishes.” He huffs before he turns on his heel and walks out of your room. He knows that some will see him come out of your private area and rumors will spread, but you seem to believe that you can handle it. He needs to think about what he will do next.

You choke, tears stinging in your eyes, and you stumble over to the chair. A sob escapes your lips and your hand comes down to rest on your belly. “It’s okay. We will be okay.” You promise, sniffing as you wipe your eyes, and you stand up. Inhaling deeply, you steady yourself and make your way back into the tavern. You have a job to do.

****

The next day Pero is at the tavern well before the doors open. You don’t rent rooms, so no one comes and goes at odd hours. He sees the smoke coming out of the chimney, a lazy little curl from a banked fire so it’s possible you are still sleeping as he glances around behind the building. It’s apparent you used to have a sizable stable and he wonders if at one point the tavern was an inn. Still, the space here would allow him to erect the spit he had built last night. The wagon he had dragged into town is unhitched from the horse and he glances towards the door only a few times before he starts to get to work.

You barely manage to drag yourself out of bed, your stomach churning, and you reach for the pot you’ve taken to storing next to your cot. You retch, bringing up last night's dinner until you can breathe again. You rub your belly, “you are trouble already. Just like your father.” You snort and you work fast to clean up and get ready for the day. You steel yourself to prepare the stew as you walk into the kitchen but you are surprised when you smell something cooking. You frown, glancing around the kitchen and when you can’t see anything, you walk outside. You’re met with the sight of Tovar stirring a pot and you are shocked. “What - what are you doing?”

Pero looks up at you, still in a chemise and your feet bare. “What does it look like?” He snorts. “You should get dressed, it’s cold outside.” He knows you have been sick, he heard you from out here and he hates that his babe is being so rough on you. “The stew should be ready in a few hours.” He adds, pulling the large ladle out and handing it on the edge of the spit that holds the heavy pot over the fire he had built underneath it. He frowns when he sees you still standing in the door.

You are confused, wondering why he’s cooking a stew. “Why- why did you - why did you do this?” You ask, crossing your arms to warm yourself up a little and your shift pulls tight over your small bump. He frowns, “you were sick yesterday because of the stew. I wanted to help. I have bread too.” He says, gesturing with his thumb to the wagon. “I don’t need help.” You remind him, watching as his eyes drop down to your belly.

“No one will eat stew you have emptied your belly into.” Pero scoffs, wondering if you will be stubborn the entire time. He wishes he could curse you for it, but he likes your strong willed nature. “You should go-“ Pero shakes his head and holds up his hand. “I am not leaving. The stew is made. Accept it, hermosa.”

Your instinct is to curse him but you are so surprised by his actions. “Fine. Stand out here and cook like a housewife.” You spit, spinning on your heel to stride back into the tavern to dress. It isn’t long before you have patrons and you are serving ale. “I’ll have a bowl of the stew.” One of the men asks and you nod, making your way outside to where Pero is stirring the stew. “I have one order of the stew.”

He smirks as he lifts a brow. “How are you going to carry it into the tavern when you can barely stomach the smell of it?” He asks, taking the bowl out of your hand and waving you away. “I will bring it.” He grumbles as he starts to serve up a generous portion of the stew. It’s rich and fragrant, although he can see you swallowing harshly at the scent. “Go inside. I will find him.” He huffs.

You nod, unwilling to argue when he steps away and you get a breath of fresh air. Leaning against the wall for a second, you wonder if you’ll be like this until the babe is born. You hope not. You’re going to struggle to work if that’s the case. You make your way back inside and see Pero serving the man, taking the coins for the ale and the stew, and when he passes by, you stop him. “Thank you.” You murmur, knowing you can’t let him do all this without a word of appreciation.

He doesn’t say anything, just nodding his head once and he holds out his hand to offer you the coins. “Let me know when someone else orders the stew.” He murmurs after a moment. “I will take care of it for you.” He doesn’t want to crowd you, knowing you will take offense, but it cannot be good to get sick every time you need to serve some stew.

You request stew several times from him until the ale is flowing and the customers are slowly making their way home. Your feet ache and you take a moment to sit down when you see Pero cleaning the stew pot outside. When he’s done, he strides into the tavern, and you stand to fetch him a cup of ale.

“You should rest.” Pero takes the ale and takes a large gulp of the brew. “I have to get more ale out of the cellar.” You groan softly and he frowns. “You lift those barrels?” He demands, aware that the casks of ale are smaller than some of the giant ones he has seen in some fortresses, but it is still too much for you to do by yourself. “I will do it, hermosa.” You stiffen angrily as if he has insulted you. “I don’t need your help.” You hiss, even as he can see how tired you are. “I can provide for myself just fine.” Pero grits his teeth, annoyed that you are being so stubborn. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

Your chest tightens and your pulse flutters in anger. “I’ve been alone since my mother died. I was one and four. I have had to do everything by myself. Survive. My mother let my father have the power over her. She didn’t know how to do anything and when he left, she fell apart and I had to take over. I had to be the parent. I am used to doing everything by myself and I don’t like owing anyone.” You answer truthfully, “so if that makes me a bitch then so be it.”

Pero frowns, softening and shuffling where he stands. Awkward and unsure of what to say. “Then be a bitch.” He says gruffly, nodding. “I will not stop helping. Even when you spit at me. It is my doing that you are sick. Leave the ale, I will do it before you open tomorrow.” He moves over to the table and sets down the last of the bread that he had brought. “Eat and rest. I will leave you in peace for now.” He nods to you again. “Buenos noches, hermosa.”

You watch him go, glancing at the bread he had left for you, and you sigh as you reach for it. You’re hungry and tired and annoyed at him for making it harder to hate him today. It’s easier for everyone if you push him away. You won’t suffer the heartbreak and your child won’t lose a parent. It’s best if they never know what they could’ve had.

The next morning, he’s at your back door before you are awake. Knocking quietly, and shuffling as he waits. He feels bare without armor and weapons, fingers twitching over the small wooden toy that he had carved last night. It’s rough and not very good, but he had remembered it being one of the few toys that he had when he was a boy.

You hear the knock and your heart thumps as you wrap your blanket around your shoulders, making your way to the front door with a candlestick in hand to defend yourself. You carefully open the back door and see Tovar standing there. “What are you doing?” You gasp, shocked to see him as you grip the candlestick.

“I’m here to change the barrels out.” He reminds you, grunting out the response with a small eye roll. “And give you this.” He thrusts the small wooden toy at you, waiting for you to mock the effort that he put into it. It’s poor quality, but he wants his child to have things that he had made for them.

You lower your arm with the candlestick and place it on the table by the back door before you take the small wooden horse with wide eyes, surprised that he can whittle something so delicate. “Tovar-” You murmur and he snorts, “I know it’s shit but I wanted our child to have one thing from me.” He says and tears sting in your eyes at the gesture. You’ve been teary since you found out and you realize the babe is really affecting you.

He frowns at your tears and shuffles, not good with emotions. “It’s not that bad.” He grumbles as he stares at you looking down at the little toy. “I had one, when I was a boy. Only toy I remember ever having.” He confesses. “My first sword was real.”

Your heart clenches at that, knowing he started fighting when he was very young to earn money for his family. “It’s - it’s perfect.” You assure him, “I love it.” Your eyes meet his and a tear falls down your cheek, “for our child.”

“I was a bastard.” He announces, jaw tense. “My father never acknowledged me. Never gave my mother anything for me.” Swallows harshly. “I am not the same man my father was.” He spits. “I’ve killed men, I’ve stolen. I lie. But I would never let my child starve, bastard or not.” He turns and moves towards the doorway that leads to the main area of the tavern to start moving the empty ale kegs out to make room for the new ones.

You can see the determination on his face and it makes your breath catch. He’s serious. “You don’t have to be - I don’t want you to be here through a sense of duty. Our child deserves to have two parents that love them. Not obligated to be around.” You say, fiddling with the toy.

Pero stops and turns back towards you. His eyes are unreadable and he swallows. “I never do anything I don’t want to do, hermosa.” He promises.

You know that's the case. He's as stubborn as a mule. You know he would run for the hills if he didn't want to be a father. You aren't convinced yet but you are softening. Must be the baby making you see him in a new light.

You don’t say anything else, so he turns back to the front room. Knowing that he needs to get the keg changed out and have you show him how to get into it to draw up mugs of ale. He’s not sure about things like this, but he knows that you need more rest, you can’t be running about all the time doing everything yourself.

**** 

It's been a few months since you found out you're with child and you thought Tovar would be long gone by now but he's here, changing kegs and cooking stew. As soon as he collects the coins for the payment, he deposits them into your hand. You are getting bigger but you've managed to conceal your bump beneath your skirts, not wanting anyone to know and already brand your child a bastard before they are even born. You have found yourself growing softer towards the Spaniard. He arrives at the tavern at dawn and leaves after the last patron has left. You are shocked by his dedication to you and the baby without any demands for physical appreciation and pretty words. He's also made more toys for the child, spending his free time gathering cloths and he even paid one of the older women to knit several clothes for the babe. He has proven himself to be someone you can rely on and that has made him infinitely more attractive. You watch him as he works and at night, you touch yourself to thoughts of the night you conceived the baby.

Pero grins as he runs his hand along the smooth surface of the wood. His carving has much improved. Nights spent alone, thinking about you growing his babe as he makes little toys has steadied his hand. Fixing broken tables and chairs for the tavern has taught him how to fit furniture together better. This piece, this is for you. The crib he has carved and built is already standing in the corner of his cottage, ready to deliver to you. Now that this piece is done, he will take a risk and show you how he feels. After all, it is St. Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

You take a drink of water and rest for a moment after you wash several dishes. Pero had come early to cook the stew and you had sent him to fetch some apples from the orchard nearby. You are craving an apple pie and you also want to bake to thank Pero for all his hard work. You look up as he walks in the tavern, his signature scowl on his face until his eyes meet yours and his expression softens. That makes your heart flutter. It’s St Valentine’s Day and your tavern has been full of amorous couples wanting a meal before they retire to the inn. You wipe down the counter as he walks over to you, bag of apples in his hand. “Thank you.” You smile, “I can’t wait to bake those.”

Pero nods and watches as you turn to move towards your dough that you have been working on. Baked pies and breads have been far easier on your stomach than the stews you serve your guests. He likes watching you as you work. “I will check the floor.” He announces. “You work on your pies, hermosa.”

You watch him go, strong shoulders and a threatening gait has your cunt clenching as you remember what he felt like beneath you. In the time he’s been helping, he’s opened up, talking to you even if you don’t respond, and you found his voice soothing and his stories interesting. Even if you sometimes roll your eyes. You prepare the pies with the apple and you place them in to cook as Pero bids goodbye to the last patron. “Lock the door. I’m closing early. No one is here. Apparently they are all celebrating love.” You snort, wiping your hands on your apron.

“Sí.” He frowns, sure that the pies were to sell, but you should be able to make some coins off of them tomorrow. “Come to your rooms.” He urges you. “I have something to show you.” He’s nervous, hoping you like the gifts he had managed to sneak into your bedroom while you had been busy.

You frown in confusion but nod, letting him guide you to your rooms with his hand on your back. You open the door and he ushers you in, waiting for you to notice and when you do, your eyes widen. “Oh my-” You choke, walking over to the crib. “You made this?” You ask him in awe, caressing the wood that’s been delicately carved.

“I did not know if you had one.” He explains, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “The babe- I thought it would be nice to have a bed for it to sleep in.” He hopes you like it. You look like you are about to cry again. He prefers when you yell at him over the tears. “If you do not like it-“ he shrugs helplessly.

You shake your head, turning towards him, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you.” You choke, sobbing as this becomes real. You’re going to be a mother. You’re going to have a baby. “It’s perfect.”

It's the first time he’s really touched you besides his fingers brushing yours when he gives you the coins since the day he found out you were pregnant. The bump pressing against his stomach is larger than it was before. His arms come around you and he holds tight for a moment. “There’s something else.” He tells you softly.

You pull back to look into his eyes, confused until he gently turns you. You gasp when you see what is at the end of your cot. “Pero…” You murmur in awe of his craftsmanship. You caress the trunk, admiring the carved butterflies and flowers in the wood. “It’s beautiful.” Your heart flutters and you can’t believe he made this for you.

“You deserve it.” He hums, watching you as your fingers trail over the delicate carvings. You are so beautiful, full of his child, full of life. “I didn’t see one, so I thought that you deserved a place to put your things.”

“I never took you as being observant.” You scoff playfully and he narrows his eyes, shaking his head, “I noticed. That night.” He reveals and you step closer to him, your hand on your bump. “Why - why did you do this?” You ask, looking back at the trunk.

“Open the trunk.” Pero orders quietly, watching you with dark eyes. “Please, hermosa.” You look surprised that he would use manners and he snorts in amusement. “I am not a man who speaks prettily, who has words to say.” He tells you as you kneel down in front of the trunk. “I am a man who speaks with his hands. His actions.”

You frown, confused by the request, but you open the trunk. "Pero." You gasp, pulling the fabric out of the trunk and the beautiful dress unfolds. The patterns are more intricate than anything you've ever seen before. The color is stunning. "It's - it's perfect." You choke, turning to look at him, the dress in your hands and you feel overwhelmed. "Where did you get this?"

“I had it made for you.” He explains. “From fabric I brought back from China.” He ducks his head, hoping you like it. “It is large enough for you to wear now, and when you have the babe, you can take it in.” He wanted you to enjoy it right away. “The patterns remind me of you.” He admits softly. “Hermosa….Beautiful.”

You look back at the dress, tracing the intricate pattern and you have never seen anything like this before. You gently lay the dress down in the trunk, shifting to stand and Pero rushes forward to take your hands, helping you stand. You look at him when you're upright, and his dark eyes are apprehensive. You know he's not a man of words and he's shown you how he feels in his actions. Your heart flutters and you surge forward, cupping his cheeks to press your lips to his.

Pero hums in surprise and his eyes flutter as he slowly wraps his arms around your thickened waist and draws you closer to him. Keeping the kiss just as gentle as it started, his heart pounds in his chest, hoping that you feel the same way.

The kiss is gentle, such a contrast from the rough nature of the mercenary. He pulls back after a moment and you caress his cheek. "I'll say it for both of us. I love you." You murmur, looking at him with adoration. You never imagined that you'd fall for him but seeing how he's been taking care of the tavern for you and now the gifts...it's hard to resist him.

“You do?” He whispers softly, thinking that he might be in a fevered dream. “You love me?” His hand moves around to cup your belly tenderly. “I love you and I love our child. I want to- to be here, with you.” He admits, pressing his forehead against yours. “To marry you.”

"Do you know what my first thought was when I saw the dress?" You ask softly, nudging his nose with yours. He doesn't say anything, wanting you to continue. You smile, "I imagined getting married in that dress. To you."

“Do you want to say our vows before the babe is born?” He asks seriously, arching a brow as he starts to smile. “We can see if the priest will marry us tomorrow.”

You can't believe this is happening but your chest tightens with happiness. "Tomorrow. I want to be your wife tomorrow." You promise, an excited giggle escaping your lips. Pero nods, "tomorow." You caress his cheek, "promise me you won't be easier on me just because I'm your wife."

Pero snorts in amusement. “You wouldn’t let me.” He predicts. “You will still grumble and fight, making my cock hard every time you do.” He smirks when your eyes widen. “I am a difficult man, hermosa. You don’t think fighting makes me hard?”

You smirk, sliding your hands down to his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath your palm. "It's a good thing I want you to fuck me every time you make me angry." You giggle when he growls and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass, "whenever you want, amor." You moan and lean in to kiss him, sliding your hands into his hair.

Pero still lets you control the kiss. His mouth opens in invitation and he groans when your tongue touches his. He turns you both and starts guiding you towards your cot. “We will have to get a bigger bed.” He grunts with a smile.

You giggle, reaching for the hem of his shirt, grateful he doesn't wear his armor. He pulls back for a moment to let you lift his shirt over his head, exposing his chest. "Farming has made you stronger." You observe the more prominent muscles on his body. "Wanted to provide for you and the babe." He explains and you sigh happily, leaning in to kiss the skin above his heart. "My husband." You murmur, leaning back and his hands reach for the ties that keep your dress together.

