#ofc: origin story

[ruporas]

trigunned the hades or hadesed the trigun (id in alt)

[iheartsteve0704]

What happens when we find out that Rio (literally THE green witch) conjured up Señor Scratchy to “find” Agatha in the woods??? Because Rio knew that Agatha was lonely and sad and grieving after Nicky and wanted her to have a companion. And it made Rio feel a lot better knowing Agatha had this piece of Rio, even if she didn’t know it (Agatha knew it).

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 8

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  WC: 5.5k TW: I will put them below the cut for those who want to avoid spoilers. This is more of an original character, there have been some descriptions of reader throughout the series. A/N: How can I make a note when I have words?! I'm just so grateful for how many people have fallen in love with this story this year. It's crazy to me that I posted my first fan pic on December 23rd 2023, expecting about 3 people to see it and waking up to 100's of notifications. 2024 has literally been whirlwind, I've made so many wonderful ladies here and have grown more and more confident in my writing abilities. Thank you @lotusbxtch for being my forever beta for this series (probably an unhealthy crutch, but so be it haha). Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for letting me bounce ideas off of you and giving me a new insight to how sweet girl or Joel would think. @mermaidgirl30, @alltheirdamn and @littlevenicebitch69, what would I do if I couldn't scream about this story with you?! Ok eww, I'm done being sappy. Enjoy! Dividers and headers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: use of sex toys (vibrator and butt plug)

You

When you walked into your small apartment on Sunday, Odette was wrapped up in a blanket watching TV. She looked you up and down with a knowing smirk. It was pretty obvious based on the way Joel’s sweats and hoodie hung off your body that you were with a man all weekend. So, after she agreed to keep it between the two of you, you told her absolutely everything. It was freeing to finally be able to discuss Joel with one of your friends. The two of you spent almost six hours going over every detail of the last few weeks, and after ordering pizza and splitting a bottle of rosé, you had all the validation you needed. He loves you. And you love him, too. 

As the weekend rolls into the week, you still have not come down from your happy, little Joel Miller-shaped cloud. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he is it. You have never let your walls down with someone like you have with him. It was always easier to just do it on your own; you could always count on yourself.  For the first time in your life, you can confidently say that you’re ready to let that go. It’s time for you to let someone take care of you for once. When he texts you on Monday to make plans for the following day, you decide that you’re going to tell him how you feel.

When Tuesday finally comes around, you practically skip up to his house. You have a duffle bag of items in one hand: your outfit for this evening, make up, and a change of clothes in case you spend the night. Wearing his clothing home was fun and all, but you won’t be doing any sort of walks of shame again. Clasped tightly your other hand is your company-provided caddy full of cleaning supplies. Just as you’re about to place the supplies on the front step, the large front door opens.

“Hi, Freckles,” Joel's voice coats every inch of your skin in warm honey. He shines an absolutely knee-weakening smile down at you. As per his usual JMKink attire, he’s in perfectly fitted black dress pants, expensive looking black dress shoes, and a pressed, crisp white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows and your mouth waters at the way his bare forearms look.  

“Hi,” you beam up at him, not holding back your ear-to-ear grin as you glow under his attention. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here!”

“I have to leave soon, but I have something for you.” He steps out onto the front steps and grabs everything from you before you follow him inside. You change into the white keds that Jamie gave you on your first day at Maid Discreetly before heading towards where he’s standing in the kitchen. There are three boxes on the kitchen island; two small black ones and one white one that you recognize immediately. He pushes that one towards you first. 

“This is your new iPhone,” he says with a wink and you feel your cheeks flush.

“Thank you,” you say shyly.

He shakes his head, “No, thank you for not fighting me on this. That cracked screen...”

“I know,” you say, raising a hand to stop him. You deepen your voice, “It’s a hazard, sweet girl.”

He laughs like he did that night at the Shibari class, deep and from his gut; it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard and your heart swells at the possibility of getting to hear that laugh for the rest of your life. “Exactly. These other boxes…well, they’re for you, but also for me.”

You raise your eyebrows curiously as he slides the smaller of the two black boxes across the smooth marble of the island. His bottom lip slips between his teeth as you pull the top off of the first box. Sitting on a bed of white tissue paper is a small metal plug with a pink heart-shaped diamond on the end. 

“Mister Miller! Scandalous!” You gasp, feigning shock and surprise.

He laughs again as he asks, “Is that ok?”

“Very much so,” you respond with a smile before opening the next box, which is slightly bigger than the last. A black, U shaped piece of silicone sits in the box, along with a small plastic rectangle that looks similar to a key fob. “What’s this?”

“That, my sweet girl, is a remote vibrator. I was thinking that maybe you could wear both of those while you clean my house today. I can control that with the remote from a close distance or from my phone anywhere in the world.” 

Every hair on your body stands on end as your clit throbs in excitement. “Yes, I would really, really like to do that!”

“Good girl,” he says with a wink, holding a hand out to you. His fingers link with yours and just the slightest touch from him sends sparks up your wrist and straight to your racing heart. He grabs your new toys and leads you up the stairs. Your giggle is laced with arousal when you come to a stop in his enormous ensuite. After placing the toys on the counter he pulls you in, his free hand cupping the back of your neck before he slams his lips into yours. He kisses you hungrily, and you meet his energy, kissing him back as if you’re drunk with passion. His teeth nip your bottom lip as he pulls away. You’re so insanely, maddeningly in love with this man that you almost forget how to stand as he steps back.

“Take off your pants, sweet girl.”

You do as he says, eagerly unbuttoning your company issued black dress pants before sliding them down your legs. He stops you before you remove your thong, breathing out a heady ‘fuck’ before hooking his thumbs through the bright pink lacy waist band and sliding them down your legs. 

“Put your hands on the vanity and bend over for me,” he instructs with bated breath. He watches your reflection in the mirror, looking right into your soul as always, as you follow his instructions.  

You smile lovingly at him, clocking the way his throat works as he swallows hard at the sight of you bending at the waist, pushing your ass out for him. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky? All of this, just for me?”

“Just you, Joel,” you breathe, slipping your bottom lip between your teeth. 

He slides open a drawer and takes out two small bottles before turning on the water. He pops the top of one bottle, using the contents to wash both toys, then steps back behind you with the second bottle in and the plug in his hands. A warm laugh leaves your lips, “Always so prepared, Mister Miller.”

“With a pretty little thing like you in my life, I better be.” He clicks the top of the lube open as he continues, “Ready? I’ll go slow.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you coo, your body thrumming with the anticipation of his touch. 

“I know you will. No safeword right now, okay? Just say stop, and I will.” He spreads the lube around your tight ring of muscle with his thumb. Every muscle in your body goes slack under his attention and you sigh as your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “Good girl, just relax for me.”

After a few minutes of teasing you with the pad of his thumb he switches to the plug. The cold metal makes you jump. He reassures you by squeezing your hip as he murmurs, “You’re ok, baby.”

He swirls it gently at first, slowly applying more and more pressure before it slips in on its own and you whimper at the feeling. “Does that feel okay, sweet girl?”

“Mmm, yes,” you smile at his reflection in front of you. The amber glow of the LED lighting behind the mirror accentuates the honey flecks in his eyes. Everything about the way he’s looking at you feels overwhelming. It’s like when you first step foot into a hot tub on a cold winter's night. The sting of the swirling water is almost too hot as you sink further in. For a second you consider getting out, but then every single cell in your body adjusts and you can’t imagine not being wrapped in that heat.

“Now this one,” he says, holding up the black u-shaped vibrator. He adds a bit of lube and then guides your hips further back with one hand before kneeling. Your pussy clenches against nothing as you glance over your shoulder seeing him on his knees behind you. He practically whimpers, “God, Freckles, this pussy. She’s so gorgeous.”

A shy smile turns your lips upward. Joel starts to work the toy inside of you and you gasp out a moan. He moves the bulbous head of the toy back and forth until it slips in on its own accord, just like the plug did. Your breathing quickens at the pressure on your g-spot and clit; the toy isn’t even on yet and it already feels so good. Joel’s lips sponge against the globes of your ass, then your hip as he stands. “Are you ok, sweet girl?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you respond, your breath catching in your throat as you stand. 

“Good. Now put your clothes back on and get to work.”

Before you can bend to pick up your discarded clothing, he pulls you into his arms and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is so soft that it steals your breath, and you almost blurt your feelings for him right then and there. He keeps one arm wrapped tightly around your waist while the other snakes up your body until his large palm cups the side of your face. This kiss, compared to the one from earlier, is different in every way. Where that one was rough and passionate, this one is gentle and almost lazy; a content moan rumbles from his chest. Before pulling away, his warm tongue swipes sweetly across yours. 

 “See you later, honey,” he whispers, then kisses your forehead and walks away.

Honey, he called me honey. Everything about the last few seconds feels so goddamn domestic, and your potential life five years from now flashes through your mind. 

You're standing in this bathroom, getting ready to head to the law firm you work at. Joel, no longer just your dom but also now your new husband, puts a fresh latte on the counter for you, then helps you with the clasp of your necklace before kissing that sensitive spot behind your ear. ‘See you later, honey’.

The rev of Joel’s Jag pulling out of the garage snaps you out of your daydream. You get dressed and walk back downstairs while opening the Maid Discreetly app. To your surprise, cleaning Joel’s office isn’t the first task. Instead, you’ve been asked to wipe down the kitchen, then vacuum the main floor, stairs and upstairs rooms, and finish off by dusting his bedroom. All of it seems very doable in the next four hours, and just when you think you’ll probably be done early and have time to properly get ready for your night out, Mister Miller reminds you that he has the remote to a very distracting detonator. 

The first few times the vibrator comes on it’s subtle, just a light buzzing against your clit. It’s enjoyable, almost like a tickling massage, but after almost an hour and half of being gently teased at random you can feel your frustrations start to reach a boiling point.

You: Mister Miller, you’re torturing me Joel: Oh, sweet girl. We’ve only just begun. You: *pouts* Joel: That’s not going to get you what you want. Be a good girl and get back to work. I have a meeting. 

You check off the kitchen and main floor tasks and then move to the stairs. You decide to start at the top, sitting on the stair below it and scoot down to save your back. You’re also hoping that the pressure on the toy will make it strong enough that you can finally come. Joel turns the vibrator on again and you whine out in frustration when your plan fails. The slight hum against your clit stops and you mutter something about Joel being a sadistic bastard under your breath and continue your backwards ride down the stairs. As you reach the halfway point the vibrator comes to life at an intensity so strong that you drop the hose of the vacuum and dig your nails into the plush carpet of the stair tread. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, squeezeing your legs together as he brings you right to the edge. Your orgasm builds quickly, and just as it’s about to take you, the vibrations stop. 