He slowly starts untie your laces. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs. “Stole my breath that night.” He groans when your breasts fall out of the chemise when he pulls down your dress. “They are bigger.” His greedy hands cup them and weigh them in his palms for a moment.

You giggle at the hungry look on his face, "they are. They ache...you could help me soothe it with your tongue, my love." You hint, shrugging off your chemise so it falls to the floor and you are left naked in front of him.

Your belly is large, rounded heavily without the concealing layers of your dresses. “Hermosa.” He whispers, twitching in his breeches as he slides his hands to your waist to bring you closer to him. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your stomach. “Mi bebé.” He murmurs softly, looking up at you after he kisses your skin.

You run your fingers through his hair as he caresses your belly. "Our baby." you murmur, smiling at him. His eyes soften and you pull him closer to kiss his lips. His hands caress your waist and you reach down to start untying his breeches. "Need you, Pero. Touched myself so many times thinking of that night. The baby...makes me desperate for your touch."

“Just the baby?” He chuckles as he stands up to make it easier to shuck his pants. He’s already hard and aching, a constant state of being around you. “You are sure that it is just that and not being eager to take my cock again?” He teases. “You screamed my name the last time.”

"In frustration. You didn't make me cum fast enough." You retort, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his hard length after you lick your palm. He groans and you chuckle, starting to pump him. "I bet you want me to scream it again for you."

“Yes.” He pants out, rocking his hips towards your touch. “Stroked my cock every night thinking about how your cunt felt around me.” He grunts. “Hated leaving that morning.” He moans softly when you squeeze him. “Needed to work, show you that I could provide for you if I had a chance to win your heart.”

“I wish you would’ve stayed. You hurt me when you left.” You confess, “thought you just wanted my cunt and you had gotten what you wanted and left.” You sigh as you stroke him.

Pero frowns and he reaches down to cover your hand, making you stop. His eyes are dark and somber as he looks at you. “Never, hermosa.” He promises you. “I want you until I am taking my last breath. I wanted to give you more than just a gruff mercenary.”

You pull your hand away from his cock, dragging him down onto your cot, and you straddle him with your belly pressed between you. "You were enough." You promise, cupping his cheeks, and his hard cock is pressing against your pelvis. "You are enough."

“How do you want this, hermosa?” He asks softly, knowing what your belly is large enough that he would not want to risk being on top of you. He would not hurt the baby. “I want to make you feel good.” He licks his lips and kisses you. “There’s- have you ever had a man kiss your cunt?” He asks. “It is done. I have done it before. Women like it.”

You shake your head, "no. I - that sounds - I want it. I want you to do it." You plead softly, your hand coming up to squeeze your breast. "I can get on my knees." You say as you shift off the cot, kneeling on the end of it with your hands gripping the edge. You look back over your shoulder to where Pero is leaning against your pillow. "Please, my love." You beg, needing to feel him.

He chuckles as he leans forward, caressing your ass. “I have never done it from this position, but it should be the same, no?” He asks, letting his fingers slide down the crevice of your ass and over your puckered hole to finger the wet folds of your sex. “Relax, esposa, I will make you feel good.” He coos, confident he will make you squeal with his tongue. He leans forward and has no hesitation as he dives into your folds, his nose pressed against your other hole.

You gasp, leaning forward on your forearms to give him more access, and you moan when his tongue pushes into your cunt. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. His tongue is magic, curling as his hands squeeze your ass, “fuck.” You curse, tits swaying as you grind back onto him.

He hums as he licks into you, tasting your musky essence. You are tangy and sweet, delicious and he loves how wet you already are. Growling into your cunt as he devours you, feasts on you like he is a man starved. Until he pulls back. “Turn over, hermosa.” He orders. “Lay on your back so you can rest while I make you cum.”

You nod, shifting away from him so you can carefully lay down. Your bump blocking your view of him as he settles between your thighs. Your chest heaves as his tongue slides between your folds again, flicking your clit with each swipe, and you pant his name.

Pero groans into your cunt, finding you completely addictive. He could spend forever right here, making you whimper his name like that. Sliding a hand up your hip, he covers your baby bump possessively as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You moan, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair as you slowly rock your hips up into his mouth. "Fuck." You curse, wishing you could see him below your bump.

He chuckles and hums as he slides his tongue around your clit, just missing it until you whine in protest. “How do you feel now, hermosa?” He rasps, his cock aching to sink into you, but he’s going to give you this before he does. Show you how he feels for you.

“Good. So good. Need you inside me.” You demand and he shakes his head against your folds, “not yet.” He says, taking your clit into his mouth to suck hard on it. You whine, chest heaving.. Your thighs squeeze his head and you moan his name.

You are close, he can taste the desperation in your body. The way your thighs tighten around him and he doesn’t let up. Sliding his hand higher, he cups your breast and flicks his thumb over the hard nipple as you come close to shattering around him.

You pant, getting closer and closer to the edge, “fuck.” You moan, covering his hand with yours. “I love you.” You pant and it transforms into a cry as you cum, your orgasm racing through your body.

Pero groans, lapping at your clit and drinking down the juices that are pouring out of you. Working you through it until your body goes lip and your thighs tense every time his tongue touches you. He kisses your thigh and then your stomach as he pushes to his hands and looks up at you with a wicked smirk. “Delicious.”

You giggle at the mischief on his face and you watch as he kneels so you reach down to grip his cock. “Need you inside me, my love.” You plead, slowly stroking his cock.

“I don’t want to crush you.” He pants, eyes rolling back as you touch his aching cock. “Turn on your side.” He grunts. “I will fuck you that way, so I am not on top of you.”

You nod, letting go of his cock so you can shift onto your side. Your hand on your belly as you watch him move. He looks deadly when he’s moving around the tavern but right now he’s soft and slow as he moves to lay down behind you.

He slides one arm under your chest, cupping one of your breasts while he takes his cock in his hand and shuffles his hips forward. “Put your leg on top of mine.” He grunts, twitching when you open up for him and he feels the wet slick of your folds against his cock. “Te amo,” he murmurs. “I love you.” He vows as he slowly starts to push inside your walls.

Your mouth falls open as he stretches you out, his cock filling you up in the way you’ve craved since he left your bed - even if you hated him for a while. You whimper and reach for his hand, gripping it as he starts to move inside you. “Love you too.” You promise, closing your eyes as you focus on him.

He starts slowly, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. He’s never fucked a pregnant woman before and he would be more uncertain except you are moaning your encouragement. Still, he doesn’t snap his hips like he would have, keeping the thrusts long and drawn out as he moves in and out of your body. Murmuring how perfect you are and how he has dreamed of this.

You moan, “feel so good, Pero.” You caress his forearm as he caresses your bump. You whimper as he rocks into you, slow and deep, and you turn your head to watch him as he thrusts into you. “I love you.” You murmur, kissing his jaw.

“I love you too.” He groans. “I prayed today. To St. Valentine. Praying that you would accept me. Let me be your husband.” He confesses, having spent so many years avoiding his faith, but he had wanted you too much to risk not praying to the saint of lovers.

You are surprised by that and your heart clenches at that confession. “He answered your prayers.” You smile, “and I’m so happy he did. I want to be your wife tomorrow and our child will be coming soon.”

“Our child.” He smiles, happy that you are carrying his child. “No one will doubt the child is mine.” He vows. “I will take care of you while you are recovering.” While he might not have had sex with a pregnant woman, he had been around them, and their babies when he was younger. He remembers that they needed loving care and it affected their health when they didn’t get it.

You love how he is promising your care and your heart flutters as you kiss his jaw. “I love you.” You promise him again, “you are going to be my husband. And a brilliant father.” You lift your leg a little higher.

He’s scared, probably more scared of failing than he was of the monsters in China. But for now, he slowly rocks into you. Touching you, kissing you. Eventually his fingers find your clit again as he thrusts. “Cum for me, esposa.” He groans in your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Fuck. You’re - it’s so good.” You moan, walls fluttering around his cock. He’s working you up, calloused fingers rubbing your clit, and you cry out moments later. Clamping down on his cock, you soak him and squeeze your eyes shut, “Pero. Oh fuck.” You gasp, thigh shaking in the air.

He groans, loving how you come apart for him. Kissing along your jaw while your cunt soaks his cock. He keeps working into you, so close himself that it only takes a few more thrusts before he is pushing deep. Flooding your walls with his seed. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses. “So perfect.”

**** 

“You bastard!” You curse Pero as you squeeze his hand. The pain makes you cry out as you try to push. Your wedding ring digs into his palm and your brow is covered in sweat.

He would chuckle but he hates seeing you in so much pain. “Sí, esposa.” He agrees, listening to the midwife huff as she hustles about the room. She had been annoyed that Pero insisted on staying with you while you fight to bring his child into the world. The tavern out front is empty, he had kicked everyone out when your first pains had been felt; although there is a crowd of people outside waiting for news. The entire village had apparently known you were pregnant and just kept their opinions to themselves. They liked you and they liked that Pero took care of you, your wedding solidifying their feelings. “I am a bastard for doing this to you, I will never touch you again, eh?”

You hiss as you bear down before you inhale deeply, trying to breathe through the pain as the midwife had instructed you. “Never. No matter how good you fuck me.” You pant out, squeezing his hand even harder as you scream, pushing again when the midwife is between your thighs and she grins, “there’s the head.”

“Our bebé, hermosa.” Pero twists his body, wanting to see and he swallows harshly when he sees the bloody crown of his child’s head between your legs. “Already beautiful.”

You pant, trying to catch your breath to prepare you for the next push. “Okay dearie. Let’s push again. On three. One…two…three.” She orders and you scream through gritted teeth, squeezing Pero’s hand to the point that he hisses in pain.

He knows you hurt, reaching for the rag again to wipe the sweat from your face when you finally relax again. “Almost there. You are doing good.” He grunts, although he has no idea if you actually are. He just wants to encourage you. “Get it over with, esposa. Hold your child.”

You growl at his demand, “fuck you, Tovar.” You hiss at him and he smirks, making you hiss in fury. The midwife watches on in shock at the way you speak to your husband but the insult works as the child slides free of your body. Your gasp of relief echoes in the room and moments later, your child’s cry fills the air. You sob, reaching for the babe.

Pero watches in wonder as the midwife brings the child up to your chest, still covered with blood and whatever else was involved with childbirth. He leans over the two of you, instantly in love. “It’s a girl?” He asks, not seeing a cock before the baby was wrapped up in softly blankets. “Yes.” You answer and the midwife wonders if Pero is upset, but the gruff mercenary just beams proudly. “Valentina.” He offers. “We should name her Valentina.”

You have tears running down your face as you look at the squawking baby. You stroke her cheek as she roots to find your nipple and you help her, in awe of her and totally in love. “Valentina.” You murmur, “after the day we finally confessed how we felt.” You look up at Pero and offer him a watery grin. “I love it. I love her. I love you.” You rush out, feeling so overwhelmed.

“I love you, esposa. Just like I love our baby girl.” He leans over and kisses your lips softly before pressing his lips to her now dry and wiped off head. “So tiny.” He worries, pulling back and watching in wonder. “Are you sure there is not another babe in her belly?” He demands to the midwife. “She was so large.”

You scoff and reach out to hit him, “you’re such a prick.” He chuckles and the midwife is surprised by your relationship but she can see how much you love each other. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, esposa.” He smirks and you roll your eyes, “no. I wouldn’t. Valentina and I are lucky to have you. Most of the time.” You tease and Pero huffs, leaning down to kiss you. “Pain in my ass.” He mutters against your lips and you smile, knowing that despite your bickering, you’ll be spending the rest of your life with him.

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

Trying to write characters who are drunk/high while having never drank or smoked before

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[st4rbwrry]

𝒞’𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐸, 𝐵𝑅𝒜𝒯.

aot headcannons + how they handle a brat ft. eren, armin, + onyankopon.

꒰ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ꒱ ꔫ . . . fem!reader, lowercase intended, nsfw twitter links, aggressive sex, choking, rough play, spanking, dacryphilia, punishment, bondage, oral [f + m.], squirting, praise, all of them are kinda mean but with reason, teasing, pet names dnt feel like listing, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are appreciated! ♡

EREN YEAGER

let’s just say eren likes to fuck you really hard when you piss him off. i’m talking putting you through the mattress. gotta make you feel his anger. the man will make you gag on his dick until your jaw aches, stating ‘since you like to run your fuckin’ mouth so much, make use of it’. he loves when your pretty lips glide along his dick, holding your head still as he hisses and groans, muttering ‘suck it, c’mon’ while he stuffs your throat with his heavy dick. when you use two hands to stroke him until he’s throwing his head back trying his best not to whimper. his moans get stuck in his throat when you suck him, eyes completely gone and his face shifting in pleasure. and for revenge for putting him in a position where he has to be mean to you in order for you to understand, he’d fuck you hard till you’re gushing all over him. licks his fat tongue up your neck as he moans in your ear and tells you ‘fuckin’ pretty, mama. takin’ that shit so good, girl.’ burying his dick deep into you it’s painfully good. he always loses his stress halfway through, kissing you like you mean the world to him, since you do. but, he’ll definitely make you beg for forgiveness, and beg to cum. ‘i can’t hear you, baby. say it. i wanna hear you. don’t go quiet now. you were talkin’ all that shit earlier so be a big girl and beg me to let you cum.’

ARMIN ARLERT

armin’s a tease at first. he likes to play with you before he fucks you really good, and i mean good. it’s enough for your legs to spasm and your pussy to squirt along his abdomen. he’s gentle when he starts, sucking on your neck, licking on your nipples as he rolls them under the pads of his thumbs. kissing your inner thighs and doing his best to avoid eating your pussy since you’re currently undeserving. your whines and trembles fuel him, and once he’s gotten a taste of you, slicking his thick tongue between your folds and releasing a guttural moan in your pussy, that’s when the demon comes to show. holding you down as you squirm and try to escape, using all of his upper body strength knowing you can’t fight him. armin will not hesitate to fuck you dumb. you’ve been a brat lately, knowing he hated when you sassed him. he’d always tell you ‘we’ll talk later’ and the talk is usually him fucking you straight. he likes to have you in every angle imaginable. loves to stare at your face as you scream his name, yank at the sheets, and even bite into his arm. he’ll grab your face and tell you to ‘watch me fuck you like the bad girl you are.’ kiss you sloppily as he drops his dick into you hard, every pound leaving you gasping for air. that blonde hair on his head covering his dangerous eyes, followed by weak whimpers and whines escaping his throat. ‘too pretty, love. keep suckin’ me deep. i can feel you cumming.’

ONYANKOPON

not the type to play games with you, at all. will cut any attitude you have extremely short. you seem to yap a lot, and he can live that. what he won’t deal with is a grown woman who throws temper tantrums like an adolescent. he’s usually understanding of most things, meaning he can sit you down and talk if needed. but some things just don’t get through that tiny skull of yours. now, now he has to push it into the bed to fuck some respect into you. he gets really deep to make you feel it all. won’t stop until you’re actually crying. he expects apologies, and they flow from your mouth airless. clearly, he won’t give up until he approves a real apology, not just one you spew just to let you cum. ‘told you stop talkin’ to me fuckin’ crazy. ima fuck the shit outta you’ he’ll groan, heat pooling in his stomach. he’s mad as fuck, and you feel the energy. struggling in the fabric he used to tie your wrists behind your back, whining into the pillow as he claps your ass back onto him. the rough baritone of his voice causing your head to spin. when his big hand wraps around your throat, he’ll pull your head to his chest as your back arches lower, swiveling his hips and fucking you quicker. ‘fuck yes, baby. tell daddy how sorry you are. right now.’ and you’ll tell him, because at this point you didn’t have a choice. his heavy hand lands numerous hits to your ass, biting his lip as you clench around his dick, drawing an orgasm from him sooner than yourself. then he’ll give your pussy some sloppy kisses after because he feels bad for making you so sore. <3

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 . all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life.♡

[racefortheironthrone]

Hi- er, this is my first-ever writer's strike, how does one not cross a picket line in this context? I know how not to do it with things like Amazon and IRL strikes, but how does it apply to media/streaming?

Hi, this is a great question, because it allows me to write about the difference between honoring a picket line and a boycott. (This is reminding me of the labor history podcast project that's lain fallow in my drafts folder for some time now...) In its simplest formulation, the difference between a picket line and a boycott is that a picket line targets an employer at the point of production (which involves us as workers), whereas a boycott targets an employer at the point of consumption (which involves us as consumers).

So in the case of the WGA strike, this means that at any company that is being struck by the WGA - I've seen Netflix, Amazon, Apple, Disney, Warner Brothers Discovery, NBC, Paramount, and Sony mentioned, but there may be more (check the WGA website and social media for a comprehensive list) - you do not cross a picket line, whether physical or virtual. This means you do not take a meeting with them, even if its a pre-existing project, you do not take phone calls or texts or emails or Slacks from their executives, you do not pitch them on a spec script you've written, and most of all you do not answer any job application.

Because if this strike is like any strike since the dawn of time, you will see the employers put out ads for short-term contracts that will be very lucrative, generally above union scale - because what they're paying for in addition to your labor is you breaking the picket line and damaging the strike - to anyone willing to scab against their fellow workers. GIven that one of the main issues of the WGA are the proliferation of short-term "mini rooms" whereby employers are hiring teams of writers to work overtime for a very short period, to the point where they can only really do the basics (a series outline, some "broken stories," and some scripts) and then have the showrunner redo everything on their lonesome, while not paying writers long-term pay and benefits, I would imagine we're going to see a lot of scab contracts being offered for these mini rooms.

But for most of us, unless we're actively working as writers in Hollywood, most of that isn't going to be particularly relevant to our day-to-day working lives. If you're not a professional or aspiring Hollywood writer, the important thing to remember honoring the picket line doesn't mean the same thing as a boycott. WGA West hasn't called on anyone to stop going to the movies or watching tv/streaming or to cancel their streaming subscriptions or anything like that. If and when that happens, WGA will go to some lengths to publicize that ask - and you should absolutely honor it if you can - so there will be little in the way of ambiguity as to what's going on.

That being said, one of the things that has happened in the past in other strikes is that well-intentioned people get it into their heads to essentially declare wildcat (i.e, unofficial and unsanctioned) boycotts. This kind of stuff comes from a good place, someone wanting to do more to support the cause and wanting to avoid morally contaminating themselves by associating with a struck company, but it can have negative effects on the workers and their unions. Wildcat boycotts can harm workers by reducing back-end pay and benefits they get from shows if that stuff is tied to the show's performance, and wildcat boycotts can hurt unions by damaging negotiations with employers that may or may not be going on.

The important thing to remember with all of this is that the strike is about them, not us. Part of being a good ally is remembering to let the workers' voices be heard first and prioritizing being a good listener and following their lead, rather than prioritizing our feelings.

[rqnarok]

summary: dark!old man!logan would do anything for the sake of you going back into his arms. 

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. obsessive behavior. fem!reader. logan calls himself ‘old man’. pet names. unspecified age gap. unstable power dynamic. crying. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. not proofread. 

You’re not sure if you can even call him your ‘ex.’ 

The both of you never had the ‘talk’, and never did have any middle ground stating what kind of relationship this is. 

Logan’s way older than you - way more mature - “Need t’be fucked by a real man, ‘s that it, baby?” way more experienced. 

No matter how heated the night before, Logan still turns everything cold with his aloofness - and you - you never feel brave enough to speak up against it. 

With a heavy heart and numerous self-loathing sessions, you concluded that it was time to let him go - convincing yourself you deserve someone more. Someone you’d be comfortable with to ask for something more. 

And you did, well, that’s what you tell yourself as you busied yourself with everything else. Withdrawing from him little by little, texting him things such as  ‘Can’t meet you today, sorry’ or ‘Something else came up..’ to avoid ending up on his sheets.

Logan’s not stupid. He may be old, a fucking hundred years old something but he’s not dumb. He knows what you’re doing. 

Reading the texts you sent him, he’d grumble curse words under his breaths before tugging off his glasses in a harsh movement. 

He just didn’t think you’d last so long dodging him. Logan expected you to give up on the first day of the second week—he was wrong because it’s been a month, damnit.

Sometime during the unlabeled relationship that went on for almost a year already, you put Logan’s number on the list as your ‘alternative’ contact, making people ring his number when yours is not answering.

And Logan always answers your phone calls. He’d justify himself that it’s merely a habit that he’s still trying to break, but truthfully it’s to make sure you’re hanging out with the ‘right people.’ 

Logan fucking hates it when he’s hearing a guy’s voice on the other line—toughens himself to respond, lowering his voice and curting his answers. He’ll let them know you’re busy. 

In the second month, you run back into Logan in desperation. 

Your eyes are all puffy from crying because your last date was such a prick! He called you nasty-horrible-sickening names before erasing your number off his phone for no reason. 

Logan opens his arms to welcome your hiccuping figure standing before him. Shushing you down and rubbing circles on your back - telling you to tell him who hurted you. 

This dependency you hold on him makes his cock twitch. That he’s right: you still seek him out no matter how long it takes. 

You don’t even notice how bad it gets—that’s the best thing. You never learn, huh?

That’s alright - because he’ll try for real this time. Groans out praises after praises to you, “What’s that, baby? Y’feel good?” Logan jeers overhead, holding himself over you with his hand gripping onto the headboard, “Too good?” He chuckles as his other hand thumbs on your puffy button.

His rough fingers pad up your clit, sending electricity throughout your body. Making you writhe underneath him and Logan scolds you in the softest way he can, “Stay still f’me, will ya?” 

You can’t answer. You can’t even speak outside of high-pitched whines, a mess of your own saliva drips until it reaches your chin. Your whole body is finally sticky after it’s been cold for weeks. His fat cock driving onto his home over and over, better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Yeah, y’just need your old man, hm? No one else can t‘care of this pussy like I do, sweetheart.”

He maliciously slows down his movement to watch his length entering your wet folds, humming at the vulgar squelching sound, “Come take a look a’her, baby. She’s squeezing me in - misses me so much.” 

The sight of him is trouble, messy greying hair and beard; chest full of scars. Everything you should’ve stayed away from.

”Yeayeahyea- Missed you so m-much. Ah-” 

But you cannot think when he’s holding you like this - when he angles himself so his tip is continuously hitting against that spongy spot inside you that makes your body weak. 

A string of ah ah ahs are leaving your mouth as he growls next to your face. “‘M cumming —”

His head falls back as he feels how your dripping pussy milks him dry, instantly following after as he buries himself deeper to make sure none of his cum drips out, “F-fuck. Good fuckin’ girl.” 

When he’s finished, Logan falls atop you in tiredness before rolling himself slightly to the side so he doesn’t suffocate you with his weight. Pampering your tear-flushed cheeks with slow kisses - the feel of his beard burning onto your skin like a streak of fire.

“C’meback, sweet girl.” He whispers in a quiet voice, hoping you’d give in completely. 

And you do - you always do.

Moments later, he’d have you resting on his chest, fingers combing through your hair to calm you down from the noises inside your head.

You don’t have to know that he was the one who drove your date away. 

It’s a mistake that the boy called Logan’s number because he was so impatient to hear back from you. A goddamn mistake. 

Because of that, Logan became aware of his existence and tracks him down. Threatens the other guy to stay the fuck away from you. 

Poor guy almost pissed his pants in fright. Running away scared shitless after Logan let go of his collar. 

Logan doesn’t know when exactly he turned into this wild animal. A sick old fuck who’d do anything to keep you in his embrace. 

Why does it matter? Everything is in its right place now. He’ll make sure you’d never have to know about the things he’d do for you.

[cherryxbooo]

Lost without you

Summary: What happens when Tim Bradford’s secret girlfriend, Y/N, shows up at the station with his forgotten lunch, leaving his coworkers stunned by the reveal?

Note: I’m happy I’m back to being active, but this time I decided to switch it up a bit. I decided to add the one and only Tim Bradford to my list and here is my first ever story I wrote about him. Enjoy! 😊

Tim Bradford x reader

Genre: fluff

Tim Bradford was a man of precision, discipline, and control. His reputation as the gruff, no-nonsense sergeant at the LAPD was well-earned, and his coworkers knew better than to mess with him unnecessarily.

He lived by structure, with everything in its place, including his private life.

What nobody at the station knew, however, was that he had been in a relationship for the past three years, a relationship that softened him in ways no one would believe if they saw him at work.

You were the polar opposite of Tim in every way.

Shy, soft-spoken, and a bit introverted, you’d never imagined yourself dating someone as commanding and straightforward as him.

But Tim had an unshakable way of making you feel safe, cherished, and seen.

Your differences didn’t drive you apart; they were what made your relationship thrive.

Sure, there was an age gap, but neither of you cared. What mattered was how deeply you loved one another.

Tim loved teasing you to get a reaction. Whether it was a quick quip to make you blush or a small gesture in public that only you two would understand.

He thrived on the little moments when he could make you flustered.

And you? You adored his steady, unwavering presence, the man behind the uniform who was patient, gentle, and surprisingly affectionate.

The morning started off as usual. Tim had woken up early, slipping out of bed quietly to avoid disturbing you.

But today, you stirred, blinking up at him groggily as he adjusted his shirt in front of the mirror.

“You’re leaving already?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

He turned, his gaze softening as he saw you stretching under the covers. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, walking over to the bed.

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing over your hair. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

You yawned and shook your head. “You always say that, but I like seeing you before you go.”

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Did you grab your lunch?”

Tim gave you a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Not yet.”

“Of course,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “What would you do without me?”

He smirked, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. “Starve, probably.”

Your cheeks heated at the proximity, and you pushed at his chest lightly.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed your words.

He kissed you again this time on the lips, before standing.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” he said softly. “See you tonight?”

“Be safe,” you said, watching him leave.

But as the door clicked shut, you glanced at the counter and saw the neatly packed lunch you’d prepared for him.

Classic Tim, you thought with a fond smile.

Hours later, you found yourself at the station, Tim’s lunch in hand. As much as you loved Tim, the idea of walking into his workplace made your stomach twist nervously.

You’d never been to his station before. Tim had always been adamant about keeping his personal life separate from work.

But you knew he’d appreciate the gesture, and it was an excuse to see him again.

As you approached the front desk, the officer there gave you a curious look. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, hi,” you said, holding up the brown paper bag.

“I’m here to see Sergeant Bradford. He…uh, forgot his lunch.”

The officer raised an eyebrow but paged Tim down. You waited, feeling out of place amid the bustling officers.

When Tim finally appeared, his stern expression softened immediately upon seeing you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

“You forgot this,” you said, handing him the bag.

Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended, and you felt your cheeks flush under his gaze.

Tim stepped closer, taking the bag from you. “What would I do without you?” he murmured, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

His touch lingered for a moment before he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Probably starve,” you said with a small smile, using his own words against him.

His lips quirked up into a smirk. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart. I would be in fact so lost without you.”

Behind him, his coworkers: Lucy, Nolan, Angela, and Jackson had stopped in their tracks, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

Tim wasn’t exactly known for being…well, affectionate. Yet here he was, smiling at you like you were the only person in the world.

“Thanks, baby,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

You nodded, your cheeks burning as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

As you turned to leave, you felt several pairs of eyes on you. You glanced back once, catching Tim’s gaze.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile, and you felt your nerves settle.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the questions started.

“Who was that?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Nolan chimed in, his eyebrows raised. “Since when do you smile like that?”

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Drop it.”

“Oh, no way,” Angela said, grinning. “She’s cute. Is she your friend? A cousin? A-”

“Not your concern,” Tim interrupted sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

The group exchanged incredulous looks but didn’t back down.

“Come on, Tim,” Lucy pressed. “You’ve been holding out on us. Who is she?”

Tim crossed his arms, fixing them with a pointed glare. “It’s personal.”

Lucy scoffed. “Oh, that’s not going to cut it. You can’t just act all sweet and lovey-dovey and expect us not to ask questions.”

“Ask all you want,” Tim said flatly. “I’m not answering.”

Angela tilted her head, smirking. “You’re really not going to tell us?”

“Nope,” Tim replied, his lips twitching as if daring them to keep trying.

The group groaned in unison, clearly frustrated.

“You’re impossible,” Lucy muttered, throwing her hands up.

Tim just shrugged. “And you’re nosy.”

Despite their protests, he refused to give in, leaving them buzzing with unanswered questions.

That evening, Tim came home to find you in the kitchen, humming softly as you stirred a pot of pasta.

He leaned against the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips. After a moment, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Tim!” you yelped, startled. “You scared me!”

He chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You looked too cute.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, turning in his arms to face him. “Long day?”

He let out a low sigh, his hands settling on your waist. “Better now,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You? Everything okay?”

You smiled, resting your hands against his chest. “Yeah, just the usual. I missed you, though.”

His lips curled into a soft smile, and he kissed you tenderly. “Missed you too.”

As you sat down to eat dinner together, Tim began telling you about his coworkers’ reaction to your visit earlier.

“They wouldn’t stop asking questions,” he said, shaking his head. “Who you were, why you were there, if we were related. I shut them down, but they were relentless.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, setting your fork down.

“They must think I’m some random girl who wandered into the station. Or worse, someone putting up with your grumpy self.”

Tim smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, they definitely think you’re crazy for that. But I didn’t give them anything. Figured it wasn’t their business.”

You tilted your head, considering.

“I mean… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they knew. They’re your friends too, right? They might tease you, but it’s not like they’ll judge us.”

His expression softened as he studied you. “You’d be okay with that? Them knowing about us?”

You reached across the table, taking his hand.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. And it might make things easier for you at work if they aren’t constantly guessing.”

Tim laced his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “If you’re sure. I didn’t want to say anything unless you were ready.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I am. Besides, i would rather have them know the truth than think I’m your secret cousin or something weird.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”

After a moment, his gaze turned serious. “You know, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m not hiding how much I love you, Y/N. Never have, never will.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand tighter. “I know, Tim. And I love you too. So, let’s do it. Let’s stop hiding.”

Tim nodded, his smirk returning. “Alright. But don’t blame me when they start interrogating you instead.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take my chances.”

He leaned across the table, brushing his lips against yours. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“And you’re biased,” you teased, grinning.

“Damn right,” he said, his voice full of affection.

The next day, you found yourself back at the station. This time, it wasn’t because Tim forgot his lunch by accident, it was very much on purpose.

You knew this because when you asked him about it that morning, he had shrugged and said, “Maybe I’ll forget again,” with a mischievous smirk that made you narrow your eyes.

Now, standing outside the station with his lunch in hand, you felt the same nervous flutter in your stomach as the day before.

You weren’t used to being in Tim’s world, surrounded by his colleagues and the constant hum of police activity.

Still, you were here for him, and that was enough to push you through your shyness.

As you walked inside, the same officer at the front desk spotted you. He raised an eyebrow but smirked knowingly. “Back again?”

You nodded, offering a polite smile. “He forgot his lunch. Again.”

The officer chuckled and picked up the phone. “Sergeant Bradford, your…lunch delivery is here.”

A few moments later, Tim appeared. He didn’t look surprised to see you, of course, he wasn’t.

His face softened immediately as he spotted you, and he walked over with his usual confident stride.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as he reached for the bag. “You didn’t have to come all the way here again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Someone has to make sure you eat, Tim.”

He smirked, his fingers brushing yours as he took the bag. He held your gaze for a moment longer, and you felt your cheeks heat under his intense stare.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

The small gesture made your heart flutter, but you became acutely aware of the stares from across the room.

Tim’s coworkers Lucy, Angela, Nolan, Jackson, and Harper were watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of shock and curiosity.

You tried to ignore them, but their presence only made you more self-conscious.

“I should get going,” you said softly, glancing down at your hands.

Tim frowned slightly. “You sure? You can stay for a bit if you want.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You’re never in the way,” he said firmly, his hand brushing against your arm. The touch was gentle, reassuring.