Joel: You better not have come You: Please, Mister Miller. I was so close Joel: Not yet, babygirl  

Joel continues this throughout the afternoon. Every ten minutes or so, the black u-shaped torture device inside of you comes to life; always at different intensities and for varying times. 

Torture device might be a bit strong, the discarded box of feelings says from the back of your mind. We both know you’re enjoying it. You don’t know when she decided to come back, but at least she’s keeping you honest. 

It’s been about three hours by the time you get to your last task of the day. The vibrator buzzes gently as you grab a duster and head into Joel's bedroom. You bite back a smile seeing his bed, the white fluffy sheets neatly tucked in. You can’t help but run your fingers across the soft duvet, remembering how it felt against your skin, remembering how he felt above, behind, below and beside your naked body.

Joel: You doing ok? Do you need to use your safeword? You: I’m okay, Mister Miller. I REALLY need to come, but this is the best day I’ve ever had at work.

When 3:30pm hits, you’ve finished everything in the app, and are so wound up from being teased that you’re fighting from taking the vibrator out and making yourself come. Everytime the vibrator comes on, you break out in goosebumps, the hair on your body standing on end, but when he turns it off, your cheeks flush in frustration and a wave of heat rolls through you. You know Joel will take care of you when he gets home and sees how badly you need it. He talks a big game, but you see the way he folds when you beg. 

Joel: I’ll be home in about 40 minutes, Tommy won’t shut up about concrete. You: I need to come so badly, Mister Miller. I’m throbbing, please!  Joel: Soon. Just breathe, sweet girl. You can do this. 

You need to distract yourself, and you know Joel’s office usually gets pretty dusty, so even though it’s not on your list, you grab your cleaning supplies and slowly open the door. It’s as it usually is: small piles of papers on the desk and a few things out of place on the book shelf. You put the books back and dust the shelves, then run the duster over the blinds before cleaning the window.

Joel: Goddamn, he’s still going on about fucking concrete. How’s my baby doin? You: Horny, I’m trying to distract myself

The vibrator comes to life at the lowest setting. Once again, it’s not enough to make you come, just enough to tease and taunt. You could cry at the frustration of it. 

You: That’s not helping, Mister Miller Joel: What’s not? You: Hilarious. Please? Joel: Nope. I love watching you come, hearing the whiny little gasps you make, so not until later

You move towards the desk. Just as you reach to tidy the stack of papers, the vibrations against your clit hit at an intensity you haven’t felt yet today. You fall forward, gasping for breath, as the papers scatter to the floor. You’re about to fall into the pleasure, feel those waves of nirvana that you so desperately need when the vibrator turns off and you’re left with nothing. You bite back an agitated yell. 

Joel: See you in less than half an hour, sweet girl. You better not have come.  You: I didn’t. I promise. 

You’ve never read anything on Joel’s desk before, but you notice a familiar emblem on the first piece of paper you pick up. It’s a short, handwritten note, and as your eyes scan the few sentences, your heart leaps into your throat as your stomach simultaneously falls to the floor. You read through it once and then twice, trying to make sense of the information in front of you. After blinking hard a few times, you read it again. 

You feel like you’re being ripped in two. 

Joel, Thank you for your generous (and anonymous) donation to the law library. I’ll be sure to find her application and review it myself. See you at the club's anniversary party in a few weeks.

You flip the note over and back again, reading it through one last time. It’s not signed by anyone, just black ink on eggshell white, the University of Austin letterhead at the top. The letter and the room start to spin. You stumble towards his desk chair and breathe through the wave of nausea that hits you; your mind reels at what you’ve just learned. Anger, disbelief and sadness all push against your prefrontal cortex, fighting to be the winning emotion. You want it to be anger – anger is so much easier to deal with. Yelling and telling Joel to fuck off would make you feel so much better, but overwhelming sadness and disappointment ultimately become the victors. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

The realization feels like knives along your skin. Everything he said about how you could do it, or that you’d get in…that was all bullshit. He paid for you to get in, and then – and this is the part that hurts the most – he made you believe that you did it all on your own. Your lungs feel like they’re filled with glass as you force yourself to take slow, controlled breaths. 

He doesn’t believe in me.

Tears prickle behind your eyes but you force them back. You will not cry, not when you’ve been through this before and came out stronger. Your parents didn’t believe in you, and you proved them wrong, graduating early and making it on your own in Texas for the last four years.

I can prove Joel wrong, too.

You shut your eyes tight. You don’t need him; you don’t need anyone. But if that’s true, why does his sexy smirk flash behind your eyelids? The glass moves from your lungs to your veins; everything hurts, and you scold yourself for letting him get this intertwined in you. 

Never again, you tell yourself. Stick to your plan. Law school. Get in with a good firm, pass the bar and become partner; then worry about a love life. 

You walk to his bedroom, removing the toys and cleaning them off before changing into the black leggings and beige crew neck sweater you brought. You gather your hair into a claw clip and head downstairs. With your bag by the door and the letter still clutched in your hand you lean back against the kitchen island and wait for Joel. 

He doesn’t believe in me. 

Joel

The drive home feels like it takes forever; granted, Tommy talking about fucking concrete for almost an hour felt longer. At dinner tonight, he’s going to explain from the beginning. He prepares himself for the worst, for your anger or hurt. He won’t be able to live with himself if he’s hurt you, but anger he can deal with. He knows it’s selfish, but you yelling at him over this would make him feel better. 

Finally, he turns into his neighborhood. The sight of your slightly rusty SUV parked on the street spreads a familiar warmth from his heart to his toes. Mine, he thinks to himself as he pulls into his garage. He knows you’re going to be so tightly wound from all the teasing you endured today, and he plans to very slowly unwind you before you go for dinner. The way you fall apart for him is so beautiful, and after almost four hours of being brought to the edge over and over again, he can’t wait to have your writhing and shaking with a simple flick of his tongue against your clit. But first, he’s going to kiss every inch of your skin while occasionally clicking the vibrator on at its lowest setting. He almost trips over your bag as he comes into the house, and when his eyes meet yours, he knows something is wrong.  

“Baby?” His voice cracks in concern at the look on your face. He mentally runs through the rolodex of facial expressions he’s seen from you, and he hates that he can’t place this one; it’s not anger or sadness, and it most definitely is not excitement or curiosity. Your soft lips are turned down in the corners, arms crossed and eyes soft. “What’s wrong?”

Your arms uncross and you hold out the letter he should have shredded weeks ago.

His stomach does a free fall. Disappointment. The look on your face is disappointment, and that is so much worse than anger or sadness. 

Fuck. 

You

Joel walks towards you with slow, measured steps while carding a nervous hand through his curls. You force yourself to continue breathing, fighting against the tears that threaten to appear. He takes the letter from you and rips it in half; you drop your eyes, watching as the two halves of paper flutter to the ground and then slide away from each other along the marble. You shake your head at the symbolism of it, hugging your arms tightly against your body again.

“I thought you believed in me,” you say, trying not to sound as gutted as you feel. 

“I do, sweet girl,” he says, stepping so close that his black leather dress shoes line up with your socked feet. You look up as he continues, “I swear I do. You - you got in on your own. Please, just let me explain.”

His eyes line with tears and moments that you overlooked over the last few weeks playback like a movie. The first day in this kitchen he said he knew the dean of admissions. The flash of anger when you went to the Shibari night and his response of “all of them?” when you said you didn’t get in. The way he insisted you open the letters before the anniversary party. He knew, he fucking knew all along that at least one university would accept you. Dread settles in your stomach, turning the shards of glass under your skin to icicles. Berkeley.

“Did you pay off Berkeley, too?”

“I didn’t pay anyone off.” He’s calm but firm in his response, which just seems to piss you off more. 

You roll your eyes, gesturing to the ripped paper on the floor and scoff. “Did you pay off Berkeley, Joel?”

The two of you stare at each other for a few heartbeats, and you don’t back down as more tears gather along his bottom lash line. He shakes his head in defeat, burying his hands in his pockets and breathing slowly a few times before whispering, “No.”

“Why would you do this to me? This could have ruined my entire career.” You try to keep your voice calm, but how dare he stand in front of you holding back tears. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl. I wasn’t - I just…I’m sorry,” he flounders.

“Why, Joel?” Your eyes dance along his face. You aren’t sure what justification you're looking for or hoping for. The dream of staying here died the moment you picked up that note, but you can’t go to California without knowing why he did it. 

He opens his mouth, shaking his head slightly and then closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose, blinking away the tears. “Because I don’t want to lose you, Freckles. I should have told you, I was going to tell you tonight. That donation isn’t the reason you got in…you did that on your own. I just…well, I just sped up the process. And I’m so sorry you found out like this.”

You scoff again. “I thought my consent was the most important thing to you.”

His eyes widened in shock. “It is, sweet girl.”

“I didn’t ask you to meddle in my life, Joel. And I certainly didn’t ask you to speed along the process. What happens if I become a Supreme Court judge and someone finds out that you bribed a university to get me?” He goes to speak, but you raise a hand to stop him and continue. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t bribe anyone, because that’s exactly how this looks and you know it. You wouldn’t be looking at me like a guilty puppy if you thought what you did was right.”

His hands come to cup your face. The warm coffee eyes that usually dance rhythmically around your face are replaced by shifting dark glass beads laced with fear and loss. The warmth you normally feel when he touches you is gone. His eyes flick to your lips and then back to your eyes before he speaks. 

“Freckles, I lov-”

Your still raised hand covers his mouth, clamping tightly to his face to stop him. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat and keeping your palm pressed to his soft lips. Your heart pounds behind your ribs in response to what he was about to confess. If he tells you what you so desperately wanted to hear just hours ago, you know you’ll crumble. You’ll let him take you up to his bedroom and apologize in a way that only he can. You’ll spend the night planning how you can do long distance while you’re in California. You’ll let him interfere with the plan…again.

“Don’t say that to me right now, I can’t hear that.”

He nods into your hand slowly, his eyes soften, and you try to memorize every bit of amber in his otherwise black brown eyes. This will be the last time he looks at you like this, and the realization seems to suck the air out of the room. You wish you could bottle up how it makes you feel when he looks at you like that; the way it comforts you and shuts off the narrated to do list in your mind that’s always growing in your mind. 

“Joel, if…if you feel that way, then you’ll let me go,” you tell him, voice just above a whisper. He lets out a shaky breath through his nose, the heat of it warming your hand. One of his hands leaves your face to wrap around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull your hand away or step back out of your grip. Instead, he runs his thumb in small circles along the soft, smooth skin there, and you swear you can feel the whorls of his thumb tattooing themself on you, trying desperately to stay with you forever. 

“You’ll understand why I have to go to Berkeley now,” you continue. “I have been working so hard for this. And for years, I have been doing it all on my own. I’m so close, Joel…so close to finishing what I started when I was, like, seven years old. So, please, I’m begging you…please do not finish that sentence.”