Before you could respond, Lucy Chen’s voice cut through the air.

“Okay, who is she? Is she the girl from yesterday?”

You froze, your eyes widening as Lucy and the others approached. Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair.

You wanted to answer and tell them the truth. You had gotten the confidence from the conversation you had with Tim last night, but unfortunately, your shyness won again.

“Not now, Chen,” he muttered, but it was too late.

Lucy crossed her arms, a sly grin on her face. “Come on, Tim. You can’t expect us to just ignore this.”

Angela joined her, smirking. “Yeah, you’ve been keeping enough secrets, Bradford. Spill.”

Nolan, ever the curious one, chimed in, “She brought you lunch again. That’s not just a random act of kindness.”

You felt your face heat, and you instinctively took a small step closer to Tim.

Sensing your discomfort, Tim placed a protective hand on the small of your back.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And that’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, come on,” Lucy said, her grin widening. “Y/N…what? Girlfriend? Sister? Cousin? Who is she?”

Tim’s jaw clenched, and you could tell he was seconds away from shutting them down completely.

But before he could, Angela spoke up again, her tone teasing.

“She’s too cute to be your sister. So, girlfriend it is?”

Tim let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn’t deny it. That was all the confirmation they needed.

“Oh my god,” Lucy said, her eyes wide. “You’ve been dating someone this whole time, and we’re just now finding out? For how long has this been going on?”

“Three years,” Tim said simply, his tone clipped.

The group gaped at him in disbelief.

“Three years?!” Angela exclaimed. “How and why did you keep that a secret?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” Tim replied, his hand still resting on your back.

Angela laughed. “I can’t believe this. Tim Bradford, the grumpiest guy in the station, has a girlfriend, and she’s adorable. How does that work?”

Tim gave her a pointed look. “Angela…”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

But Lucy wasn’t done. She turned to you, her expression curious but friendly.

“So, Y/N, what’s your secret? How do you put up with him?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond but still laughed at her question.

Tim chuckled softly, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder.

“She’s unbelievably patient,” he said, his tone light.

You looked up at him, surprised by the teasing warmth in his voice. It wasn’t often that Tim let his guard down like this, especially not in front of his coworkers.

“I think you’re worth it,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

His expression softened, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

Lucy let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, that’s actually kind of sweet.”

Angela nudged her. “Kind of? It’s downright shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tim look at anyone like that.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s enough. Don’t you all have work to do?”

“Not until we get more details,” Harper said, grinning.

“You’re not getting anything,” Tim said firmly.

Before the group could protest, you turned to Tim. “I really should get going.”

He nodded, his hand dropping to your waist. “I’ll walk you out.”

The group watched as Tim escorted you to the door, their expressions a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Once you were gone, the interrogation continued.

“Okay, seriously,” Lucy said, turning to Tim. “How did you pull that off?”

“Pull what off?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Her,” Angela said. “She’s way too sweet for you.”

Tim smirked. “Maybe I’m not as bad as you all think.”

The group laughed, clearly unconvinced. But beneath their teasing, there was a genuine warmth.

It was clear they were happy for him, even if they couldn’t resist poking fun.

“She should come around more often,” Lucy said. “It’s nice seeing you act like a human being for once.”

“Yeah,” Angela added, grinning. “She makes you tolerable.”

Tim shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face.

When Tim arrived home, he found you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap.

You looked up as he walked in, your face lighting up with a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He walked over, leaning down to kiss you. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“How was the rest of your day?” you asked, moving over so he could sit beside you.

“Exhausting,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “But worth it.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “Worth it? Why?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I got to show off my amazing girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you buried your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You couldn’t argue with that.

The end

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that 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.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[auroralwriting]

home

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer gets shot, and you don't know who you need to forgive: him, or yourself.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: no use of y/n, spencer gets shot, season 9, blood and violence, criminal minds type violence, negative self thoughts, angsty but it turns fluffy, spencer's drug addiction is discussed, best friends to lovers

The ringing in your ears overwhelmed you. Shots were firing all around, and you didn't know what to do. You'd never been in a shoot-out before, and you felt panicked.

Spencer was beside you, hidden behind the car door as he fired some shots. You watched as an officer in front of you was shot.

You knew it was the worst idea to go out there, but the man could be alive. Your legs moved before you realized it, and you were attempting to drag the officer's body. Spencer and Alex both yelled for you, running out to grab you. Right as Alex grabbed your arm, Spencer pushed you closer to her, which was very out of character for him.

It was then you heard another bullet rip through skin.

The sound that came from Spencer was one you couldn't quite describe, but could never forget. Immediately, you noticed the blood seeping from his neck of all places.

"Spencer!" Your voice was broken and loud as you yelled, grabbing onto him. Derek made a jump, helping you and Alex move him behind the car again.

"No, no," Alex muttered, putting pressure on Spencer's neck. "Look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes,"

You sat behind her, shaking your head as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Oh my god, oh my god," You repeated, shock flooding your system.

"Ethan, look at me! Ethan!"

For a moment, you didn't realize who Blake was talking to, until you saw Spencer's shut eyes. "Spencer, Spencer wake up." You crawled over, shaking his shoulder. "Please, I need you, I need you with me forever. You're my best-- Alex, why is there so much blood?"

You helped Alex stop the bleeding, but it was so much. After what felt like years, the paramedics arrived. You and Alex fought to ride with him, and somehow, they let both of you. The woman held you to her side as she urged you to look away, but the sight of Spencer's dying body never left your eyes. Were you even blinking? Breathing? It didn't feel like it.

Spencer was rushed to surgery immediately. You didn't even get to say goodbye when you and Alex were sent to the waiting room. The two of you didn't speak for a while, until an hour or so later.

"Who's Ethan?"

Alex turned to you, "Ethan was my son."

"He passed?" You asked.

"When he was nine. I begged him to look at me." Alex bit her lip as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

You reached for her hand, which she took. "I don't blame you." You admitted, looking over to her with teary eyes. "Do what your heart tells you to, Alex. Don't let us determine what you're happy doing."

Alex gave your hand a squeeze as the silence took over once more as you waited. Penelope sent word that she was on her way, and you hoped it would be soon. Her cheerful demeanor was what you needed.

Finally, the doctor came to tell you Spencer had narrowly avoided death. You felt a breath release, one you didn't know you were holding. The man lead you both to Spencer's room.

Your first thought was about how peaceful he looked. Then, the panic set in when you saw the IV in his arm. "What medications will he be given?" You quickly asked before the doctor could leave the room.

The doctor listed a couple of medications when one caught your attention, "...Gabapentin, Hydromorphone--"

"Stop, what are those? Opioids?" You questioned.

"Uh, yes. Both are in the dilaudid family--"

You shook your head, "He can't have those. He had a drug addiction to dilaudid. Give him something else."

The doctor gave you a hesitant look, "Agent, those are what we recommend--"

"I don't give a damn, what else can you give him?" You demanded, crossing your arms.

"Uh, Morphine would be the most basic and cover the most ground." The doctor sheepishly responded.

With an exasperated look, you said, "Then write that down. That's what he'll be getting. Monitor the doses, too. I don't want to risk a relapse. If you have any questions, I'm his second emergency contact. First is Aaron Hotchner, he can attest--"

"It's really alright, miss." The doctor said, slowly stepping back. "We took note. I'll see to it that it is followed."

The doctor left and Alex chuckled, "You scared him."

"Good," You replied, sitting down next to Spencer. Alex took the other side as you carefully took his hand. "It's my fault, you know."

Alex's brows furrowed, "What?"

"It's my fault he got shot." You repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I was to his right. He pushed me out of the way. My head is just where his shoulder is, and he bent down to push me. It was meant to be a headshot, Alex."

Softly, Alex grabbed your hand across Spencer's body. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make it your fault. You couldn't have controlled Spencer's actions."

With a sniffle, you tearfully looked up to Alex. "Alex, please be with him when he wakes up. He's my best friend, and I failed him. I- I just can't."

Alex wanted to argue you, to tell you that you were exactly what Spencer needed when he woke up, but she also took into account your needs, too. "Alright," she sighed. "But please, come back after to see him, alright?"

"Yeah," You nodded, biting your lip.

Remembering the moment Spencer got shot was like it was from another lifetime, even if it was just from a few mere hours ago. You remembered exactly what you did, but looking back, it felt like you replayed every moment you'd ever had with the genius. Every lingering touch, every time he made your heart swirl. You would've never gotten to kiss him, or tell him you liked him. It was too much for your heart to bare.

Penelope showed up later on, setting up some Doctor Who action figures for Spencer to see when he woke up. The sight of it made you sick. Knowing he would need to see something good when he opened his eyes was too much, too soon. You excused yourself, leaving the room in a hurry as you left the hospital.

For a while, you sat in the black SUV provided by the police. You just needed space, air to breathe. After some calming breaths, you decided to get Spencer some flowers to cheer up his dull room.

The florist was only fifteen minutes away, so that's where you headed. When you walked in, the woman behind the counter noticed who you were. Small towns talk.

"I don't know anything," She said with a sigh, "You'll find better luck--" Her voice paused when she saw the look in your eyes. "You ain't here to question me, are you?"

You cleared your throat, "My uh, partner-- teammate, he got shot. I wanted to just get him flowers, I guess. Maybe this is too weird," You'd muttered the last part to yourself, turning around to leave.

"No! No, wait." The woman called as you turned back around. "You like this teammate of yours?"

You nodded, "Yeah."

"You like him more than that?" She raised a brow.

With a hot face, you nodded. "I do."

"I always know. I got just the thing for you, sweetie. Just give me five minutes to prepare it." The woman rushed into the back, and you hesitantly took a seat in a small chair. After those five minutes, she came back out with a gorgeous pink floral arrangement. "Put this together especially for you."

Reaching for your wallet, you mustered the best smile you could. "Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge, sweetie." The woman held her hand up in denial. "You work a hard job. I'm a mother, I know the look of love and heartbreak on a young woman's face. You tell him how you feel, alright? That's the charge."

Your eyes watered as you took the flowers from her. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

"Says the girl getting the boy she loves flowers after he got hurt." The lady smiled back.

After driving back to the hospital, you hit the fourth floor button and took the grueling trip up. You realized you'd left your phone in the room. Hopefully nothing too important happened.

As you walked up to Spencer's room, you heard his voice, but it was filled with panic. "Garcia, he has a gun!"

Your body moved before your brain as you ran in, grabbing the first person you didn't know. The male nurse, who you assumed was not a nurse, threw you back against the wall as you took note of the gun in the back of his belt. You reached for it, but felt the bottom of it crash into your forehead. He'd gotten it before you had. As you fell to the floor, you heard Penelope shout for help when you saw Spencer's bag, the one that had his gun.

Right as the unsub turned around, you grabbed it and shot him right in the chest. He fell to the floor as you realized you'd been clutching the flowers. Laying down, you let them fall out of your grasp as Derek appeared, grabbing the unsub.

"Oh, my ray of sunshine!" Penelope yelled as she helped you up "You're bleeding! Let's get you a nurse- a real one."

As she pulled you out of the room, you'd just caught a glance at Spencer who was watching you leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the nurse finished stitching up your forehead. A good sized gash was left from the bottom of the gun, and your shoulder was already developing a bruise on the blade. “Sweets, are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope carefully asked, squeezing your hand as the nurse grabbed the rest of her tools and left you both alone in the small waiting area.

“Yeah, Pen. I’ll be okay.” You nodded. Playing with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s okay. Up and talking, the Morphine is doing him well. He’s not in too much pain.” Penelope replied, giving your hand another squeeze. “He was thankful it was Morphine.”

With a nod, you continued, “Was Alex with him when he woke up?”

“We both were,” Penelope bit her lip, “but he still asked for you.”

“I just couldn’t be there,” A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed a hand over your cheek. “It should’ve—”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It shouldn’t have been anybody. This is not your fault, I won’t let you believe it.”

A throb emitted from your forehead, “When do we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Spencer’s being airlifted there. We leave right when he does, in about thirty minutes. JJ packed all your things and brought them to the jet for you.” Penelope softly smiled. You made a mental note to thank JJ for doing that for you. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, right?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Pen.” You shook your head as much as the pain would allow. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Penelope nodded softly, taking your hand and guiding you to the car to go to the jet.

Two days later, and you were still at home in your apartment. Your forehead only got worst with a huge bruise around the stitches. That wasn’t to mention the pain radiating from your left shoulder, either. You felt so bad for not seeing Spencer while he was awake in the hospital, but even now, the thought made you sick to your stomach. Seeing him in pain, in the hospital gown, the beeping of the machines, it was all just too much to bear. It was worse knowing that should’ve been you.

You were sat in your sofa, a half-melted bag of peas on your forehead when you heard the doorbell ring. Slowly, you got up off the couch-- much to your dismay-- and approached the door, reaching for the knob and twisting it.

Spencer standing outside the door, holding a similar flower arrangement to the one you'd gotten him, was not what you expected.

"Reid," You softly said, his last name feeling odd on your tongue. He was never Reid to you. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. Morgan, uh, told me you got knocked around pretty good." Spencer eyed your forehead, making you feel like a tiny specimen under a microscope. You allowed your hair to fall over it, covering the large, disgusting mark.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "I'm alright." After a moment, you came to your senses, "Uh, come on in. Sorry if it's messy."

"I think I'll live," Spencer chuckled, making your blood run cold at his words. You lead him inside, and even if he'd been in your apartment a numerous amount of times, it felt different now.

Spencer sat on the other end of your sofa. You pressed yourself to the arm, giving plenty of space between the both of you. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not really." Spencer hummed as he pondered your question. "But swallowing sometimes feels different."

"Ah," You casually replied as you went to pick at your nails. You stopped yourself-- don't give Spencer any of your tells. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I wish you would've came to see me sooner." Spencer admitted. "I missed you. I thought you would've been there when I woke up."

Guilt crept into your gut as you replied, "I was out getting you flowers."

"For three hours?"

Spencer's comment clocked you. "Spencer," You rubbed your neck, head slinging down to stare at your lap. "I couldn't be there."

"Why?" Spencer breathlessly asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

He felt so alone when he opened his eyes and you weren't there. Sure, Alex and Penelope both were, but he was searching for you the whole time. You were his rock, you had been for the last three years. Sure, at first he took a while to warm up to you. Two months, twenty-three days, seventeen hours, and sixteen minutes, to be precise. The moment you both connected, however, it was like you and Spencer were attached at the hip. You had always been there for him. Why weren't you there for him now? It tore down Spencer to know you weren't there, but he was also concerned for your well-being as well.

"That shot was meant for me, Spencer." Your voice was cold as you spoke, a small quiver when you said it was for yourself. "We both know that would've been a headshot."

"You're mad that I saved your life?" Spencer didn't want to become angry, but he did feel frustrated at your lack of understanding.

You huffed, standing up quickly, "I'm mad that you hurt yourself for me, Spencer! You almost died, what would I have done if you died?"

"Says you," Spencer retorted, a small look of bewilderment on his face. "I couldn't live with myself if you died."

The air was thick in the room as you paced while Spencer watched. "Oh, so getting yourself shot was the answer. You scared Alex half to death, and I've never seen Derek cry before this! Don't even mention JJ going dead silent on us."

"Is this about them, or is this about us?" Spencer questioned, crossing his arms.

"This is about-- agh!" As you threw your arms out in distress, pain radiated through your shoulder blade. Your face scrunched in pain as Spencer quickly jolted to your side.

He softly took your arm, "Hey, hey. Let's just sit down, okay? Do you need more ice? Or, a better ice pack?" Spencer helped you sit down, and he grabbed your ankles to pop them up on the small ottoman in front of the couch.

"Better one would be nice," you muttered. "M' still mad at you."

"That's okay," Spencer's voice became more distant as he walked into your kitchen. "I guess I'd be mad, too. If I was in your situation, I mean."

You hummed, "Damn right."

Spencer chuckled as he made his way back into the living room. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, cringing at the huge bruise. You held onto the ice bag as he helped you sit forward. He could see the bruise that made its way up from your shoulder blade. It fell just above the hemline of your shirt, and the mere size made him sigh softly. "He really got you, huh?"

"He was Derek sized," you chuckled bitterly. "Plus, I was trying to save your flowers."

"Well, the vase was broken, but I kept the flowers." Spencer softly laughed beside you.

Your eyes twinkled as you looked to him, "You did?"

"Of course I did," Spencer nodded, "It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Wow," Your tone was joking as you continued, "That's a really low bar. Gotta raise it, somehow."

Spencer softly took your hand in his. Every time he touched you, it reminded you of how much he trusted and cared for you; so much so that he allowed physical intimacy with you.

"I couldn't see you like that," You whispered, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. "It hurt me so much, to know I couldn't help you more. I-I couldn't- I-"

Shushes softly spewed from Spencer's mouth. "Hey, it's okay." He soothed, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not mad at you. I was just sad you weren't there, but I understand."

"I can't live without you, Spencer Reid." You admitted, locking eyes with him.

Spencer softly spoke your name, and you noticed how his eyes flicked from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes. "I can't live without you, either." Spencer echoed, another hand softly meeting your cheek. "Please tell me if I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not," you whispered. "promise."

You both sat there for a moment, reeling in each other's presences, your life forces. Finally, the tension got to be too strong. You leaned yourself closer to Spencer, ghosting your lips over his slightly-chapped ones. You gave him a moment to back out, to tell you that you read it wrong--

and he kissed you.

It wasn't a hard, fiery kiss. It was one that was soft, sweet, like a shining body of water, or the sound of laughter. His lips molded into yours like a missing puzzle piece. Spencer's hands moved to hold your face so strongly, yet so gentle like he was afraid to drop one of Rossi's expensive china pieces.

As you pulled back, Spencer's breath softly hit your face, a peppermint smell softly brushing your lips. "Is that why you were so upset?" Spencer breathlessly asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I think so."

"You think?" Spencer half-smiled.

"I think so." You pondered for a moment. "Wanna prove me right?"

Spencer chuckled, pushing his nose to nose your own. "More than anything."

Your lips collided again, but you pulled back with confusion. “How did you know I liked you?”

“Pink flowers,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “They’re known for symbolizing crushes, romantic feelings. Your whole arrangement was all pink tulips, roses, carnations.” You eyed Spencer’s for you— it was all pink. “I guess your florist knew better than you did.”

You chuckled, “I guess she did. I like yours, too.” Spencer’s eyes fell to his bouquet and he blushed. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, kiss me again you sweet genius boy.”

Spencer smiled, happily leaning in for another kiss.

It was then you realized why you were so upset before; you couldn't lose your home.

[wholoveseggs]

Also I need a major size difference one shot. I’m talking princess treatment, belly bulging, Elijah just being able to pick up the reader like it’s nothing. Maybe standing sex

Princess

... BRB DROOLING

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You and Elijah have a night of kinky fun.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @elijahmikaelsonsboy !! & anon(s) - this is the wildest thing I've written (except maybe any of my poly works) - this also goes out to the anon who asked for spanking! I see you and I appreciate you! enjoy ♡♡

5.1k words - Warnings: this is pure 100% pulp free smut, dom!elijah, sub!reader, size!kink, daddy!kink, choking, some serious spanking, lots of praise & a little punishment, tinsy bit of bdsm, ice play, oral sex, face fucking, squirting... Elijah being sweetheart even while being dom ♡

"Eli- I don't know," you whispered as his large hands gripped your waist tightly, keeping you underneath him. He was so big and broad that when he held you, there was no way you could squirm out from under him, even if you wanted to.

"What's wrong?" his warm breath fanned across the nape of your neck, eliciting goosebumps in their wake. He slowly pulled off the delicate bra you had put on that morning, exposing you completely for him. He loved it when you were bare underneath him; all shy and submissive.

You gave him a nervous look, all wide eyed and fidgety. "My-" you cut yourself off and your cheeks blushed in a fiery red blush. He took your hand and gave it a squeeze, encouraging you to speak. He knew how hard it was to sometimes get a sentence out. You were so shy and sweet, new to the whole submission thing. But Elijah, the softie that he was, loved to shower you with so much attention and care. So he kissed along your collarbone and rubbed along your sides, making you giggle shyly.

"It's okay, princess," his voice cooed along your sensitive skin, the pet name doing wonders in giving you an extra bit of encouragement. "I just wanna know what you're worried about."

You pushed down the urge to bury your face in his neck to avoid the topic completely and spoke up a little more confidently. "Your um... you're really..." you sighed in mild frustration at how bad you were at this whole talking thing. The fact that his intense eyes were watching your every move didn't help you either. But, with a soft, warm hand placed at your thigh, he helped ground you again, calming your mind enough to actually talk.

"You're just... so big... a-and I-" his eyes widened at what you were implying. This would definitely be fun. 

"Is my love worried I'll be too much for you?" he questioned as his fingers grazed against your wet panties. "Hmm? My fingers are a lot thicker than yours, baby."

You whined as his fingertips rubbed back and forth so gently along the material. It wasn't nearly enough friction to get you off. "Yeah," your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. "You're the biggest I've ever had."

He leaned closer, his fingers moving the flimsy material aside. "Are you afraid I'll be too rough? Or hurt you?" His voice was so low and hot against you that the small vibrations of his deep voice were enough to make you arch against him. But Elijah kept your back against the bed, trapping you so you wouldn't wiggle too much.

"Just a little," you confessed. You're never had rough, really kinky sex. So it was a pretty big jump.

"If it gets too much, just say stop." His smile was warm and kind, giving you all of the comfort in the world. It's not like you didn't trust him completely and fully, you were just nervous about having his entire cock in your tiny little pussy.

You gave him a timid little nod, urging him to keep going. Your chest felt light and fluttery, and the dull throb in between your legs was getting stronger.

"I'm going to take my time, just for you," he peppered warm, soft kisses along your tummy, stopping at the waistband of the thin, silky thong you decided to wear just for the occasion. "No rush whatsoever. This is all for you and no one else.” 

He slowly stripped your bottoms off until there was nothing left to take off. Then he pulled back and stood up, you reached out towards him but he only smiled reassuringly.

 "Be right back, keep your legs open," his demand was quiet but very effective as you obediently spread them apart so he could have a full view of what belongs to him and only him.

Once he left his bedroom, you began to relax once more, trusting Elijah to take care of you. He wouldn't dare leave you unsatisfied; and if something got too much, he would know, even when he was giving you commands.

You laid still, wondering what was taking him so long until your head picked up once more at the sound of the door opening and closing. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when his form reappeared, holding something in his right hand. 

A bowl of ice.

"Eli?"

"Yes, angel?"

His endearing nickname made your chest tighten with so much warmth. It also brought another kind of heat to the space right in between your thighs.

"Ice?"

Elijah kneeled, one hand caressing your right thigh as the other grabbed a cube and began to slowly roll it along your navel, eliciting shivers to travel across your back at the cold sensation. He simply smiled and continued to let the freezing cube trace along your stomach, enjoying every movement that made you squeak and twitch.

He put it back in the bowl and slowly pulled off his tie, looking as breathtakingly attractive as ever. You knew what this meant and you immediately put your wrists above your head, grinning up at this beautiful man you were so lucky to call yours.

Once he had tied your wrists and made sure they weren't too tight and you weren't uncomfortable at all, his thumb brushed along your lower lip. His touch was warm and careful, the way you liked it the best.

"Look at you," he sounded absolutely entranced by you; eyes gazing all over your form. The bed dipped a bit under his weight as he rested over you once more, his body casting a shadow that almost covered all the light. "So gorgeous... so amazing," his praises filled your head with pure honey, turning everything warm and lovely.

"Keep your eyes closed," he pressed an ice cube along your breasts, leaving a burning trail behind it. You whimpered and shuddered as the cold made goosebumps rise on your body and caused your nipples to pucker into little, sensitive buds. It was quickly warmed by his mouth, but the sensation still shocked you, causing a rush of pleasure to flood between your thighs.

The ice was melting with all of the body heat. Droplets of melted water rolled down along your sides and soaked into the blankets beneath your naked body. More water dripped right down the center of your neck, his lips trailing after it and slowly lapped at your skin. His lips were warm, soothing the sharp sting from the frozen cube.

You struggled in your restraints, the sensations a little overwhelming and just- so damn good. You had never been teased and played with like this before, it made you feel a sort of freedom that you had no idea you were missing. You wanted him so badly that it made your legs tremble. And the fact that your eyes were closed just heightened everything else. You could feel him smiling against your skin, loving how responsive your body was to his touches.

The hand not holding the melting piece of ice traced along your right side, skimming down the curves of your body until it reached your lower stomach. Making you squirm a little at how ticklish your lower stomach was.

The ice cube rested above the apex of your thighs, the water dripping down your pussy lips until it touched along the entrance of your slit.

"Eli," you whispered, trying to keep your eyes closed just like he asked you to. It was so tempting to open them, to see him looming over you while using the freezing ice cube against your burning and needy body. "Please... stop teasing.."

He seemed satisfied at the desperation lacing your sweet voice, chucking the ice back into the bowl so he could move on to the next phase.

"Look at me," the deepness of his voice snapped your eyes open and you could hardly breathe at the raw desire swirling in his dark eyes. They looked absolutely glazed over with want, yet still maintaining their sharp edges.  

"Eyes on me the entire time," he whispered, his middle finger eased into you, not stopping until he was completely buried in your heat. You pulled on your restraints, wanting to wrap your arms around his shoulders but he tied them well, just how he likes them.

He chuckled at your struggle, moving his fingers agonizingly slow in and out of you. "Something tells me that if I untied your wrists right now," he continued to pump them in and out, watching intently at how you couldn't stop your tiny cries from escaping. It was clear that he was driving you crazy, you couldn't hide the trembles or the tugs at his restraints. "You would reach down and start touching yourself... would you like that?"

Your face turned so hot it made you feel dizzy. Your legs bent up, feet planted on the mattress, he didn't like that, forcefully spreading them wider apart, his eyes stern. "Would you?"

"Y- yes-"

"Hmmm?"

"Yes... daddy," the last part was said just above a whisper, your words coming out a bit fast and shyly. It made you so embarrassed how much the name excited you. It didn't help that it fit Elijah so well, he was always taking care of everyone else that it made sense for you to give him the title.

He reached up and untied your restraints, eyes intently watching as you reached right in between your thighs. "Good girl... keep those legs open,"

You rubbed your clit slowly, your eyes locked on his the entire time. Your fingers moved quicker as your hips ground in little circles, desperate for some sort of relief. He hummed in approval, adding a second finger that stretched you wonderfully.

"Such a dirty little princess aren't you?" his palm curled upwards against that spongy spot inside you as he spoke, causing you to shake so hard you almost forgot his question.

His eyebrows arched, mirroring your expressions as your eyes went unfocused. You tried to form coherent words but it was hard when the only thoughts going through your mind was how damn good his fingers felt, so much bigger than your own.

"Answer my question,"

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and shook your head. "I'm only dirty when it comes to you,"

Your heart almost swelled right out of your chest at the blissful smile he gave, he leaned down and kissed all along your cheek and neck, whispering just how proud of you he was. His words pushed you a little bit over the edge, making your walls clench desperately around him, not wanting the pleasure to fade away.

"That's it, cum on my fingers," he growled against the shell of your ear, biting softly.

His voice was so primal that you couldn't do anything but obey, falling completely into his world while the heat in your tummy erupted like a bomb, pleasure tearing through your muscles, and you saw bursts of white across your eyelids.

"That's it," he cooed as you continued to moan, his fingers gently working you down from the high. "There's my sweet girl,"

His lips met yours and you immediately pulled him closer, his body blanketing you comfortably as he kissed you like a starving man. His hands gripped your waist, holding you still while his hips rubbed his hard bulge right against your wet slit. You whined into his mouth, feeling his erection slide back and forth, rubbing against your clit.

He pushed your thighs a little wider, pulling his lips away from yours so he could lean over you. His forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to catch your breaths. He continued to grind against you, his eyes closing and jaw clenching as he groaned, his sounds deep and rough. You could tell he was holding himself back, trying to be as gentle as possible, but you were so turned on, you just wanted him to unleash himself on you.

"Daddy," your small hands tugged on his hair, making his hips stutter a little bit. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, lips brushing his ear. "Fuck me."

He growled at your words, the vibrations from his chest traveling through his body. He wasn't the kind of man that needed to be told twice. His hands hooked underneath your knees, pushing them up and out as far as they could go.

"Keep them open," he commanded, pulling back just a little to unbutton his shirt. He slipped it off his shoulders and undid his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. You bit your lip, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together in anticipation.

He raised his eyebrows, giving you a disapproving shake of his head.

You giggled, but did as he said and opened them, keeping them as wide apart as you could.

His eyes softened just a little, his fingertips trailing up and down your soft skin. His other hand undoing his belt, slowly pulling his pants down along with his briefs, letting his thick cock spring out and brush against the smooth skin of your tummy.

"You've been so good," he praised, lining himself up with your entrance. He slowly rubbed his head in a circle along your slit, gathering your wetness. 

He kept his eyes locked with yours as his hands slid down, holding your hips steady. You were already starting to feel a little nervous, he was definitely the biggest you've ever had. He eased in slowly, his breath hitching as he felt just how tight you were.

Your heels dug into the sheets, your hands scrambling for something to hold on to. Your body instinctively tried to pull away but he held you down, keeping you firmly in place. He pushed deeper, groaning lowly at the feeling of you surrounding him.

"Daddy-" your voice cracked, your legs closing automatically, the sensation almost too much for you to take. But Elijah held you tightly in place, leaning down so he could whisper into your ear.

"Relax," he kissed right underneath the shell of your ear. His soft lips felt good against your heated skin. "Don't fight it."

Your toes curled and your fingers clenched, but you managed to take a few deep breaths. Once he was completely sheathed, you felt so full it was a little hard to breathe.

"So damn tight," he groaned, his grip on your thighs bruising, his eyes locked on the sight of your stomach bulging slightly with the girth of his cock.

"You fit me so perfectly, baby girl," his hand running over the bulge, his words making you blush so deeply. "It's like you were made for me,"

His hips pulled back before snapping forward again, making you cry out and dig your hands into his strong shoulders. His pace was slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him, the stretch of his cock was addicting.

His hands ran all over your body, caressing your sides, kneading your breasts, tracing along the column of your neck, just touching and exploring every inch of you. You barely registered these touches, so distracted by the pleasure between your legs.

"God- you're so big," you panted out, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"You like it don't you? Being split open by me?"

His hand wrapped around your throat, not choking, just applying enough pressure to make your head spin.

You swallowed against his hand, finding it hard to even form any sentences at the moment. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your legs spreading as far as they could, wanting to feel him even deeper.

"Say it," his hips snapped harder, making a strangled noise rip from your throat. His grip tightened a bit more, causing everything to feel even sharper.

"I love it Elijah," you whimpered, your eyes rolling back. "Fuck-"

Your body felt like it was floating, his hands the only thing grounding you. He could tell you were close, your little body shaking underneath him and your whimpers getting louder and higher in pitch. You were such a vision. So beautiful. But he didn't want this to end so quickly, not when he had waited so long to have you like this.

"Cumming already?" his hips slowed, making you groan and claw at his forearms. You could tell he was close to, the restraint in his tone was a dead giveaway.

You shook your head, clearly lying, and his expression hardened a little. His hips were torturously slow, his fingers tracing along the side of your neck.

"Liars get punished," his thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, his eyes dark and intense. "Do you understand?"

His hips stilled and he pulled out, his hardness laying heavily against your lower stomach.

"Y- yes," you stuttered, your entire body buzzing with the need for release. Your pussy felt so empty, clenching around nothing.

He stood, pulling his pants back up, making sure to not be too obvious about the large bulge pressing against the front of his pants.

"Up." he held out his hand, waiting patiently for you to gather the strength to move.

The moment you sat up he grabbed your hair, yanking you up until you were standing. You stumbled forward, he pulled your face to his, his breath ghosting across your lips.