You drop your hand from his mouth, his grip going weak as he lets you slip out of his grasp. He looks small, almost deflated in front of you as he stumbles back a few steps. The silence between the two of you feels heavy. 

It’s over. Whatever this was, or could be, is over, and you both know it. 

When he finally speaks, it’s a sad whisper. “What about when you’re done?”

“A lot can change in three years, Joel,” you respond, mostly to extinguish the flicker of hope in your chest. It’s better for you to push him away now than to hope that he’ll be there when you graduate. No one has ever been there for you, and this is proving to be no different. You step around him and head to the front door, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek as the tears threaten to reappear while you get your shoes on. 

“Freckles, wait.”

You close your eyes, facing the door with your hand on the matte black knob. His dress shoes click on the shiny marble before his large hand comes to rest on the door beside your head. This is the exact position you were in after accidentally catching him in his office. You keep your eyes glued to the door and after a sniffle, a quiet clearing of his throat and a whispered, heartbreaking ‘fuck’, he continues. 

“I really am sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. “This is not how I wanted this to go, but you know what you need and I respect your choice. These last few weeks have been so much more than I could have imagined, more than I deserve. You have brought me back, sweet girl. I know you probably don’t believe a word of what I’ve said tonight, and that’s ok, but with you, I felt that pull that I’ve been waiting for. I felt it the minute your cleaning caddy fell to the ground and I locked eyes with you. If you were anyone else, I would have let you run out of here and then had you fired. I chased you and I’ve been chasing you ever since, even though I know you are meant for more and that this could only ever be temporary for you. This was always going to be the end for me and a well-deserved, hard-earned beginning for you.”

He takes a shaky breath in and you open your eyes, but you don’t look back at him. “Regardless of all that, I meant what I said in my office that day. Starting this with you would be it for me. A lot can change for you in three years, and I want you to experience everything in California. But for me, it’s you. It will always be you.”

Your chest feels like it’s going to cave and your knees threaten to buckle. “I have to go, Joel,” you grit out, forcing your voice past the boulder that’s formed in your throat.

“I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl,” he whispers, dropping his hand and stepping back. The heat of his broad body and leather-and-ash scent disappear from behind you, and it feels like you’ve been plunged into freezing, uncharted waters. 

You get in your car and drive, unsure of where your final destination will be. After driving around Austin for a while, you find yourself parking outside of the Maid Discreetly office. You take a minute, deciding what you are and aren’t going to tell your best friend before heading in. Jamie’s office is impeccable as always, not a single smudge on the glass desk as she types on her laptop, looking effortlessly perfect.  

“Hey, babe!” she says with a smile as you cross the threshold.

“How’s your dad doing with the California office?” you say, trying to act casual.

“Oh my god!” she practically shrieks as she jumps up from her chair. “Did you get into Berkeley?”

“That depends,” you say, raising one shoulder. “Does he have a job for me there?”

“Holy shit!” She runs around the desk and wraps you in her arms. How she can move like that in stilettos is beyond you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break an ankle,” you deadpan. The weight of what just happened with Joel almost dissipates. Jamie pulls back to look at you, her eyes scan your face and you feel exposed.

“Why aren’t you more excited? What’s wrong?”

Shit. 

A sob leaves your throat and you collapse into Jamie’s open arms. She pulls you into her office with one arm and closes her door with the other, then leads you to the couch along the far wall. As soon as she gets you seated, you manage to explain everything between sobs and very unattractive nose blowing.

This is supposed to be one of those exciting moments of your life. You did it: you got into the school you always dreamed of and you're moving to California; a place you always felt most at ease in. Yet, it’s all clouded over by having your heart wholly shattered by a man that you actually thought was going to be the love of your life. Someone who showed you he cared, showed you that he’d always be there. 

But it was all a lie. 

[katabay]

WOW this has been ROUGH in the Life Events category of things, but. slowly crawling out of that. hopefully

this was the opening scene for a something I started writing after watching the Manben inverview with Nishi Keiko and thinking back to all the classic shoujo manga I stayed up reading back in the day, like damn that's so true Urasawa Naoki

it's partially a love letter to all the greats of the genre that I read, and also to the late night teleseryses that captivated me over the years lmao. it'd be nice to find the time to tackle it properly as a comic, but I'm having fun working on it recreationally :)

✨but since it's recreational, some character info✨

the first character seen is lawrence 'law' valenciano (late 30s), the one with the glasses is cris volante (mid-later 20s). law works at a karinderya, cris is an extremely broke university student.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / insta / tip jar!

[oneshotprincess]

da2 had a lot of flaws but i wish it's reception had been warmer because there's one thing i think it absolutely got right: shifting the location and telling a low-stakes story (by the standards of the next two installments with its world-ending crises i mean). i think they could have gone on like that for more games.

da3: move to orlais and stay grounded to orlais and expand this one country's situation intimately, centering the civil war and the game.

da4: move to antiva and do the same. tell a story with assassin intrigue, the crows, sinister plots from behind shadows...

da5: move to rivain, or tevinter, or anderfels or...

easy way to have a new protagonist, new cast, and new lore each time without having to deal with past player choices too deeply but still leaving plenty of room for cameos and easter eggs

[baby-xemnas]

usopp giving luffy permission to laugh - knowing luffy is barely holding back, but merry is kaya's ship and he doesnt want to upset usopp 🥺 usopp giving it a go ahead like "ye nah man its funny" 🤣

THIS MOVIE IS TOO WELL WRITTEN MY FACE HURTS

[kindred-spirit-93]

the peoples princess!

@notsolonedesert ur lovely ctimene has graced my lecture notes <3!! no references we die like my final braincells lol

her sarcasm knows no bounds and odysseus' famous wits have ocassionally paled in comparison to his sisters many a time ;)

sassy lil sister ctimene please and thank you. also stubborn af. idk i need more of them being siblings and and how they grew alongside one another and now tease eachother over meals and reminisce during cold winter evenings childhood shenanigans and laugh boisterously together (they have the same laugh. and a dad sneeze TM) and how they reacted to each others firstborns and and and

[k-evans-reads]

The Spare

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Summary: When Princess Rosie unexpectedly is thrust into a political tour of the country, a working-class Air Force Captain is assigned to be her pilot. Although the princess is unhappy about the decision, she realizes she’s stepping into unknown territory when the unexpected happens

Intro l Main Masterlist | The Spare Masterlist

By @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

Word Count: 5,672

The door shut firmly behind the Princess’ Private Secretary, leaving the four highest-ranking members of the Royal Family in the oversized room alone. An uneasy silence lingered past the echo’s reverberation, only adding to Rosalie’s anxiety. She shifted on the plush cushion, running her hand along and smoothing her skirt as she cleared her throat and looked towards her father, asking, “What did you hear from the doctor? Do they know for sure what’s going on?”

The prim-and-proper King was unusually disheveled, wearing a wrinkled dress shirt, bare feet, and unstyled hair. It was always ingrained in the Royal Family from a young age that they were to uphold the image, the one of privilege, beauty, and elegance. She could still remember from a young age the uncomfortable hours on end she’d stand straight at parades, waving and smiling at each cheering member of the public as her feet ached and cried for relief. But as the years went on, the more strict the rules would become. Seeing the vast juxtaposition of the way her father looked now only reminded her how serious this was.

Her brow arched as she took her father’s appearance in more - the heaviness in his expression, the rigidity of his frown, the hunch of his shoulders. “They’re still looking into things further but what they know for sure is that it was a heart attack,” King Joseph began, pausing as his eyes danced over the portraits of their ancestors hanging from the walls around them. Then, Rosie felt a pang of sympathy as the familiar mask slipped over Joseph, as if an outsider or staffer walked into the room - the way the tension and strain left his body in a microsecond as he sat up straight, his frown leaving his face. “They think I’ll be fine but I probably do need some time to recover.”

A soft tut echoed from her mother’s lips - one that barely toed the line of daring to challenge him - before Genevieve gently corrected his words to their children, “No, they told him he had to have time to recover.”

Rosie’s head turned to look at James as he opened his mouth, but then took a beat then let out a breath as he delicately asked, “So what does that look like?”

The tension returned to Joseph’s body and in Rosalie’s stomach as reality set in for everyone. Everyone knew that this was a lot more than just a family worried about their father’s health, it meant so much for them and the country and she couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as he answered, “Probably a month off completely.” The King admitted unhappily to the Prince and Princess. Subconsciously, her posture straightened as his eyes landed on her, and she avoided the desire to avert her eyes under his occasionally-scrutinizing gaze. “Which would mean that I do need you to take over my duties during that time, and Rosalie, I will need you to officially take James’ spot on the tour. I know you were hoping that you wouldn’t have to fill in but I am going to need you.”

“It’s fine, we want to do what we can to help you recover,” she began, pausing as she struggled with how to word her concerns. Navigating a relationship with her father had always been a little bit difficult when they had moments that were more normal and familial and others that were all business. Royal life may have been hailed as glamorous and exciting, but Rosie knew how complicated and burdensome it could be. At times they felt like a real family, loving and caring for one another and having honest conversations but other times, they had to stay restrained, knowing that no matter what, the crown always came first. The truth of the matter was that - at times - her father’s role and actions intimidated her. Rarely did she have the loving paternal figure at her side as a child, more often under the care of the Palace nannies while her parents fulfilled their roles. Her thumbs itched to fiddle nervously but she restrained herself, instead finally asking, “What are we going to do about touring the coast with all the protests going on? Are we cutting that out?”

The King nodded, his lips pursed as he sprung into what was likely an already prepared response, “Well I think-”

But Genevieve rested her hand on the King’s arm, causing him to cut off as she reminded him, “No, you need to let James decide. He’s the one who’s taking on your duties, remember?”

A huff of air left his lips as he nodded shortly. “You’re right,” he conceded. “James, what do you want to do?”

The eldest was quiet for a long beat, his fingers tapping lightly on the plush arm of the couch. He stared straight ahead as he thought, his eyes landing on one of the portraits as well until his gaze turned to her, asking, “Rosie, do you have thoughts?”

A smirk appeared on her lips as she looked at James, catching the amusement in his eyes at the action. “Cancel the tour and don’t make me go,” she muttered playfully, ignoring the frustrated sigh from both of her parents.

“Very funny,” James chided, lightly elbowing Rosie in the hip as her father stared at her plainly.

But Rosie shook her head, her eyes staring at James. “You know I’m not kidding,” she reminded him. She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes quickly moving over her father before she looked at James again, remembering her earlier conversations with him about their younger sister. “I do terrible on these things anyway, I think Annie should go instead.”

Quickly, the King interrupted the siblings, declaring, “That’s not happening, Anneliese is too young and inexperienced.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Rosie thought back to how different things had been for Annie as compared to herself and James’ childhoods. While Rosie and James spent much of their adolescence bouncing in and out of boarding schools, then stepping into international tours accompanied by the King and Queen, Annie had it different. She often was left behind at home, seen as “too young” while her siblings juggled their prestigious and elite schooling with the duties of active royals, despite their adolescence. There’d always been this double standard, and while she would do anything to keep Annie as far from the machine of Royal life, she wished she had the same choice for herself.

James simply arched an eyebrow, looking at the King and reminding him, “Aren’t I making the decisions here?”

But Joseph scowled, pointing out, “Well I haven’t heard you make one yet.”

Several beats of silence passed, the tension rising between James, Rosie, and Joseph. Finally, James huffed out a breath, running his hand over his shirt. “….Rosie you have to go,” he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

There was silence for a moment and Rosie could see how pleased James’ decision made their father. But despite that, she could see the struggle in James’ face as he contended with putting his sister or her duty first. “If we cut out the coastline visits though, then it would only be a month,” she began quietly, watching James carefully. “We would avoid the protests, and then I’d be back and dad can do the rest once he’s better. This seems like a great solution.”

Both father and son rolled their eyes at Rosie’s insistence in getting her way. She was steadfast in the fact that for four years now, she’d done more than her fair share of public service - spending more time on airplanes, trains, ships, and in cars than in her own bed. She’d missed so much, she missed her friends, getting to focus her efforts on her charity outreaches, and getting to see Annie grow into the young woman she was now. But despite that, it seemed no one else realized the toll covering for James and Joseph had taken on her.

“More like a great way of you getting out of this,” James retorted, his voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire next to them and the echo of footsteps passing by outside the closed door.

But Rosie’s brows furrowed at James’ words, frustration rising as her opinion continued to be ignored. “When James got back I was supposed to finally get a break,” she reminded them, her voice quiet but firm. And that had been the deal - she had graduated from university, then was thrown into four years of public duty with no downtime to breathe, all so James could serve in the Air Force. Any time she brought up needing a few days to herself, it had always been “Once James is home, you can… you’ll have all the time you need.” It seemed as though that promise was not only empty, but had been forgotten.

But the look in her father’s eyes showed Rosie that he remembered that promise - and yet he was continuing to break his word. “I’m sorry Rosalie,” he began, pausing delicately before adding, “But the positive of me being less visible while I recover is that it gives you the chance to be more involved.”

A scoff escaped Rosie’s lips and she didn’t care to stop it, letting her anger rise a bit. “What have I been doing the last four years, then?” She asked incredulously.

“You’ve been standing in James’ place and in his shadow but this is your chance to be Princess Rosalie, all on her own and be who you are, not fulfilling James’ role,” Joseph tried to reason with her, and she arched a single brow at him. Standing on her own, outside of James’ shadow?! As much as they all liked to pretend it wasn’t the case, she’d always been and always would be in his shadow. The first-born, golden child of Ellington. She’d never hold it against him, but she didn’t think there was a single conversation she’d ever had with anyone, whether other dignitaries, tutors, or acquaintances, where James wasn’t brought up despite his absence. When you’re constantly reminded of being the second-best, the spare, and the insurance when compared to the eldest, who had their own miserable circumstances as well. It was all impossible, and it seemed Rosie stepped on the Palace’s lines much more than anyone had in the past.

Heavy was the head that wore the crown, but the pressure forced upon Rosie seemed to rival it, even on the best days.

“I think we all know I can’t be who I am,” she started, her voice quivering in her rising frustration. She ran a hand along her skirt, fingers coming to rest on an errant strand of fabric that her seamstress evidently missed. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult, we just all know that none of this is me. I was happy to stand in for James while he did what he wanted being in the Air Force but I thought that it was finally my chance to have some space.”

James’ eyes showed the weight on him, the internal struggle between duty and family. He cleared his throat quietly before whispering, “It’s only two more months, Rosie.”

“It just seems like there’s always something else. You think it’ll be the end and then the rug gets pulled out from under you,” Rosie muttered, her fingers lightly twisting the fabric, careful to not pull it from the skirt.

Joseph’s expression seemed heavy, his eyes pointed towards the ground as a hand covered part of his face, deep in thought. “I know it’s not ideal, but we need you to do this,” he decided, eyes coming to meet Rosie’s before he gestured to James. “James is the ultimate authority on it though.”

The Prince nodded, his shoulders squaring resolutely. “We don’t have a choice. Rosie, it has to be you,” he agreed, his voice strained despite his confident demeanor.

Rosie shot a look at the silent Queen, her eyes watching the conversation between her husband and eldest children intently. As she met Rosie’s eyes, the young woman shot her a pleading look, all but begging her to speak up.

Their mother hummed, giving Rosie a tight-lipped smile. “I think there is a security risk though,” she conceded sweetly, and Rosie’s shoulders slouched as she let out a small gasp of relief as her mother - the normally silent, meek woman - spoke up on her behalf.

But James ignored the magnitude of the situation, simply stating, “Then we’ll get more guards and protection.”

Rosie didn’t suppress the eye roll this time, huffing as she did so. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. It had always been the King and Prince show - it always would be, that was simply the nature of their life. The heirs mattered above all else, and their opinions shaped the lives of every person in the family. But she had continually struggled with the idea of letting it dictate her life, she wanted nothing more than to have some semblance of autonomy, despite knowing it was never in the cards, at least not now.

But it didn’t mean James’ insistence didn’t hurt. She felt he always understood where she was coming from, always looked out for her and Annie. But now, she was really seeing James step into the leadership position for the first time.

“Or I just don’t go, just reminding you all that it’s an option,” she muttered, waving a hand. Her frustration was cresting as the two men ignored not only Rosie’s, but her mother’s points as well - points that in all honesty scared Rosie.

The situation outside of the capital of Ellington was tenuous at best. Tensions had been rising for months now, and while King Joseph’s decision to keep silent may have been smart at first, it had done nothing to turn the tide since. And now to be sent into the lion’s den in all honesty scared Rosie. She was no stranger to security protocols, risks, and threats, but this had much eclipsed any past risks Rosie knew of. Each member of the Royal Family was under a microscope, never deviating from an internal schedule, always accompanied by several security members. And that was just what Rosie knew - she was sure there was more she was not privy to that James and her father were aware of.

A sudden loud crackle of the fire brought her out of her thoughts to find James rising, moving to pour himself a drink from the carafe on the long table nearby. She watched the sharpness of his shoulders, the unfamiliar stressful strain as he moved, causing Rosie to arch a brow at the sight. “I have to be here to step up in dad’s place. Rosie, you’re going to have to get used to this more.” James spoke dismissively.

She couldn’t help but look at James, her brows raising as fast as her anger - reaching levels she never knew James could elicit. “I’m the one who’s been doing this the past four years, remember?” Rosie asked sarcastically, her voice anything but amused.

He avoided her eyes, a hand reaching to run down his face as he attempted a placating, “It’s only two more months…”

She pushed out a breath, ready to respond when a sharp knock sounded at the door. All eyes landed on the oversized double wooden doors as the King’s Secretary waited for any protest before the doors pushed open.

The sudden intrusion didn’t seem to take anyone by surprise, but Rosie’s brows quickly furrowed as the aide stepped aside to reveal Edward Henry - the Communications Secretary for the Royal Family - and quite honestly Rosie’s least favorite person, who was carrying a large stack of papers.

She’d long struggled with the ‘duty’ aspect of her birthright position, the responsibility forced on her by an institution when all she wanted was normalcy. But between a lack of a proper childhood, wanting a normal university experience, being outspoken by nature, and maybe having a few brushes with untrustworthy so-called ‘friends’, she’d landed herself on Edward Henry’s bad side… quite literally for life.

At her father’s warm greeting to Edward after his obligatory bows to each member of the family, Rosie’s frustration grew. She knew she shouldn’t have come - she’d had a bad feeling about this meeting ever since receiving word of it at breakfast. Her suspicions grew when she realized Annie was omitted from the group, removing what would’ve been Rosie’s only true ally from the room and all conversations. But now, to see that the intention was never to plan a tour or shift schedules around to accommodate the King’s sudden change in health…. It was to focus on her.

The Palace and Royal Family both had struggled at times with her, Rosie could admit that herself. She felt as though she could never do things right, never be the person they tried to mold her to be. She was rigid in ways the Institution needed her to be pliable, soft in the ways they needed her to be tough, and sour when they needed her to be sweet.

“You’re joking me right?” Rosie finally spoke, arching her brow at her father as he warmly shook Edward’s hand, seeing the label ‘ITINERARY’ scribbled across the files he began handing to her father.

The King’s face hardened instantly. “Rosalie, don’t even start,” he warned, holding out his hand for Queen Genevieve to greet Edward.

But Edward was unphased, used to her often brash ways. “Princess, we have your itinerary to go over and I’d like to discuss some different things we’d like you to incorporate in your speeches at each one. Also we have picked out which charities you’ll be endorsing along the tour,” he informed her, handing copies of the folders to her mother and brother before sitting in the empty armchair between the two occupied sofas. His hand moved to hand her a copy, but ceased when the furious expression on her face was noticed.

A bitter chuckle escaped her. “So none of this mattered,” she mused, frowning as she looked at her father pointedly. “No matter what I said or felt or even what James decided didn’t matter because everything was already decided on,”

But the man simply shrugged as he paged through the plans, brows furrowed while he sat down on the sofa again. “We had to make a plan,” he informed her, as if it was that simple.

With a roll of her eyes, Rosie pushed herself off the couch. “Fine, then make your plan. It’s obvious you don’t need me here for any of it,” she informed them, dropping her eyes as she moved towards the shut doors. She could hear the sharp breath her mother took at her outright rudeness towards not only Edward, but James and her father. A scowl crossed Rosie’s lips as her eyes prickled with tears and she focused on the sound of her heels as she raced to the door.

If anyone attempted to say anything or chastise her, she didn’t hear - nor did she care - as the door practically slammed behind her. The guards standing outside the door pointedly avoided her eyes, telling Rosie everything she needed to know about what they heard. She had already turned to leave the wing when that thought made her stop. Her lip was quivering as she met the older guard’s eyes - Albert, she reminded herself, he’d accompanied her to riding lessons as a young girl - and she was surprised when he silently led the other guard to stand across the hall instead without a word, giving her the encouragement she needed.

She stood just beyond the door, giving herself enough space to make an escape if needed, but close enough to be able to hear the conversation inside.

Despite her mother’s objection, they’d clearly moved on from her outburst as she heard her father speaking, his voice carrying easily. “James, there’s a lot riding on that tour. I don’t have to tell you with all the political tension going on and protests, everyone is going to be looking at this tour and how it goes.”