"On your knees,"

You didn't even hesitate to sink down, his hand guiding you to where he wanted. The hardwood floor was a little uncomfortable, but the way Elijah was looking at you, it made everything worth it.

You opened your mouth, your tongue lolling out, just waiting for him. He smiled, running his thumb along your lower lip.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice rough and deep, filled with pure lust. His cock was shiny with your slick, a small drop of precum leaking from the tip. You couldn't help but lick it off, tasting yourself on him. He groaned, his grip tightening a bit.

"Open wide,"

You did as he said, looking up at him with innocent eyes, the sight made him growl, his cock twitching right in front of your lips. You smiled and opened your mouth, his hands resting on top of your head as his hips jerked forward, sliding into your mouth.

You loved when he fucked your mouth, feeling him lose control like this, it was so sexy. Your eyes were watering, a tear falling down your cheek as he hit the back of your throat. He wiped it away, still the gentleman even in the most carnal of moments.

You relaxed your jaw and bobbed your head, trying to fit as much of his thick length as possible, but failing a bit, gagging slightly. He groaned loudly and pulled you off of him by your hair, the sting making your head swim with need.

"You can do better than that," his tone was playful and teasing, making you blush deeply. He was so big, his girth was almost intimidating, you could hardly fit him in your mouth. But his tone made you try harder, opening wider and swallowing down, the taste of him making your thighs clench together.

His grip was bruising, holding you in place while his hips rocked back and forth, using your mouth and throat for his own pleasure.

His eyes were hooded and his breathing was uneven, but he was still composed. That's what you admired about him, no matter the situation, he was always calm and in control.

He was Elijah Mikaelson after all, and you were just a little human, yet you held so much power over him. It was thrilling. You wanted to see how far you could push him, to see just how deep his possessive side really ran. Just a tiny bit. You wanted to see what it would take to make him crumble.

"What a perfect princess you are,"

Your eyes snapped back to him and you smiled a little, the corners of your mouth turning upwards around his cock. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside, your head starting to move a little faster, taking him a little deeper each time.

You were being so good, doing everything he asked, and it was turning him on to no end. You could tell from the way his jaw was clenching and the little noises coming from the back of his throat. The way his eyes couldn't look away from your lips, his hand holding you in place.

He was starting to get a little rough, his hips rocking in and out, making your eyes water again. He groaned as his cock slid to the back of your throat, his other hand joining the one already tangled in your hair, both holding you still as he thrust deeper. Your tongue flattened against his shaft and he started to fuck your mouth with earnest.

His grip on your hair turned painful and your nose was pressed into his dark curls. Your eyes began to water as you gagged, the head of his cock buried deep in the back of your throat.

He didn't let you pull off until he felt you really struggling, letting you catch your breath before pushing you down again. He was a little rougher, his hips giving short and hard thrusts.

"You're doing so well," he sounded a bit wrecked, his breathing uneven and his voice deeper. His hips were moving a little faster, chasing his own high.

"Just like that,"

You moaned around him, his hips starting to shake a little, and that's when you decided to act, you wanted to make him cum.

You reached behind him, grabbing his ass to pull him impossibly close, taking him to the back of your throat the final few times. The sudden action startled him a little and his self control slipped. Your name was choked out from deep in his chest. The sound sent a hot spike straight to your core, the primal desperation in his tone made your heart race.

The noise went straight through him, his self control shattering like glass, his grip tightening around your skull. You couldn't breathe, couldn't pull away, so you took him down as deep as you could, feeling his release shoot straight down your throat.

His body was shaking, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing was uneven, but it didn't last long. He looked down at you with a stern expression.

"Did I say you could do that?"

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him, his thumb brushing against your lips. "No... I didn't."

You couldn't help the smile that crept up, his eyes were practically black with lust. He was surely going to punish you now.

"On the bed." he growled.

You didn't waste any time, hopping onto the plush comforter, kneeling in the middle and waiting for his next command.

He grabbed his belt from the floor, slowly walking towards the bed, his eyes locked on yours.

"Turn around and bend over,"

He watched intently, his belt folded over in his hands.

Your cheeks flushed as you moved to get on all fours, arching your back a little, swaying your hips a bit, showing off your curves.

You glanced over your shoulder, making sure he was watching, and the sight made you whimper. His eyes were hooded and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the belt was held tightly in his fist, a little vein protruding from his hand.

"Eyes front." he snapped, the sound of the leather sliding against itself made your heart race.

The anticipation was almost too much. You had never done this before, had no idea how it would feel, but you were aching to find out.

"How many do you think you deserve?" his hand ran along the curve of your spine, his touch light and warm, making you shiver.

"F-four?" you questioned, your voice was soft and hesitant, you could practically hear him smile.

"I'll give you eight, and you're going to count each one."

His hand smoothed over your backside, squeezing and rubbing softly. You could feel his cock resting on the curve of your ass, heavy and thick, already half hard again.

He raised his arm, the belt folded in his hand. The anticipation was killing you. You could barely breathe.

His hand caressed the swell of your ass one last time before raising the belt, a sharp crack rang throughout the room. You cried out, your body jerking forward, the pain seared right across the soft skin.

"Count." He snapped, his tone sharp and impatient.

"O-one."

Another hit.

"Two,"

A third.

"Three."

By the fourth hit, you were shaking, gripping the sheets to keep yourself grounded, but his next hit almost knocked you over.

"Four!" you squeaked out, your voice cracking as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

"I'm not even using my full strength," he sounded amused, his tone gentle and soft. His full strength would probably send you flying into the next room and you giggled at the thought.

"Don't laugh." he scolded, the belt slapping down on your skin, the sting even sharper.

"F-five!"

Another hard hit and you were whimpering, but you still tried to be as good as possible.

"S-six."

You could feel yourself growing wetter, the pain was so sharp, so searing, it almost felt like it was turning into pleasure.

"Seven!" you cried, burying your face in the sheets, the pain was starting to blur.

The belt came down one last time, leaving a dark red line right across the backs of your thighs.

"Eight," you sobbed, your entire body shaking.

"You did so well." He cooed, his fingers running along the welts, soothing the ache. "I knew you would."

You were trembling, his fingers dipping between your legs, gathering the slick that had collected on the inside of your thighs.

"So wet." he sounded amused. "You like being my little slut, don't you?"

You whimpered, unable to answer. His finger was circling your clit, sending hot sparks through your veins.

"Tell me," his hand landed on your ass again, the sting even sharper. "Tell me you like being my little slut."

You gasped, your body writhing. "Y-yes daddy, I love being your little slut,"

He chuckled, his other hand running along the curve of your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair again, pulling you towards him so your back was arched.

"That's what I thought," he let go of your hair and turned you around, scooping you up into his arms.

You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck, a little surprised by the sudden change. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping your ass tightly, his lips pressing against the soft skin of your neck.

You could feel his hardness pressing into you, and your legs clenched around his hips. You could feel every muscle shifting underneath his skin, his strength and power was thrilling. He was one of the most powerful creatures in the world and here he was, holding you so gently.

You kissed him softly, running your fingers through his dark hair, his stubble scratching against your skin. He lowered you down onto his cock, your nails digging into his shoulders, letting him swallow up your gasps and moans.

His pace was slow and deep, savoring the moment, letting you feel every inch. His strong hands supported you, making sure you didn't fall, lifting you up and down his length.

You were a mess. Whimpering and clinging to him, so desperate for release. He was using you just how he wanted, holding you tight and fucking you hard. You were both so close, so on edge, his pace started to falter and his breath was becoming more uneven.

"Eli," you gasped, burying your head in the crook of his neck, your hands in his hair, his arms tight around your waist.

He pressed you back down into the bed, his hands intertwining with yours, pinning them above your head. His hips snapped forward, and his pace became brutal, pounding into you hard and fast, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your legs shook around his hips, you couldn't stop the whimpers and cries from pouring out of you. His forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.

Your back arched off the bed, your legs trembling uncontrollably. Your orgasm came crashing down, making you cry out, your pussy gushing and clenching so tightly  that it pushed his cock out. He groaned at the sight, spilling his release all over your pussy and stomach, watching in awe as your walls clenched around nothing, soaking the sheets.

Your body went limp, your eyes fluttering closed, your breathing labored and uneven. You were exhausted, sore and spent.

He leaned down and kissed you, so sweet and gentle, his hands cupping your cheeks.

"Are you okay? Was I too rough?" he looked a bit worried, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

You giggled and nodded. "I'm fine, more than fine." you leaned into his touch, pressing your lips to his palm. "That was perfect."

"Good," he sighed, a smile spreading across his lips. "You did so well,"

"Thank you,"

"Do you need anything? A drink or-"

"I'm fine Elijah," you cut him off, giggling again. He was so sweet, so considerate. "I promise."

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, his hand cupping your jaw. "Let me clean you up,"

"Okay," you whispered, a content sigh escaping your lips. He pulled back, his hand smoothing across your forehead, moving the stray hairs from your face.

"Stay here,"

You nodded and relaxed into the bed, your limbs like jelly, your eyelids starting to droop.

By the time he returned you had fallen asleep, curled up in a ball, snoring softly. He smiled and gently cleaned you off, pulling the blankets over you, watching for a few minutes, admiring the way your chest rose and fell with each breath.

 He kissed your forehead softly, "Goodnight princess, you were perfect.”

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[blbyena]

boyfriend!mark x reader

Fluff - 1,128 words

(Slight cursing )

-

You pretend to flirt with the pizza guy on the phone...

Inspired by this tiktok

It’s one of those perfect nights where all you want to do is stay in with Mark, relax, and enjoy a quiet evening. The week’s been long, and the idea of ordering pizza and watching a movie together sounds like the perfect plan.

You're lying next to mark mindlessly playing with his fingers when suddenly he breaks the silence.

“Baby, can you order the pizza tonight? I’m feeling lazy,” Mark says, his voice a little raspy from rehearsals.

You smile, grabbing your phone with a mischievous glint in your eyes. As you pretend to dial the pizza place, you can already feel the fun bubbling inside you. Mark is sprawled out on his bed, and goes back to scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of what you’re about to do.

After a few seconds, simulating to wait for the ringtones , you put on your most playful tone. “Hi! I’d like to place an order for delivery, please,” you say, sounding sweet and casual.

You start listing the pizzas, but can’t help yourself. “Oh, and can you add a little extra cheese? I love it when people go the extra mile,” you ask sweetly, glancing over at Mark, who’s starting to look a little suspicious.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. “Why are you talking like that?” His voice is low, almost whispering.

You keep it casual, trying to act like nothing’s wrong. “What? I'm just ordering,” you say annoyed and go back to pretending a conversation between you and the pizza guy.

“Oh my god, yes this is her. How did you remember me?”

Mark raises an eyebrow, and his body shifts as he straightens on the bed. His tone goes from calm to something a little more annoyed. “Are you talking to a friend?”

You smirk, enjoying his jealous reaction way too much. “Yeah the employee there, he’s nice to me. Told me I have a cute laugh last time I ordered,” you tease. “He even offered me free pizzas last time!”

Mark gets closer now, his gaze becoming sharper as his jealousy grows. “He said that?” His voice is laced with an edge, and you can see the possessiveness taking over.

You can’t resist pushing it further, your voice getting even more giggly. “Yeah, it's been a while, still with my boyfriend” you add with a cheeky smile, glancing at Mark to see how he’s reacting.

Mark’s face goes from confused to full-on jealousy. He walks over to you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something else. “What do you mean "still with my boyfriend"? He asks about that???”

You giggle, loving every second of this, but then you drop the bomb. “Oh, sorry, it’s just my brother bothering me again,” you say casually, as if nothing’s wrong, then continue with a laugh, “He’s always annoying me.”

Mark freezes, his eyes going wide as he stares at you. “Wait—your brother?” he repeats, disbelief in his voice.

That’s when he snaps. In one quick move, he snatches the phone out of your hand, his jealousy and frustration boiling over. “Who the fuck are you telling that I'm your brother ” he asks, voice tight with both confusion and disbelief.

He brings the phone closer to his ear, ready to argue with whoever was flirting with you....but the line is silent.

Mark looks at you confused before everything clocks in.

You can’t hold back your laughter any longer and start giggling uncontrollably. “You should have seen your face!” you say, still laughing at the expression on his face.

Mark glares at you, jaw clenched. “I was seriously gonna go crazy” he mutters, looking a little hurt, but mostly relieved. His voice softens. “You’re so mean…” he says pouting.

You pull him into a hug, feeling a little guilty now, but you’re still laughing. “I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t mean to make you upset,” you say, but he’s not having it.

But Mark doesn’t respond right away. He’s still sulking, avoiding eye contact, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You can tell he’s upset, and it’s kind of cute in an annoying way.

You decide to keep playing around, your playful nature taking over. You lie down next to him, resting your head on his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Come on, baby, don’t be mad,” you say, planting small, teasing kisses on his neck and cheek.

Mark tries to ignore you, but you can feel him smiling as you kiss him. “Stop it,” he mutters, pushing you away. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

You giggle and shift, moving closer, planting another kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself,” you tease, giving him one more kiss before nuzzling your face against his chest.

Mark groans in frustration, trying to push you away, but you keep crawling closer, your lips pressing against his neck as you whisper, “Come on, don’t be mad at me anymore. You know I’m just teasing.”

He sighs dramatically, clearly not able to resist your affection. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters, a little grin tugging at his lips as you continue to kiss him, determined to make him smile.

Mark shakes his head, but you can tell the sulking is finally over. “You better not prank me again,” he warns, his voice still a little gruff, but there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes now.

“Promise,” you say, wrapping your arms around him tightly, knowing full well you’ll probably think of another prank to tease him with soon.

[miniseokminnies]

you don’t own me —- c.sc

☆ pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader ☆ genre: club owner!seungcheol, established relationship ☆ wc: 1.2k ☆ warnings: 18+ MDNI, possessiveness, jealousy, dom!seungcheol, toxic relationship, spit kink, fingering, unprotected sex (that's a no no), multiple orgasms, creampie, name calling (slut), public sex, exhibitionism

Choi Seuncheol was not a possessive man, or so he says, however, the grip on your thigh told you otherwise.  The comments he made minutes ago dragged the silence on and you wished that he would drive faster.  If he needed space, by God you would make him regret it.

“Listen…” Seungcheol started when he was putting the car into park, unfortunately for him you were out of his grasp and out of the car as soon as it stopped moving.  He groaned and slumped in his seat. It was going to be one of those nights.  Plastering on your favorite smirk, you approached the door with your boyfriend trailing behind you.  

Your favorite bouncer smiled at you as you pushed past the entrance, you are always on the list so no need to check your ID.  He chuckled to himself as you sauntered in, knowing exactly what kind of night you were trying to have.  

“What did you do this time, boss?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“Mingyu just do your job” Seungcheol muttered and the taller man held his hands up in surrender, still smiling.

Choi Seungcheol was not a jealous man, but he knew when something belonged to him. Watching you, his girl, from across the bar flirting with some stranger just because he made some off handed comment about needing space. His grip on his glass tightened, almost sending shards splintering across the freshly waxed bar top. 

You didn’t look at him as he approached, pretending to be interested in the one sided conversation this poor guy was trying to have with you. He was nothing to you besides a pawn in the little games Seungcheol and yourself like to play. 

Seungcheol pushed past the crowd and gripped on to your seat, spinning it towards him. His eyes were wild and you knew you had riled him up. He didn’t even give you a chance to smirk before taking hold of your chin, 

“Open up,” he commanded, not even looking at you. Confused, you did as you were told. Without breaking eye contact with the guy you were previously talking to, Seungcheol spit into your waiting mouth. “Swallow that for me,” he gives you two slightly stinging pats on your cheek. 

Choi Seungcheol knows when something belongs to him, and everyone else should too. 

With that Seungcheol turned and didn’t look back at you.  He knew he had you in his grasp now, he knows how to play your game and he beats you at it every time.  Wordlessly you rose from your chair and followed him into the hallway where the bathrooms were.  He turned to face you hearing your footsteps in the quieter secluded area.  