“What your dad is saying is you’re going to need to keep an eye on Rosalie,” her mother said, and Rosie’s brow furrowed. She’d been doing just fine the last few years - handling double duty without anyone batting an eye. Why is she all of the sudden not good enough? But she caught herself as she thought - remembering that the golden boy had been occupied with serving Ellington in the Air Force. They must’ve had to make due with “second-best”, and Rosie’s best was no longer good enough.

But she was surprised when James was the one to speak, defending her and saying, “She’s been in my place the last couple years though and she’s done fine.”

A bitter chuckle escaped Edward and Rosie wanted nothing more than to disappear at that second, admittedly it was all she’d ever wanted. “It depends on the way you look at it,” Edward pointed out.

But James wasn’t going down without a fight, pointing out, “Well the press love her. I mean, there isn’t hardly a week that went by that the people’s princess wasn’t splashed on some headline.”

The scowl returned and the tears threatened to leak from her eyes as Edward finally contributed, his voice like nails on a chalkboard to her as he said, “And that’s the problem. You may love Rosalie’s personality but currently she’s in line to the throne after you and represents the royal family. If she were the youngest it would be different but she has to start taking this seriously and be more neutral.”

She tapped her fingers against her side nervously. Rosie had always known that this was the opinion of her amongst those on the outside of the family, who worked to polish and prime them. They’d attempted to do so to her for years, but they’d always gotten along like oil and water. But to be confronted with this and to overhear this, to know her own parents felt this way, hurt.

However, a small flutter of hope settled in her as James again attempted to defend her, his voice unwavering as he said, “She’s right, she has stepped into my role the past couple years and done well.”

“We just don’t think she fully sees the weight of this because you’re the one who’s next in line to the throne,” Joseph admitted, and Rosie had to do everything she could to keep herself quiet.

Yes, James’ role was unique and seemed miserable in itself. He had no choice in his life, in his future, in anything - even more than Rosie. But to live this life solely being second-place, second-loved, second-everything to someone was a different kind of miserable. You couldn’t compare the two, but neither were ideal, and for anyone to try to frame it that way completely ignored everything both she and Annie had gone through.

The grating returned to Rosie as Edward - the absolute bane of her fucking existence - unnecesarily added, “Ellington has only ever had two Queens both of them knew how to fall in line. Nobody knows what to do with Rosalie and it’s not a great look for the palace.”

“People relate to her though!” James insisted, his voice rising.

“Royals aren’t supposed to be relatable, if they are, what’s the point of having them?” Edward challenged.

There was a long silence and Rosie found herself stuck between wanting nothing more to leave and forget this all ever happened, just like she had so many times before in her life, and wanting to creep closer as the fear of missing something grew as the silence continued. Her mind was still racing, fighting against itself as she stood frozen with nearly trembling ankles when she heard James’ voice. It was soft, as if the fight had left him as he helplessly asked, “…So what do you suggest I do?”

“Just do what you can to help this tour go well. A lot hinges on this and her,” Joseph encouraged, his voice suddenly softer as well. A slight scowl graced Rosie’s lips at that realization, knowing that James often got a side of their parents that neither she nor Annie ever got. He’d gotten the most time with them - whether because of duty or love, it almost didn’t matter. She saw how much Annie yearned to have the relationship James had with them, and she found herself wishing for it at times too.

Her ear pressed closer to the overly-ornate wooden doors, yearning to hear more, but she wished she hadn’t as Edward explained, “What the Prince said isn’t wrong. The public is for the Princess, but in this tumultuous time, we need her to present more stability. People need to be comforted knowing that the royal family is stable and has the country’s best interest at heart.”

She stared at the floor, brows furrowing and confusion flooding her at those words. Unstable? Her? Sometimes she felt like the only sane person in this equation.

Her confusion was shared as James - his voice strong and firm - pointed out, “I don’t think Rosie can really be categorized as unstable.”

But Edward simply chuckled again, explaining, “Saying things off script in speeches or breaking social norms for royalty is viewed as unstable.”

“We just need her to be a constant unwavering person that people can look up to, especially when it got leaked about my health.” Her father spoke strongly. Rosie felt a pang of sympathy - if this heart attack had never happened, then maybe this wouldn’t be happening. But it all seemed too convenient, the empty promises of privacy and autonomy, the sudden return of James. “We need steadiness. This tour is what can bring it and allow everyone to see Rosie as the one to help bring it.”

“I know she can do it, I just wish she didn’t have to,” James admitted, and Rosie sighed at those simple words, knowing just how much honesty was behind them.

She wasn’t surprised when her father spoke again, his words reeking of lessons a life in the public eye and service had given him. “Our life is a heavy burden at times, but whether good or bad, the crown has fallen on us. That includes Rosalie and we have to make sure we steward it well, and that matters more than any of our personal feelings.”

Tears burned at Rosie’s eyes as the weight of what they were saying sunk in. She wasn’t stupid, she was painfully aware of her image and what people thought of her. Her entire life was dictated by it and what was or wasn’t on the front page of a newspaper. The past four years she had done everything in her power to push down who the real Rosie was, trying to step into James’ shoes to allow him to have the bit of fleeting normalcy they all craved but always seemed to elude them. It had nearly killed her to shove so much of herself down, but she had done it for her duty, her country, and - most of all - for her brother. But now to hear that it wasn’t good enough? It felt like rubbing salt in the open wound on her heart.

She had absolutely no idea what else they could possibly want from her short of ripping away every single part of her personality. And the worst part? It seemed fruitless. No matter what she did, it just always fell short. Her only saving grace that kept some hope alive inside of her was that James was back. He was her only shot at being able to get some of herself back that had been buried little by little.

Once Rosie heard the group stand and pleasantries being exchanged among her parents and Edward, she raced away from the door and down the hall, not wanting to be seen. She wiped furiously at her eyes as she grappled with the onslaught of information, but quickly had to push it from her mind as her assistant called out to her, plastering a smile on her face as Claire began to explain what they needed to do to prepare for the gala honoring the military that evening.

___________________________________________________

Rosie had kept the smile glued to her face all evening, determined to be on her best behavior. While she may have chosen the other option in the past - the “fine, I’ll be what you think of me” option - today, she couldn’t. If she did, she knew what was at risk, what was on the line, and she just couldn’t stomach willingly doing it tonight.

She’d made her rounds, thanked as many service members she could find, listened to as many stories as she could stomach, laughed as many times as she could without a hint of humor actually being behind it, and had finally escaped to the side room with Claire to fix the strap of her heels when James slipped into the otherwise-empty room.

She avoided his eyes with everything in her, instead taking a long sip of her champagne to quell her nerves when James came to stand next to her, his voice low despite Claire’s proximity.

“Rosie c’mon, I know you don’t want to do this. I get it. I wish I could give you a break but I don’t have a choice,” he pleaded.

Her shoulders hunched, knowing he was truly stuck. He had to live up to what their father expected - what everyone expected - but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to go against her big brother. “I know you don’t, and I don’t mean to make it harder on you. I just suck at all of this, James.” she explained.

“No you don’t. The press is for you, everyone loves you,” he reminded her, his voice soft and sweet. She appreciated the sentiment - but it felt empty to her after what she had overheard merely hours earlier.

“I just was hoping I’d finally have a break,” she admitted with a whisper, not knowing how to put it more simply than that.

James sighed, his frustration at the impossible situation evident. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he murmured, and there was no doubt in Rosie’s mind that he was honest. “I love you and you know I’m going to do what I can to make it easier.”

“I love you too and I don’t want to be difficult, I really don’t,” she explained, turning as Clarie finished and scampered back into the party, leaving the siblings alone with the guards standing by the doors. “I’m just… disappointed I guess and I feel bad because I don’t want to make this worse on dad or you. I just hate doing these tours.”

“I had an idea though,” James began, pausing as Rosie arched a brow at him. He took a deep breath, evidently steeling himself.“What if I asked my friend to be your pilot for the tour? You remember Chris, right? My best friend from the Air Force? He’s standing out there right next to the bar.” He asked, pointing through the glass doorway to Chris.

Rosie sighed, not feeling like any of this was a good idea - especially from James - after this afternoon. There was just too much going on, Rosie feeling like so much had been shaken today. “Can’t Martin do it?” She asked, her voice meek. She knew if she had to go on this tour, if she had to deal with the risks and the tensions associated with it, that comfort would do her good. And Martin - the longtime Palace Security Head, who all but attended all of her birthday parties growing up and was truly like a father to her, would fit the bill.

“I need to pick someone who can also be with you to certain events to be your security and we both know Martin is getting too old for that,” James explained, nudging her with his elbow. “C’mon, would I stick you with someone shitty? Chris is the only person who treated me like a normal guy. You’d get along with him great and I can trust him.”

“I just…” Rosie’s voice started to trail as the feelings inside her were unable to come out of her mouth.

James’ eyebrows arched as he reached out a hand to rest on her arm, softly prodding, “What?”

There was so much Rosie wanted to say, but she knew at this point it didn’t matter. Everything had been decided for her as it had been for so long and she just quietly admitted, “I just wish I didn’t have to do this.”

Although James moved to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle hug, Rosie felt anything but comforted. For years she had looked forward to James returning from the Air Force, especially with his voluntary choice to stay in the service for two years longer than was customary for royals. She remembered that call, James explaining that being in the Air Force was the first time he had felt normal, been treated normal, and felt like he had a bigger purpose and that he wanted to stay longer. Rosie knew it meant she had to step up to stay in his shoes longer than anticipated but she was willing to do it for him.

But it was finally going to be her turn. She was going to be able to pull back from the spotlight, disappear the way she had wanted to for so long and try to have some semblance of a normal life. All of that had been ripped away from her in what felt like an instant, prolonging and making her presence on the country even bigger which was the absolute opposite of what she wanted, but Rosie knew she didn’t have a choice.

Two months. She could do anything for two months. And then she’d be free.

[rystiel]

sorta not-too-shitty stepdad stan takes tate fishing

(he’s that weird guy who’s always with his dad when tate visits on the weekends after his parents’ divorce)

[love-mabel]

the thing is, ford and dipper are both nerds and whatever, but dipper has always been the one textually compared to stan. he tries to toughen dipper up because he sees himself in him, because he wants dipper to be able to fight back when the world starts swinging. and i just think there's merit to that in roleswaps—dipper isn't an academic like ford is, he is a complete and utter dork.

[themintman]

that one "do you think we're friends in every universe" Dan and Tray post I made AGES ago but space dogified.. rubs my hands together like a cartoon villain

The drawing 👇👇 based on this one painting my friend sent me AGES ago to draw for a different au (mermal 🎉🐟) but uh. IT GOT TURNED INTO A TDM THING-

also the original post I made

[tremendously-crazy]

guys please. when I say I like sherlock holmes

this is NOT what I mean

[sapphicyanli]

the potential toxic rivalry yuri these two couldve went down the path to....both from low class....both have been underestimated by men....but sun ah seek revenge to the rich that had harmed them but jin joo instead trying to fix the system by becoming a judge....good god

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 (Part One)

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

Chapter Summary: You let Mister Miller help you out of a slump and learn you might like a little pain

WC: 8.9k

CW: Reader as some descriptors (freckles, long hair etc) so this might be more of an original character vs female reader. Dom/Sub dynamics, pet names (sweet girl, baby, baby girl etc). More CW in red below the cut but will contain spoilers.

AN: THANK YOU for being sooooo patient with me while I delayed this chapter. This is only HALF of the chapter and as soon as my lovely @lotusbxtch beta's the other half I will post it. No pressure thought, bb!! I just couldn't WAIT to share this since you've all been so wonderful and supportive. Moodboard by me, dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

CW: riding crop, oral (male and female receiving), male masturbation, female orgasms, hand cuffs, deep throating/face fucking, descriptions of self doubt and panic attacks; reader is going through it, ok? Hair pulling, Joel is a bit mean but he does it with love and care. Joel being a consent and aftercare king.

Joel

Joel sits on the Trocadéro platform of Café de l’Homme, the birds chirping and the sound of rustling papers keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts of you. Sarah sits across from him, a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower to their left, and a buying agreement typed out in French taking up most of the table. Joel might not look like it, but he can see himself eventually living out his years in either Paris or Italy. He speaks enough French and Italian to get by, but relies on Sarah to read over the contract for her new condo. His baby girl is a doctor and now that she’s almost a year into her surgery residency, this condo is her graduation present finally coming to fruition. 

He looks down at his phone, opening the text thread he has with you. He’s been trying to give you space to study this week, telling himself each day that this isn’t what you signed up for but he can’t help himself, and when you responded with a selfie of yourself in your maid discreetly polo the other day he knew there was no way he’d be able to keep that pledge to himself anymore. Joel looks at the time, factoring in the time change, and your LSAT retake is in a few hours. His thumbs move on their own.

Good Morning. Good luck on your LSAT today.

He attaches a picture of the coffee he had that morning before hitting send. 

The waiter comes by to take their orders, Sarah’s French flowing from her lips as easily as she breathes, happily telling the waiter what both her and her dad will have. Joel mutters a ‘merci’ as the waiter nods. 

Thank you. That coffee looks a lot better than mine.

A selfie of you, all pink cheeked and smiling follows. A paper to go cup with a plastic lid in your hand beside your face. 

Were you running?

“How’s it going over there?” Joel says over his phone screen to Sarah, her focus is intent on the stack of papers in front of her. 

“Shh, I’m reading,” she says lightly as the waiter opens an expensive looking bottle of white wine and pours a little for her to try. After taking her small sip and nodding at the waiter she looks to her dad. “What? I thought we were celebrating!”

He shakes his head, laughing at his daughter as both of them look back at what they were doing.

Yes. I run most mornings. Gotta clear my head.

What’s bothering you, sweet girl?

You know, you calling me that has the same effect as me calling you Mister Miller.

Ok, we’ll just call each other by our names then.

Joel is so wrapped up in his little bubble with you that he doesn’t notice Sarah sitting back and watching him as she sips her wine.

That’s no fun, let’s come up with safe nicknames.

He feels the side of cheek tug up. She’s so fucking cute.

Alright, I’m calling you giggles

What am I, a rodeo clown?

Joel laughs silently to himself, not realizing that he’s sporting a full and cheesy ear to ear grin across his face. 

Fine - Freckles

Eww, that’s what the mean girls in high school used to call me

Well the hot, successful man who owns a sex club and supplies your orgasms finds your freckles incredibly sexy. What’s my safe nickname?

“Who are you texting?” Sarah says, her voice thick with amusement. 

Joel clicks his phone shut, laying it face down on the table. He wipes the smile off his face and looks up at Sarah like a child who just got caught stealing candy. “No one. Just work stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure dad. I know that smile. Did you meet someone?”

Joel grabs his wine, taking a larger drink then necessary. A drink of someone who’s lying. There’s no way he can tell his daughter about this. Sure, Sarah knows about the club but they never talk about what goes on there. “No! Of course not. I’m too busy for that.”

Her eyes blink to his phone as it vibrates on the table, but he keeps his attention on Sarah, his wine glass looking comically small in his large hand. “I’ll just ask uncle Tommy.”

“Funny story, he’s been removed from the family.” He deadpans.

“Tess will tell me then,” Sarah says, her and her dad both challenging each other jokingly.

“Who? Never heard of a Tess before,” Joel says, crossing his arms. 

Sarah laughs into her wine glass, “Ok dad. Look, I want you to meet someone, so don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, you’re a catch and have been alone for a long time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Sarah. Not yet at least.” His phone vibrates again and she cocks an eyebrow before going back to her papers.

Joel scoops up his phone to read your texts.

Huh, suddenly I’m over being bullied. Weird.  Oh, I have the peeerrrfect nickname for you!

Go on, Freckles…

Sweet Cheeks, cuz seriously Miller, dat ass. 

Daaaammmnn!

You’re treading on mighty thin ice, baby girl 

Joel, I have a serious question…

Go on?

Are your suit pants tailored TO your ass?!

Joel chokes on his wine, trying to stifle his laugh.

“Alright, who is she?”

“Fine. I met someone, but she’s really young, like younger than you, Sarah. And she’s leaving soon for law school so it’s just best if I don’t talk about it.”

Sarah smiles at her dad. “First of all, I don’t care if she’s younger than me, especially seeing you smile like that. Do you have any idea how many of the girls at college wanted you? You're my dad, so it’s gross to say, but you were the campus DILF.”

Joel feels himself blushing as she continues, “Second of all, you don’t have to end things just because of school. Me and Wyatt maintained our relationship while I was in New York and he was in Seattle.” As she wiggles the pear shaped diamond on her left hand the waiter brings out their food, and Joel changes the subject to the condo that he just bought for his incredible daughter. 

Our little girl did it, Tiff. Thank you for giving her to me, he thinks.

You

“That’s time, everyone,” The proctor calls from the front of the stuffy, windowless room that you and forty five other law school hopefuls have been in for just over three hours. 

You let out a slow breath, cheeks puffing and eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t finish, last time you finished, and the proctor has been eyeing you the entire time. He knows, he fucking knows you aren’t nearly as qualified or as smart as the rest of the people in this room. That line from Gilmore Girls, something about having shiny Harvard hair is all your anxiety can focus on. The people in this room have Havard hair, even the men. You don’t belong here.

You’ve never been in a lower spot and after the high of the flirty text conversation with Joel this morning you didn’t anything could get you down. In the span of just a few hours you’ve been completely torn apart, you can feel the panic attack clawing greedily at your chest. You fucking blew it, all of it. You blew your chances at law school, you blew your future as a lawyer and, in turn, your future as a judge. You’ll be cleaning houses forever, and not that there’s anything wrong with being a professional maid, but it’s not your goal.

Maybe I was fucking stupid for only having one goal. Maybe I need to do something else with my degree. Maybe my father was right, I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. Maybe my mother was right too, I’m the smartest girl at home but the world is going to chew me up and spit me out. It’s doing that right now, isn’t it? 

Your feet take you to the locker where your phone’s been locked up, and then out to your car. You don’t notice the warm late March air when you leave the testing building and there's a good chance that you jay walked, narrowly missing being hit by a car as you walked to the parking lot. Before turning the key in the ignition you open your phone, there’s a little red bubble on the JMK app. When you tap on it you have a new calendar section and Joel has invited you to the club tomorrow night. You stare down at it, waiting and hoping to feel something. That excited giddiness you usually feel, or the butterflies that typically erupt in your stomach, but nothing comes. You close out of the app without accepting the invite and drive home. 

A soft knock on your door pulls you from the anxiety-ridden nightmares you’ve been slipping in and out of. In the first one, you were having your degree taken away. In the second, you were sitting on the end of the bed in Joel’s private room looking out a window into the voyeur room. Joel was walking another woman around, similar to how he did with you the first time. The one that your roommate interrupted involved you being completely naked while trying to find your first class at Harvard.

“Babe?” Odette’s calm voice fills your room, “You ok?”

You tap your phone screen: 9 pm. You’ve been passed out all afternoon and evening. 

“Ya, just had a hard day.” You try to move out from the blankets, but they’re tangled around your limbs; a clear sign that you were restless in your sleep.

“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza. You have a few more college letters too, I think three were in the mailbox today.” Her voice is light and excited, as if she’s trying to pump you up. 

“Thanks, O. I’ll, umm, I’ll be out in a sec.”

The door shuts gently and the tears finally come. Five minutes, you tell yourself, before you start sobbing into your pillow to not alert Odette. After your allotted crying time is up, you open your phone. Messages from Jamie and Laren are left on read before you slide into the JMK app and accept Joel's request to meet at the club tomorrow night. You join Odette for a late dinner, but there’s no way you’re opening those letters tonight. 

Cap drops you off outside of the club the next night. This seems to be the officially unofficial routine of being Joel’s sub and you aren’t sure why. Cap confirmed last time that he didn’t do this for the other girls; you don’t deserve special treatment.

Any treatment, really, you think. Even the little box of feelings in your mind feels the same way, sulking sadly in the dark corner you banished it to. 

The black marble foyer feels cold and mocking tonight, even with the beautiful hostess smiling brightly and greeting you by name. As you turn towards the entrance to the club, a man dressed in an impeccable black suit holds his arm out for you. 

“Good evening, Miss. Joel asked me to escort you to his room tonight.”

You nod, forcing a smile and a thank you. All this black feels like he’s walking you to your own funeral. As you step into the club there are people everywhere. Couples are dancing, people are taking up the tables and the barstools. The deep bass of the music thumps through the club and the nagging pressure behind your right eye threatens to pop it right from its socket. 

The security guard holds his wrist to the pad on the door and holds it open for you.

“Thanks,” you say again through another fake smile. 

The door clicks behind you and the music dulls, the only light on this side of the door comes from the propped open door of Mister Miller’s room. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door frame and Joel steps into view. Your eyes travel from his shiny black dress shoes, up the perfectly tailored black dress pants and fitted white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong muscle lined forearms that usually drive you wild. You stand there, waiting and hoping to feel something, but just like in your car yesterday, nothing comes. Meanwhile, he’s smiling at you as if he’s just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

“Hi, my sweet girl,” Joel’s voice usually coats you like warm molasses, especially when he calls you his. But the rejection letters feel like they have plastered themselves onto you, seemingly creating a hard shell, keeping that miserable gray fog from escaping. 

“Hi, Mister Miller,” you say obediently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is wrong. 

He motions for you to come inside, and pulls you into his arms as the door quietly clicks shut behind you. You wrap yours around his waist subconsciously as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re sure the two of you have embraced like this before but right now it feels foreign. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days. I’m sorry, I can go. I don’t want to drag you down.” Your hands fist his dress shirt, a silent cry for him to not let you leave as an annoying dry lump forms in your throat. 