“You always ruin my fun” you blurted into his face, he cocked an eyebrow in response,

“Oh really?” he smirked, “I found it fun” he moved closer to you, putting one hand on the wall beside your head. 

“Well..” you avoided his piercing eyes, “I didn’t…” you knew the comment was in no way convincing. 

“Oh really?” he trailed his other hand across your soft skin, getting higher and higher.  You feel his calloused fingers drag up the length of your thigh and under your skirt. His fingers reach the apex of your thighs and you know you can’t lie anymore, “Doll, you’re so wet,” he shoves his hand on the wall into your hair and briefly massages our clit through your soaked panties.  You have to bite your lip to stop a moan from escaping your lips at the sensation.  

A whine of protest does tumble out of your mouth when Seungcheol removes the hand under your skirt.  He pulls you by your hair off the wall and positions you in front of him and pushes you into the men’s bathroom straight ahead.  Once the two of you were through the door you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.  The visual of yourself being utterly controlled by the man behind you filled your body with heat that rushed straight to your core.  

Seungcheol pushed you further into the bathroom before letting go of your hair and moving to check the stalls.  He all but punched each door open before returning to you. 

“Turn around,” you did as you were told once more and he wasted no time bending you over the sink in front of you, “Teasing me all night has consequences” he rasped, pulling your underwear aside.  He almost moaned aloud seeing your glistening cunt on display like this.  He easily slipped two fingers in, surprising you.  You whined at the feeling of being filled, wishing for more.  Seungcheol sets a swift pace, you know he is nervous for someone to interrupt even if he would never admit it.  “You like that?” he watches his fingers disappear and reappear.  

“Yes, oh my God” you mewl. 

“That’s right, you love my fingers,” he punctuates his sentence by adding a third finger, making you shiver with pleasure, “but you’re a slut for my cock, isn’t that right?” You nod in response, not quite able to form a response.  He pulls his fingers almost all the way out of you, “No you use your words with me” 

“Y-yes, I’m your slut” you choke out.  He shoves his fingers into the spot that drives you crazy, coaxing you to the edge.  

“That’s what i thought,” you were starting to become overcome with pleasure, “You can cum now, Doll” with his permission you let go, white spots overtaking your vision.  You cry out from the intensity of the orgasm.  

You feel Seungcheol pull his fingers out and you hear his belt hit the floor.  He pulls his pants down just enough.  You hear him spit into his hand and he grunts giving his cock a few pumps.  Lining himself up he uses the reminisce of your orgasm as lube.  Sliding in easily he gives you a few moments to adjust to the difference between his fingers and his thick cock.  

He begins thrusting into you, setting yet another bruising pace.  Despite the swiftness of his movements you could feel every inch of him each time he pulled out and slammed back into you, you couldn’t control the noises coming out of your mouth nor the squelching of your pussy each time.  

“Doll” he grips your hair in his hand and pulls you up slightly, “Look at you, getting fucked in the bathroom of my club,” he smiles wickedly between thrusts, “Look at yourself getting fucked, don’t forget who you belong to.” You look at your own fucked out face and the face behind you twisted with pleasure.  You feel a second orgasm creeping up on you.  Seungcheol is approaching the edge as well, judging by the fact that his hips are sputtering and he can barely manage to keep quiet anymore. “Gonna cum” he grunts. 

White hot spurts of him begin to paint your walls white as the coil in your stomach snaps.  You take all of it, like the good slut you are.  Seungcheol’s hips still, the two of you breathing heavily for a moment.  Slowly, he pulls out of you, staring at his seed spilling out of your perfect cunt.  He takes a moment to push it back in with his fingers as best he can before sliding your underwear back into place and putting his fingers in your mouth.  You clean them off greedily.  

“Hold on to that for me,” he pats your clothed cunt twice, “I will check when we get home later.”      

[redflagshipwriter]

Snatching Snitches the cat Part 2: Damian 1

masterpost

“Maybe we should get him a new cat.”

Damian full-body twitched at the whisper, which was unfortunately not quiet enough to keep such idiocy out of his ears as he entered the room. “I will regain my boy,” he said sternly. “So that will be entirely unnecessary, Richard.”

Dick winced at the downgrade to his proper name. Damian huffed air from his nose, dissatisfied, but willing to consider the matter closed given the urgency of the situation. “Father, this is my budget proposal.” He used his left hand to toss the folder on the teak desk in the sunroom’s office. Father gaped at it gormlessly, not moving to pick it up until Damian lifted an eyebrow in pointed rebuke.

He waited while his father shuffled through the papers, a vaguely pained expression on his face. “Damian, I’m not sure that a million dollars is a normal amount to spend on a lost-pet advertisement campaign,” he said gently.

Dick had his best poker face on, which meant nothing to someone who knew him well enough to know that the lack of his usual expressiveness was a large tell.

Damian did his best not to roll his eyes. “Snitches is an unparalleled feline, and thus the market research for comparable campaigns was matched to something more appropriate.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible to avoid discord. “For pricing, please look at page seventeen.”

Pages flipped. “...This seems to be a list of Wayne family kidnapping incidents.” Father’s face twitched. Dick leaned over, obviously interested. 

“You’ve listed all the ransom amounts that was asked for one of us?” he checked. “Cool graph. Am I still the winner?” Dick scanned the amounts. His face fell when he encountered the humorously undignified information that, in fact, Todd was in the lead. 

“Initial amounts,” Damian said promptly. “I understand that relatively little time and money was invested into Snitches, so I chose the amount that was asked for Timothy in 2019. May, not August,” he clarified. August had been undervaluation even for Timothy.

Dick breathed out slowly through his nose, in a shamefully transparent attempt to control himself. “Tim-”

“It was before he was adopted,” Damian said dismissively. “Obviously, his current market rate is much higher. Given that Snitches was, in fact, legally adopted by myself, I thought it a generosity on my part to keep the budget that low.”

A high-pitched sound came from someone’s nose. Damian eyed his father and his eldest brother, but could not discern which one it was. How undignified.

“I understand your logic,” Father said finally. He looked tremendously old. “...Very well. One million dollars to find your cat. But that’s it!” he said, trying to regain control of the conversation. 

Damian nodded sharply. “It will be sufficient.” Just barely, but he had a plan to make it work. “Please direct your attention to pages 4 through 7,” he ordered, knowing full well that Father’s eyes would glaze over at the itemized expenses. 

“Give it to me verbally,” Father said.

Ideal. Damian launched into a painfully detailed listing of national, regional, and international newspapers which he would have a column written both in print and online, starting at Gotham and expanding regionally every day within which Snitches had not been yet located. He would have it written by Kent, as a professional courtesy. He had a list of gig work sites upon which he could recruit people to walk the streets of Gotham and put up flyers and check alleys and dumpsters. He had devised profiles of the teenagers involved in Snitches’ original kidnapping attempt, and included suggestions as to how each member of the team might use their patrol to stake out the suspects.

“I’m scheduled for 7 hours of watching the east window at a 16 year old girl’s house?” Father confirmed. His eyes were hollow and robbed of hope, exactly according to plan.

Damian gave a sharp nod. “Tonight. Todd shall do the daylight shift.”

“I doubt that,” Father said, very quietly. He cleared his throat. “Look, Damian.” 

He waited in perfect predatory stillness. 

“I think perhaps… you should rely less on patrol time for this,” Father settled on. “There are other issues outstanding, after all, such as that serial killer in the Bowery and the gang tensions.”

Damian gritted his teeth.

“Why don’t you get some other help?” Dick butted in, giving Father a warning look that Damian very much did not miss.

“Other help,” Damian said slowly, as if he had not engineered this whole conversation to lead to this conclusion. “Such as… associates?”

“Like Jon,” Dick suggested brightly. “Or your friends from school!”

“That seems like a good idea,” Father said, composed except that he winced at the word ‘friends’, knowing full well how Damian despised it. “You can get help with non Gotham vigilante associates, since we are unfortunately unable to dedicate enough time to the project.”

Damian waited a moment to sell it, portraying a struggle with indecision. He could not accept too gracefully, or someone might read his detailed budget proposal and discover that he had already allotted most of the money for specialists. “I will attempt this route first,” he said stiffly. He pretended not to notice the relief in the room. “Very well.” He reached out a hand to receive his plan. 

He left with his head held high, knowing that he was the uncontested winner in that discussion. More fools they! The obvious had escaped them in their dotage.

Snitches was, after all, no ordinary cat. He had been summoned in a ritual meant to communicate with a ghost. Perhaps he was a ghost himself, given his intangibility and near-human intelligence. The obvious first step was a consultation with one of the magicians who would accept bribery. Father disdained them, but he had, indeed, given Damian specific permission to accept help from non-Gotham vigilante associates.

Surely Justice League Dark could be counted among Robin’s associates.

[jillianallen14]

Dear Baby Bats - Goth Band Recommendations

As a middle sibling goth (I’ve been in the subculture for 10 years now, so not a baby bat but not an elder goth either), let me turn you on to some bands because we do not gatekeep in this house!! Also, if you want consistently good lesser-known & brand new goth band recs, go follow Awfully Sinister on TikTok and Instagram. He’s a DJ & has great recs. I've found so much music through him because it's really hard to keep up with all the new bands cropping up every year. You want to avoid the goth subreddit because they are extremely gatekeeper-y and argue over labels constantly. It’ll just confuse you, and they are not nice over there.

If you’re very new to the subculture, and you haven’t yet listened to all of Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Sisters of Mercy, Christian Death, Cocteau Twins, Clan of Xymox, Joy Division, and Depeche Mode, go do so now. You'll want to know which of them you really enjoy the most because it will help you know which sub-subgenre(s) of goth you want to watch out for, and it'll tell you what to look for to find it. For example, Sisters of Mercy is the gothic rock subgenre, Christian Death is deathrock, Cocteau Twins is ethereal wave, Clan of Xymox is like the original darkwave, Joy Division is classic post-punk, etc. I haven’t included industrial, despite its proximity to the goth subculture, just because I actually don’t really know that many industrial bands beyond Skippy Puppy, Ministry, and Throbbing Gristle. Some other goth/goth-adjacent staple bands (that are very popular and very influential) that you should listen to if you haven’t already are The Damned, Killing Joke, The Cult, and Adam and the Ants/Adam Ant). I didn't know where to put She Wants Revenge or London After Midnight either, but they're also great.

I’ve bolded some of my absolute must-listen to goth bands, and I've put monthly Spotify listeners for each band so you know which ones deserve WAY more love. And in my pre-list ramblings for each OG band, I've given you some key terms to look up so you can more easily find music that's similar to what you enjoy. Okay, here we go:

If you like Bauhaus:

Bauhaus is a hard one because honestly, nobody really sounds like them, and they aren't really that closely associated with a specific sub-subgenre of goth. They were post-punk, they were art rock, they were experimental, they were sometimes very punk and at other times very gothic rock. They liked to call themselves “dark glam rock” (all four members are massive Bowie, T-Rex, and Iggy Pop fans), but you’re gonna have a hard time finding bands that sound like them if you look that term up. They probably have one of the most unique sounds of all-time. They’re my favorite band (I even have a tattoo for them, like I am devoted lol), but even I have a difficult time finding other bands that scratch their particular itch for me. These bands I’ve listed are as close as you’re gonna get to Bauhaus’ general vibe imo.

Virgin Prunes (80’s band that is technically deathrock but has the same absolutely unhinged, danceable sound that Bauhaus has, so they’re going here; one of my favorites; no one else does it like them and no one else ever will; I would actually give my left foot to see them live); 13.2k monthly listeners (this is actually physically painful to me, how is it this low!!! don't walk, RUN to go listen to them)

Alien Sex Fiend (80’s classic unhinged goth); 77k monthly listeners

Sextile (modern band that has some very Bauhaus-sounding guitar work at times but with heavy industrial influences); 147k listeners

The Danse Society (80’s unhinged goth; has similar experimental vibes to Bauhaus imo; one of my fave goth groups); 36k listeners

Sex Beat (80’s); not even really on Spotify

Ritual Howls (modern band; I don’t know why it gives Bauhaus, but it does; one of the few modern bands that scratches that particular itch for me); 45k listeners

The Agnes Circle (modern band; one of my favorites; they have the right Bauhaus-like atmosphere for me); 52k listeners

Traitrs (I can’t explain why they remind me of Bauhaus, but they do; another one of my fave modern bands; they make me want to start levitating and doing the Ian Curtis dance in the same way Bauhaus does lol); 239k listeners

Paralisis Permanente (underrated 80’s; they have a lot in common with Bauhaus’s sound actually, def give them a try!); 54k monthly listeners

The Birthday Party (80s band, totally unhinged; they’re less dark and atmospheric than Bauhaus, but if you take one listen to their album Junkyard, you’ll know exactly why I put them under this category haha; Nick Cave is the vocalist, which is amazing); 54k listeners

Tones on Tail (80s; Daniel Ash & Kevin Haskins of Bauhaus formed this group; I’d put Love and Rockets as well, which is all of Bauhaus’s members except Peter Murphy, but Love and Rockets weirdly bears little resemblance to Bauhaus’s music; but if you just generally want more of Bauhaus members' work, Love and Rockets is great, too); 81k listeners

Dalis Car (80s; collaboration between Peter Murphy and Japan's bassist; their music is extremely weird, so only listen if you really love the batshit insane Bauhaus songs or if you really live and breathe Peter Murphy like I do lol; their description on Spotify is so fucking funny); 7k listeners

I'd also recommend listening to Daniel Ash, David J, and Peter Murphy's solo work. They're all great!! Peter also did some amazing collaborations with Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails); the version of Reptile that they did together is better than Nine Inch Nail's original version imo, and you can find that entire session on Youtube!

If you like Siouxsie and the Banshees:

Siouxsie is another one that's hard to pin down sound-wise because again, they don't really fit into one specific sub-subgenre, so all of these recs are just goth bands with female vocalists who have the same kind of powerful vocals that Siouxsie does.

Second Still (modern band, one of my faves; singer sounds a lot like Siouxsie to me at times); 69k listeners

Skeletal Family (80’s band; has the same “women in punk” vibes that Siouxsie has); 55k listeners

Xmal Deutschland (80’s band; has the same powerful vocals that Siouxsie has; makes you wanna go stupid go crazy the way the Banshees do); 73k listeners

Secret Shame (modern band w/ woman singer; has the same rage that Siouxsie songs have to me, especially early Siouxsie); 6k listeners (let's get those numbers up, folks!!!)

Rosegarden Funeral Party (modern band w/ a woman vocalist); 57k listeners

Mephisto Walz (90s & 2000s; sounds so much like the Banshees at times); 56k listeners

The Creatures (80s; a Siouxsie Sioux & Budgie side project); 34k listeners

Madhouse (listen to Repulsion! 80s group that’s technically deathrock, but I put them under this category because the singer has Siouxsie-like qualities); not really on Spotify

Strange Boutique (90s; vocalist is Monica Richards of Faith and the Muse & Madhouse; this is probably my favorite project of hers); 112k listeners

If you like Depeche Mode:

For Depeche Mode enjoyers (which DM is kind of on the fringes of what’s considered “goth,” but they’re so entrenched in the subculture that I included them anyway), you’re gonna want to delve into goth playlists and modern goth that leans towards synthpop/synthwave. So those are the kinds of playlists you’ll want to search up for similar sounds to DM.

Nuovo Testamento (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements in a way that’s very similar to Depeche Mode; lots of fun live, and they have a good sound); 25k listeners

Boy Harsher (modern band; relies heavily on synth; feels like it should be playing at every goth club); 558k listeners

ULTRA SUNN (modern band; singer sounds like Dave Gahan); 217k listeners (they just blew up on tiktok recently, which explains why this just skyrocketed since the last time I was on their Spotify page lol; good for them, good for them, they deserve it)

Ministry's first album (called With Sympathy), which was synthwave/synthpop before they went industrial (this is one of my all-time favorite albums)

French Police (modern band); 252k listeners

Closed Tear (modern band); 152k listeners

Night Sins (modern band); 33k listeners

Panic Priest (modern band; vocals sound decently similar to Dave Gahan & there is a lot of reliance on synth; In All Severity is a gorgeous song); 5k listeners

Fad Gadget (underrated 80’s; I just feel like if you like DM, you’re also gonna like Fad Gadget); 58k listeners

Martin Dupont (underrated 80s cold wave/synth pop; Inside Out is one of my favorite 80s songs); 26k listeners

If you like The Cure:

You'll be hard-pressed to find a goth band that wasn't influenced by The Cure, so I really can't give you any key terms for what to look up lol. They also changed their sound so frequently that it entirely depends on what era of The Cure's music you're looking to find similar music for.