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, baby girl.” His hands run long, slow lines up and down your back as he brings his forehead to meet yours.

The pounding of the music on the other side of the club fades away completely as his eyes melt into yours. It's absurd that you missed him, isn’t it? You are his submissive, nothing else. But when he looks at you the way he is now it’s hard to remember up from down. The pressure behind your eye dissipates as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck and squeezes gently. From the outside eye, you could almost argue that he’s acting as if he missed you too.

His voice is a soft whisper as he continues, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it’s his years of experience as a dom and taking care of his subs. Or maybe this is just normal for him, but you aren’t used to someone wanting to talk about it. You’re used to a quick hug and a shitty pep talk. His hands felt heavenly on your clothed body, but as they brush against the bare skin of your neck to cup your cheeks they’re out of this world. This strong, successful, handsome man is giving you his full attention, wants to give you his full attention, and as his nose runs down yours it finally happens. 

Your body is flooded with that familiar desire. Your breathing catches as you practically moan, “No, I need you to make me forget. Help me, Mister Miller. Please?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, exposing that dimple that makes him so damn endearing as he pulls his face back from yours. “I’m going to push you tonight, sweet girl.” He slides your faux leather jacket off, letting it hit the floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you say, your voice turning husky. 

His eyes dance around your features and with a single blink he switches. You don’t think you could ever describe it, but it’s like he puts on a mask. His soft brown eyes turn almost onyx, the muscles in his jaw seem flexed, but it’s his voice that really gives away when he’s transformed into his fully dominant form. Joel’s voice is deep yet has a soft aura. Mister Miller's voice on the other hand is full of gravel, and nothing is a suggestion. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Joel steps back, watching as you slip your bare feet out of your sandals. You felt underdressed tonight, but you just couldn’t convince yourself to put together an outfit. Your denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt come off easily and after stepping out of your shorts you look up at Mister Miller. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as he takes you in, eyes widening at your lack of bra and panties tonight.

“Dirty little girl.” He accentuates every word as his eyes travel a burning path up and down your exposed skin and then to the side of the room behind you. “See that pillow?”

You spin slowly, a black velvet pillow sits on the floor, handcuffs hanging above it from a chain connected to the ceiling. You look over your bare shoulder at Joel who simply juts his chin towards it in a silent command. As you walk towards the pillow, the metallic clink of his ring hitting the ceramic dish washes over you. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you feel the anxiety leaving your body. The doubt that has been screaming at you dulls to a barely-there whisper. For a second you feel weightless, floating towards the black pillow like the little styrofoam packing peanuts you used to place in rain run off as a kid.

‘No one has ever made you feel like this’. The little box of feelings says from the dark, ‘He’d take care of you, if you let him.’ You push that box deeper into the archives of your mind as you stop in front of the pillow.

Joel’s voice is deep, almost a menacing growl from behind you as he says, “Kneel.”

Your mind shuts off completely as you comply, dropping to your knees, facing the wall, and tucking your feet underneath you.

“Toes planted on the floor, sweet girl.” You adjust how you're sitting, exposing the soles of your feet to Joel as he walks towards you, his expensive dress shoes clicking slightly on the hardwood. You can feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches from your bare skin. “Good. Hands up.”

His touch is gentle as he places the cuffs around your wrists. “What’s your safeword?”

“Stegosaurus,” you say softly.

“Louder!” He barks.

You jump slightly before saying it again with confidence, “Stegosaurus.”

Joel takes a small step towards the wall and tugs the other end of the chain to pull it tighter, stretching your arms up above your head. You’re almost lifted off your knees. A small piece of leather running up and down your spine and your breathing starts to speed up. The anticipation of what’s to come almost has you bursting at the seams.

“This is a riding crop. You said you’re interested in impact play, as well as paddles, whips and crops. Is that correct?”

You nod, your throat going dry and voice cracking as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“How’d your LSAT go, baby?”

“I…I th-think I failed,” you murmur.

A sharp snapping sound fills the room, quickly followed by red hot pain on your right ass cheek; you gasp at the sensation.

The soft leather goes back to tracing your spine, slowly up and down, almost feather light and ticklish. “Again, how did your LSAT go?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller. But,” your try to swallow the dry lump in your throat. “I think I failed.”

As if he’s had years of sniper training, he strikes you in the exact same spot. This time your body jerks, the chains rattling above you as you cry out. However, the heat of this strike spreads right to your clit, and your cry morphs into a whine of pleasure.

“Sweet girl, do you belong to me?” He trails the leather along your hip, slowly teasing up your side.

“Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect?” The soft end of the crop continues its trail, over the side of your breast and to your armpit.

“No.” You whisper. 

I can’t do this, he’s going to ask me to say I’m perfect and I can’t do it. 

“I don’t appreciate you talking bad about something I own.” A strike lands on the sole of your left foot, you hadn’t even realized the crop had moved from your arm. He taps the foot again, lighter this time but the pain from the first strike hasn’t ceased, a strangled cry passes your lips. “Especially when what you’re talking about is yourself.”

Another strike hits your right ass cheek and the red hot stings of it causes you to shoot up onto your knees. The chains above you rattle and go slack. Joel makes a noise similar to a growl behind you before two quick snaps land on the back of both of your thighs. “Kneel, sweet girl.”

You’re shocked by the moans and gasps that are filling the room, sounds that are unconsciously coming from your own mouth. Your pussy is throbbing and as you settle back onto your heels you realize how wet you are. You didn’t think you’d like this this much. 

“You need to learn how to stay still without being tied down.”

“Sorry, Mister Miller,” you whine through the panting breaths you’re taking. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, striking your left cheek and then gently rubbing along your ass. “How did your LSAT go?”

“I…It…I don’t know,” you say defeatedly.

He hits the sole of your left foot again, then your right ass cheek and this time your body acts on its own, your hips tilting to push your ass out towards Joel, a needy moan filling the room. “Come on, baby girl. Use your words.”

“It was harder then I remember,” you hum, your body practically vibrating with need. God, you can’t believe how good this feels.

The crop makes a slow line from the top of your ass, up your spine again and you tense up, sucking in a big breath. “Relax, my sweet girl. Until we talk about it, I will never strike you anywhere above the waist.”

“In fact,” he continues. “Anywhere here,” he draws a big circle along your entire lower back, “Should never, ever, be hit.”

“Ok, th-thank you.” You sink onto your heels again, your inner thighs are almost slippery with how turned on you are. 

Joel laughs lightly, “You’re welcome. So, it was harder than you remember?”

“Y-yes. I think I failed, Joel.” As soon you say it, you know you’ve fucked up. Eight quick, sharp snaps of the crop hit; two on each ass cheek and two on each foot, all at random. It’s over faster than you can apologize, and the walls of your pussy spasm with each crack of leather on skin. “Sorry, Mister Mill, hnng, M-Miller.”

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as he speaks. “Again, it was harder than you remember?”

You whine before whispering, “Yes, but I tried my hardest.”

“Up,” Joel commands, pulling the chain so you’re up on your knees. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

He bends down behind you, the heat of his broad upper body warming your back. His strong hands grip your waist to steady you as you walk your knees out. “That’s it, good job sweet girl.”

His praise shifts everything. Sure, maybe you failed, but you are stronger than a little test. You are bigger than law school. If you don’t get in, you’ll try again and you’ll keep on trying, because you can do anything. A bright light shines on the little box of feelings.

The crop lightly tapping your inner thigh brings your back to the moment. “Please, Mister Miller.”

“You don’t have to ask, sweet girl. If this is enough to make you come then let go for me.” He whispers, trailing the leather of the crop up your thigh before trailing down the other.

“I need you to touch me,” you whine, letting your head fall forward. 

“Aww, poor baby,” he mocks before bringing the little leather square between your legs and taps lightly against your swollen clit.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“Yea? My perfect sweet girl gonna come?”

“Yes,” you cry, head now falling back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Tell me,” he commands, stopping the tapping and just letting the soft leather rest against you, “Tell me you're perfect.”

“No, please,” you murmur.

“Tell me you’re perfect and you can come, sweet girl.” The crop is barely touching you now. 

“I’m perfect,” you whine.

He smacks your clit harder once, twice and with the third snap of the crop you fall over the edge. The chains rattle as pleasure consumes you. Your orgasm rolls through you so hard and all you can do is take it. You moan loudly and your legs start to give out beneath you, the handcuffs and chain above you the only thing holding you up.

Joel

Fuck, she looks absolutely stunning when she finally submits. My beautiful, broken girl. She’s so smart, so driven, always pushing, pushing, pushing. Always taking care of everyone else. I wish she’d just let go, let me take care of her. 

As you slump forward he drops the riding crop, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you up, as he undoes the cuffs. You go completely boneless in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his soft lips peppering kisses along the top of your glistening shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. God, you’re so beautiful.”

He supports your weakened body, lowering you to the floor and rolling you onto your back. He pushes the hair that’s stuck to your sweat soaked forehead back. The soft and mischievous smile across your face is exactly what he was hoping for; you’re not ready to be done yet and luckily, neither is he. 

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers, gravel in his throat, before kissing your forehead.

Joel stands and takes a few long strides across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes glued to him as he walks away. After your joke about his pants he picked a pair that's extra snug, just for you. He’s never picked an outfit for a sub before, and this just further proves that even if he’s not ready to fully admit it to himself yet, you are so much more than just a sub. 

“Sweet girl, come here.” He pats his thigh. As you sit up he says, “No, I want you to crawl to me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing, and his heart nearly flutters right out of his fucking chest as you say, “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He wants to wrap you in his arms and praise you, but you’re responding so well to him being mean and he knows you need him to keep going. “I said to fucking crawl.”

When you get on your hands and knees, his cock swells to its full potential, pushing painfully behind the zipper of his dress pants. He begins memorizing every inch of your glistening skin and the lust-filled expression on your face as you move so beautifully across the room. 

“Like this, Mister Miller?” You ask innocently, wetting your lips and effectively ruining his life at the same time. 

“Just like that, my sweet girl,” he praises, sitting back up and patting his thigh as he adds, “All the way, then rest your head right here.”

You finally reach him, settling yourself in a kneeling position again and laying your head on his lap, big eyes looking up at him sweetly. His short nails scrape along your scalp as his fingers card through your hair and butterflies fill his stomach as you melt into his touch. “You look so pretty like this. So sweet and submissive. I’m a bad man for the thoughts I have about you when you’re like this.”

You hum quietly, eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. You’re fully at his mercy, trusting him to do what he thinks is best. It’s not a role he takes lightly, not like when he was younger. If this was fifteen years ago you still be handcuffed to that ceiling as he fucked you, but after breaking a lot of hearts he’s reformed his ways. No sex, that’s the rule, as badly as he’d love to sink into your tight, wet heat, you’re trusting him to keep you safe. 