Vision Video (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements like The Cure does; one of my fave modern goth bands; they are INCREDIBLE live); 52k listeners (I'm gonna need y'all to get a song or two of theirs to blow up on tiktok expeditiously lol)

Urban Heat (modern band; great live); 36k listeners

The Chameleons (80’s band; very underrated; they are also very good live); 167k listeners

House of Harm (modern band, very new; also very good live; has pop elements); 44k listeners

Deceits (modern band, another very new one); 28k listeners (it's crazy how much this number has grown the past two months because it was in the single thousands not that long ago; everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Drab Majesty (modern band; their instrumentals remind me of The Cure); 172k listeners

Double Echo (modern band, one of my faves; their instrumentals also remind me of The Cure); 15k listeners (let's get these numbers up!!!)

The Bolshoi (underrated 80’s band that combines new wave and goth elements in a similar way to The Cure); 114k listeners

The Essence (underrated 80s band that sounds so much like The Cure it’s actually insane, but they’ve got their own sound too; they’re like a perfect blend of all of The Cure’s different sounds); 25k monthly listeners

The Glove (80s; a Robert Smith side project with Steven Severin from Siouxsie and the Banshees); 25k listeners

Crimson Ivy (80s band; singer sounds so a lot like a more yelly version of Robert Smith sometimes); not on Spotify

Miss Teen America (brand new band from NYC! They only have one single out right now, and it’s well worth listening to); 940 monthly listeners (y’all know what to do!!! Let’s get those numbers up, up, up!) link to their single: https://open.spotify.com/album/4nvdZeUVLLrMv3tEziCqm7?si=2WVS7-eYQLGR7Id3wLiKhg

If you like Clan of Xymox:

Most of these bands will be modern ones because Clan of Xymox was honestly way ahead of their time. (They are also amazing live, so go see them before they eventually call it quits!) For playlists that are full of their vibe, you’re gonna want to look up “darkwave” playlists. Clan of Xymox pioneered darkwave, so any darkwave band you listen to is gonna be influenced by their sound in some way or another.

Harsh Symmetry (modern, very new; very heavily relies on synth); 29k listeners

Ssleeping Desiress (modern band; instrumentals similar to Xymox); 55k listeners

Twin Tribes (probably my favorite modern goth band; they are fucking incredible and so good live!); 276k listeners

ACTORS (modern band; heavily relies on synth); 86k listeners

Mareux (modern; heavily relies on synth); 4.8 million listeners (this is wild!!!! everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Sixth June (modern); 23k listeners

Plastique Noir (modern); 40k listeners

Rendez Vous (modern); 160k listeners

Minuit Machine (modern); 97k listeners

The Frozen Autumn (90s & 2000s); 31k listeners

If you like Christian Death:

All of these recs will be deathrock recs or goth bands that heavily leaned on punk sounds. So if CD is the OG goth band you’re most fond of, you’re gonna want to delve into deathrock playlists for similar sounds.

Asylum Party (80’s band); not on spotify

45 Grave (80’s band); 47k listeners

Voodoo Church (80’s band; probably my favorite out of this bunch; I actually like them more than Christian Death); 7k listeners (let's get these numbers up immediately!!!!)

Ausgang (80’s band); 2k listeners (WHAT; they deserve so much more, damn)

Corpus Delicti (90’s band; they are very good; they sound the least like Christian Death on this list imo); 26k listeners

13th Chime (80’s band; very underrated); 6k listeners

UK Decay (you know, I actually don’t know what era they’re from; unhinged sound); 1k listeners (omg)

Super Heroines (underrated 80’s band; Eva O formed it); 2k listeners (you see what I meant about underrated?)

Specimen (80s band; this one could have just as easily gone under Bauhaus tbh, but the vocals are generally higher pitched than Peter Murphy’s, so I put them under this category); 102k listeners

Sex Gang Children (80’s band; just so unhinged & I love them for it); 27k listeners

Suspiria (90s, I think? I don’t actually know); barely on Spotify but 27k listeners

Theatre of Hate (80s); 7k listeners

Bloody Dead and Sexy (2000s, I think); 44k listeners

Mescaline Babies (2000s); 3k listeners

Acid Bats (2000s; Mexican band with Spanish lyrics); 2k listeners

Altar de Fey (80s band; formed in San Francisco!!); 23k listeners

Twisted Nerve (80s band; classified as “gothic punk,” so I felt this was the best category for them; they’re great; their sound also reminds me of early Siouxsie and the Banshees and Killing Joke); 2.5k listeners

Play Dead (80s); 8k listeners

Limbo (underrated 80s; if you like Bauhaus & Virgin Prunes as well, you’re gonna like this band); 413 listeners

If you like Cocteau Twins:

Cocteau Twins’ early sound is usually categorized as “ethereal wave” goth, so those are the playlists you’ll want to look up if you enjoy their early sound. If you like their later sound, you’re gonna want to lean more towards shoegaze for similar vibes. Admittedly, ethereal wave is one of the goth subgenres that I know the least about, so I’m not gonna be much help here.

Dead Can Dance (80’s band; NO one, and I mean NO ONE, was doing it like Dead Can Dance; so fun to dance to in the goth club); 332k listeners

Lycia (90’s band; their music is very transcendent); 20k listeners

Linea Aspera (modern band; gorgeous woman vocals; honestly, their music is just very beautiful); 67k listeners

This Mortal Coil (formed in the 80s; some songs feature Elizabeth Fraser & Robin Guthrie from Cocteau Twins, but even the ones that don’t still have an ethereal vibe similar to CT; Sixteen Days/Gathering Dust is just like the best song ever); 310k listeners

Autumn's Grey Solace (2000s); 62k listeners

Faith and the Muse; (90s); 22k listeners

This Ascension (90s); 4k listeners

Strawberry Switchblade (80s); 400k listeners

If you like Joy Division:

All of these bands will be ones that sound very classically post-punk, so those are the playlists to search out; emphasis on "classic" because post-punk is a very broad term that gets applied to a lot of music. I would argue that Joy Division has had the most influence out of all the OG goth bands on the current goth sound/goth renaissance we're going through right now, so there are a LOT of bands out there for you if you’re a JD fan.

Molchat Doma (modern band); 2.5 million listeners (wow lol, they've grown so much over the past two years, it's actually insane; good for them)

Soviet Soviet (modern band); 152k listeners

Fearing (modern band; very good live); 30k listeners

Ploho (modern band); 146k listeners

Pink Turns Blue (criminally underrated 80’s band; they are SO good live); 98k listeners (this is an actual travesty, this band is way too good to not even be in the hundred thousands)

The Sound (another incredibly underrated 80’s band); 119k listeners

This Cold Night (modern; has the deep vocals of Joy Division and the driving bass but more stripped back than JD); 150k listeners

Bleib Modern (modern; has very similar vocals to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, which is a band listed under the Sisters of Mercy section of this post, so if you end up liking this band, you should also listen to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry & vice versa); 36k listeners

Lebanon Hanover (modern; has the existential angst that Joy Division always ignites in me but more stripped back); 936k listeners (this is crazy, holy shit!!!!!! go, Lebanon Hanover, go!!)

She Past Away (modern; deep vocals); 226k listeners

Belgrado (modern; woman vocals!); 18k listeners (they deserve better than this!!)

Leonora Post Punk (modern; Mexican goth band w/ Spanish vocals! They’re amazing! They have those deep vocals you want when you’re looking for a similar sound to Joy Division); 56k listeners

O. Children (modern; has the deep vocals & interesting bass lines that Joy Division was known for; great band); 29k listeners

If you like Sisters of Mercy:

This is one of my least favorite goth subcategories, which is odd because I actually love Sisters. But if you’re looking for a lot of music that sounds like SoM, I’d suggest delving into the 90’s and early 2000’s goth music scene. Search out those playlists. A lot of the 90s and 2000s goth bands were very derivative of Sisters of Mercy.

Rosetta Stone (90’s band); 54k listeners

Miazma (modern); 10k listeners

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry (another criminally underrated 80’s band; one of my fave goth bands); 40k listeners (THEY!! DESERVE!! BETTER!!)

Dreamtime (modern); 65 listeners (ouch lol, please go show them some love)

Fields of the Nephilim (80’s, I think; if you’re a metalhead, you’ll probably appreciate this band); 95k listeners

The Merry Thoughts (80s); 19k listeners

The March Violets (underrated 80s; might be a controversial opinion to put them under SoM, but I’m standing by it); 69k listeners

Horror Vacui (modern; it’s kind of a stretch putting them here tbh, but I couldn’t figure out what other category to put them under); 44k listeners

The Sisterhood (spin-off Sisters of Mercy group that was formed by goth king Andrew Eldritch himself); 3k listeners

The Mission (formed by former Sisters of Mercy members; Wasteland by them was actually one of the first songs to get me into goth music); 180k listeners

Eyes of the Nightmare Jungle (late 80s & 90s; every time a song by them comes on, I’m convinced it’s a Sisters song until the singer starts singing lol); 13k listeners

Ex-Voto (formed in 1982, but most of their albums on Spotify came out in the 2000s; this band is like if Fields of Nephilim had a baby with Clan of Xymox & then sprinkled some industrial techniques in); 6k listeners

Also, if you want a 1500-song, 105-hour goth playlist that’s constantly growing, here you go. The name of it is a dig at my ex lol: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jCV530pMmOEmDHj4CLNka?si=cEVKiyAwQpaieGiV2pMyqw

[wcnderlnds]

fool for you | kang dae-ho

・❥・ summary: best friend dae-ho gets jealous when he sees you flirting with someone else ・❥・word count: 630 ・❥・warnings: angst, sad dae-ho ・❥・ authors note: im so sry i have so much angst in my soul this week. this was a request from this list. feel free to request any!

Dae-Ho’s fist clenched at his sides, the food on his lap long forgotten as his eyes focused on the only thing that could make him feel like this. His blood was boiling, his fingers flexing in his hands as he fought the urge to walk over there. It wasn’t like he had a say, it wasn’t like he could control who you spent your time with but, man, if it didn’t hurt. Why on Earth you had taken an interest in the eccentric, purple haired junkie was a mystery to him. Then again, it wasn’t like he had told you his feelings. No, he couldn’t. You were just friends. Best friends even if he had thought about you as more than that for a long time.

He tore his eyes away from you, unable to watch as you flirty patted Thanos on the arm. That was more than his stomach could handle. Picking the food up, he shoved it to the side on the floor. If he’d even had an appetite, it was long gone by now. The ache in his chest all but consumed him.

“Hey, you good?” Your cheerful voice sounded beside him. Huh, when had you even approached him? Must have been too lost in his thoughts to even realise.

“What? Me, yeah!” He plastered a fake smile on his face, shifting his body a little so he could look at you making sure to avoid direct eye contact. You knew him far too well that the second you looked into his eyes, you’d know something was up.

“Good because I need to talk to someone,” a near squeal passed your lips. “Thanos said when we get out of here he’ll take me for a drink and I swear my heart almost beat out of my chest. He’s just so handsome and funny and he ma-”

“Can you stop talking about him for one second?” Dae-Ho cut you off, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn about him or what he does to your poor little heart.”

His outburst took you aback. Curious eyes examined his face. You noticed the clenched jaw, the way his hair was a mess from how many times he’d been running his hand through it. Oh. “You’re jealous?”

Dae-ho almost protested but what was the point in lying now? You had figured him out and there was no denying it. Anyone with eyes could see he was acting like a jealous fool. Jealousy wasn’t something he had ever experienced this deep before but his feelings for you were so pure, the thought of you with anyone else hurt. It hurt a lot. 

“I - I… yeah, I am. I think you can do so much better than him,” he nodded his head in Thanos’ direction.

“He’s not that bad.”

“Just do me a favour and don’t talk about him in front of me anymore, okay? I can’t handle it. Please spare me. If you care about me in any way, just… don’t.”

He got up to walk away but you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket trying to pull him back down. “Dae-ho, wait. Please don’t walk away.”

“Sorry.” With a frown on his face and an ache in his heart, he walked away trying to put as much distance between you as he could while he got his feelings in check.

[mayakern]

A Note From Our Founder (and some other things)/ The World's Longest Newsletter

Hey, y’all. The past week has brought us a lot of extremes: first the fear, horror, shame and despair as we realized just how dire the business’ financial situation was… and then relief, gratitude, hope, joy—so many overwhelming feelings I don’t even have the words for them all. Y’all showed up for us in a big way and I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for that. Many of you have followed the store for years. You’ve watched as it’s grown—bloomed—and seen me do the same, as for better or worse, my identity and the business’ are so closely intertwined. So much of my life is invested in this little indie clothing brand that the prospect of it hurtling towards failure made me feel like I, too, was hurtling towards failure. But you all showed up and helped us avoid a huge crisis and for that I cannot even begin to say how thankful I am. How thankful we all are. Not only did sales rise to meet our crisis, but you showed us such an overwhelming amount of kindness—sharing our store on social media and with friends, offering us words of encouragement, telling us just how much you love our clothing and how much it has meant to you—that will touch me forever. We’re not quite out of the woods yet—our immediate payroll concerns have been addressed, but we’ll still have to get a bit scrappy and roll with the punches for the next few months, if not longer. But thanks to all of you, now our problems look solvable and not like unavoidable catastrophes. Thank you. Maya Founder/Co-Owner Maya Kern LLC

In case you haven’t heard, we’re still running our sale—almost everything in our store, including garments that were already put on clearance, are 20-50% off. Many items are being sold at or below the amount we paid to make them to help us recoup some of our production costs. Some of our buttery soft viscose shirts are as cheap as $9 right now! This sale will be ending Sunday night at midnight US central time, so don’t miss it!

Also, we heard from y’all that our store’s auto region detection was buggy as heck, so for your convenience we’ve added a “Store Location” drop down to the top of our store page. Many of our items are already sold out in the US, but some of those sold out garments are still in stock in Canada.

We’ve heard y’all loud and clear—many of y’all have asked us when our petticoats will return and have also suggested that we run some preorders to help us secure funds for production. So from January 16th at 12pm Central to January 30th at 12pm central, we’ll be running preorders for our much loved petticoats! For those of you unfamiliar with our petticoats, they are a lightweight, sensory friendly under layer that adds the perfect amount of volume under our midi skirts. While many petticoats cut corners by either offering only a limited size range or by stacking layer upon layer of scratchy, flimsy tulle to create the desired volume while growing heavier with every added layer, our petticoats use fewer layers of a stiffer, higher quality tulle that maintains its volume under the weight of a skirt. Because all tulle regardless of quality can be quite scratchy, we also added a satin slip as the base layer of our petticoats to make sure that they are sensory friendly and non-irritating.

This time they’ll be available in classic black and lovely blush. We’ll also be offering a small discount to anyone who buys a petticoat during preorders. (Please keep in mind that the blush petticoat photos are mockups and so the final color may be slightly different)

And lastly, if you’ve made it this far, we have some production news! I could not be happier about how much y’all have loved the cozy matcha set—they’re already sold out in the US (tho our Canada store still has a few left!). Creating this loungewear set has been on my bucket list for so long and I am ecstatic that y’all share my love for them. Thanks to how good the sales have been, we’ve been able to plan more cozy sets for later this year, even though they are quite expensive to make. First up will be a spring/summer version with short sleeves and shorts. These will have a different, less warm interior but will still be made of 100% cotton.

I have some ideas rolling around for a new cozy set or two for the end of 2025, but I’ll just let y’all stay curious about that. In truth I am so excited about the next winter concept that I can hardly bear to keep the secret, but I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

Thanks so much for reading and have a great rest of your day!