A sense of calm and comfort washes over him as he continues to massage at your scalp, and he smiles to himself as your body gets heavier between his spread thighs. There’s lots of things he likes about you, but the thing he loves the most is how he never knows what’s going to come out of your mouth next. And you prove that when your eyes flutter open and you confidently say, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Fuck, baby. Gonna give me a heart attack sayin’ shit like that outta the blue.”

Your perfect pink lips curl up into a shy smile, his hand moving from your hair so he can brush his knuckles lightly down your cheek. “S’ that what you want? To suck on my cock?”

Your head comes off his lap as you nod up at him. “Yes, Mister Miller. Please?”

“You know that you don’t have to do that. Right? I don’t do this for orgasms, it’s about so much more than that for me.” He asks softly, knuckles trailing your jaw. 

“I know, it’s more than that for me too, but I want to.”

The two of you look at one another for a while, eyes dancing along each other's faces. His voice comes out thick and full of sand, “Take it out.” 

He sits back, resting his hands on the bed behind him as your hands go to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and then opening his pants. His thick cock springs free as you pull down his soft black boxers, the tip already leaking a bead of milky precome. As you eagerly press the flat of your tongue to the tip, he stifles a moan and watches as your eyes widen. He knows that look, it’s the same look every other man and woman has when they see it for the first time. Joel’s never been with someone of the same sex, but on the rare times he’s shared a sub with another man they have the same expression too.

“You have a piercing,” you say, curiosity thick in your voice, eyes glued to the nickel sized silver hoop that sits at the very bottom of his pelvis, the bottom of the hoop sitting just above the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the questions about the unusual placement of it run behind your inquisitive eyes. 

Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock now, your pinky grazing the shiny metal, and his hands fist the sheets behind him to stop himself from grabbing you. “I didn’t know that was a place people pierced.”

He smirks. “Welcome to the wonderful world of kink, sweet girl.” 

He got the piercing shortly after he began his journey to become a dom. In certain positions it can be very beneficial for his partner, and even though he’s vowed over and over again to himself that he’s not going to cross that line with you, he can’t help but imagine your perfect face as you find out exactly what it can do. A little piece of metal that would stimulate your clit as he fucks you.

Your soft pink tongue wets your lips before you begin to suckle on the sensitive rosy pink tip of his cock. His lips part with a quiet sigh. The entire tip of his cock slips into your mouth and his hands clench harder at the fluffy white sheets, desperately trying to let you explore him when all he wants to do is wrap your silky hair around his hands and hear what you sound like when you gag. His efforts double as you hum and then swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, big doe eyes looking up at him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whimpers. “Do that again.” You smile up at him sweetly and his heart starts to thunder behind his ribs. This isn’t a good idea. He should just focus on you, he gets off on that too, just in a much different way. 

Submissives come to him for many different reasons but he’s a dominant for one reason only. From the minute Tiffany passed, Joel has been responsible for everything. From raising Sarah, to bailing out Tommy whenever he got in trouble. Not to mention his construction job, which eventually led to being a business owner. Everyone needed everything from Joel. He had to pivot plans or multitask, nothing ever went as planned; but when he’s Mister Miller it goes exactly how he wants it to. He can say no, he can make them beg or say please, he plans what happens and it goes just how it’s supposed to. For a man who is supposed to be “the boss”, he only feels in control when he’s playing the role of dominant. 

And then came you. This beautiful little ray of light. From that first gasp and wide eyed stare in his office he had a feeling about you. And then everything that came out of your mouth took him by surprise. And right now, how good your mouth feels has him even more surprised. 

You haven’t looked away as you’ve worked more of him down your throat, your hand moves in tandem with your mouth, and your tongue flicks against the ridge along the bottom of the tip each time. 

“Feels s’good, sweet girl.” One of his hands moves on its own, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can take more though. Come on. Be a good girl and take it all.” 

A small humming giggle vibrates along his length as you work more of him into your mouth and he can’t fight it anymore. Both his hands come to your hair, pushing it back as he wraps the soft strands around his fingers and grips tightly, guiding you down and holding you as low as he can get you before you gag. “Good fuckin’ girl. Jus’ like that.” 

You

Joel’s salty precum is like a drug. You want it. Need it. And know you’re going to crave it forever. He’s been mean tonight, something you haven’t really seen from him, but it was exactly what had to happen to get your head back on straight. You needed a harsh hand to snap you out of the dark looming cloud that’s been threatening to swallow you whole. 

You’ve probably always suffered from depression or high-functioning anxiety, not that your parents would have noticed or said anything. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten their braggable daughter diagnosed. God forbid you weren’t something for them to hold over their friends’ heads.  

Joel’s hands tighten in your hair as he starts to take over. He let you taste him, let you get his cock nice and sloppy with your saliva. He looked down at you softly while you started, but now he’s back to full dominance. Full Mister Miller. 

He pushes you down onto his cock, the tip just kissing against your gag reflex. Your scalp burns under his strong fingers and you can feel yourself submitting. Everything goes quiet: your limbs feel heavy yet ready to move or adjust as he commands, the sides of your vision darken, and the only thing that matters now is him. His wishes. His desires. His commands.

He pulls you off of him, and you gasp in air, a string of your spit landing on your chin, your eyes watering. “You snap if you need me to stop, got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you say hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

“Open,” he says growls.

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide while looking into his dark obsidian eyes. You can see his cheeks and tongue working behind his closed lips before he spits into your mouth. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” he rasps and then roughly guides you back onto his cock. He doesn’t take his time or stop at that point of resistance this time. No, this time he pushes you further than you’ve ever been. The cool metal of the ring on his pelvis touches your nose. The juxtaposition of his hard cock meeting your soft mouth and his cold piercing meeting your warm face is staggering, yet comforting.  

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. 

You switch your focus, sucking air in through your nostrils slowly. “That’s it, sweet girl. Relax.”

You let your body sink again into his muscled lined thighs. He starts to move you up his cock. He gets about halfway before he forces you down again. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, shocking yourself when the gag ends in a moan and your pussy starts to weep for him. In fact, almost everywhere is weeping for him. Salvia drips from your lips and onto his lap, tears run down face. 

You’re a mess.

‘His mess’, says that annoying little box in the corner of your mind which now has ‘Mister Miller’ written across it in loopy cursive handwriting, the dots of the i’s little bedazzled hearts. 

Joel uses your hair to pull you up to the tip and you gasp in a few breaths before he starts moving you up and down his now obscenely wet and fully erect cock. Your jaw aches with how wide you need to open your mouth to fit him. Your fingertips just met around the tapered base earlier. You’ve never looked at man’s cock before and thought much, but Joel’s might be enough to ruin your life.  

 “Fuck, this mouth. Feels s’ fuckin’ good. Look at you, takin’ it so well. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, although it’s muffled around his cock. He pulls you off fully, releasing his grips from your hair. You sit back on your heels, his eyes raking over your body, pausing to watch your heaving chest; a mixture of needing to catch your breath and being insanely turned on. You don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice is deep enough that you feel it reverberate through you. You lick your lips, swallowing down the taste of him that you’ve become addicted to and place your hands on your lap. 

One of his hands comes up to his mouth and he spits into his own palm before bringing it down to fist his cock. Your eyes flick down to watch as he pumps himself slowly. “You have me doin’ shit that I didn’t plan, sweet girl. I give in to you, let you take the reins. But I’m in charge here.”

He pumps faster, and you fight to stay where you’re supposed to. “You need to remember that, so you don’t get to be the one to make me come today, you don’t get to feel it or taste it. No, you’re going to sit there, like a good little obedient submissive, and watch.”

You whimper, your right hand moving on its own to between your thighs. 

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is strained as the movement of his hand becomes less fluid. His free hand comes to his balls, massaging them lightly and you try to commit the sight of him like this to memory. Tall, wide, and commanding, yet falling apart as he looks at your naked and kneeling form in front of him.

“Mister Miller?” You ask, your voice small and cracking, the back of your throat raw from the way he fucked your mouth. “I’m so wet. Please, can I just touch for a little bit?”

His mouth falls open, pleasure etched across his features, his focus never leaving you. “Show me how wet you are. Spread your legs for me.”

You raise off your heels slightly and slide your knees apart, exposing your wet and swollen cunt to him. Then you lean back, hands resting on the floor behind you, tilting your hips up so he can see all of you. 

“Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty,” he moans and then you watch as white ropes of cum spill over his hand. Your name passes his lips in a groan as he comes simply from the sight of your pussy. His hand stills and you lock eyes. You should feel shy like this, but instead you smile at him, a mischievous giggle bubbling up your chest as you bite down on your bottom lip.

His head nods towards the small dresser by the door, the one with the ceramic dish where his ring is on top. “Bring me a small towel from the top drawer and then get on the bed.” 

You saunter to the dresser, trying your hardest not to look too eager, and then back towards him with a small fluffy white hand towel. He takes it from you and cleans himself up as you lay on the bed. He stuffs his softening cock into his boxers and then removes his pants and shirt. If you thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing to how you feel now seeing him almost naked in front of you. 

That whole looking like you’re carved from stone gene is strong with the Millers, you think, watching the muscles behind his toned skin flex beneath his tanned skin as he climbs onto the bed. He grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the end of the bed, a squeal leaving your lips. You had almost forgotten about the riding crop welts, but the friction against the sheets has them burning slightly and you wince as the heat settles. 

“I’ll fix those sore spots, but first I need to taste you. Is that ok?”

You spread your legs wide for him, “Y-Yes. I need you, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you need,” he hums, settling himself between your legs. 

“What you said,” shyness seems to have finally caught up to you, although you aren’t sure why.

He raises a thick dark eyebrow at you. “Ask for it, tell me how you like it.” He nods at you encouragingly as you take a few breaths. “Come on, my sweet girl. You can do it.”

My sweet girl, you melt. That fucking bedazzled box of feelings is fully in the spotlight now. He has years of experience in this role, but you can’t be imagining it. Looking at someone the way he’s looking at you now isn’t something that someone can fake. You can’t be the only one to feel whatever this invisible teether is between the two of you.

“I like fingers curled inside while the tip of your tongue flicks at my clit. I like suction too.” The pride in Joel’s face is almost overwhelming as he listens. God, he’s beautiful. 

He hums slightly, readjusting himself between your spread thighs. “My pretty girl gets what she wants,” he whispers before using the tip of his tongue to gently work at the soft folds of your cunt, working his way from your tight entrance to your clit. 

Your body jerks when he reaches your most sensitive part and you can’t stop the salacious moan that fills the room. “Oh god, Mister Miller.” 

He runs his tongue in slow, teasing circles around your clit. Not with enough pressure to actually make you orgasm, just enough to taunt you, and your entire body breaks out in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat at the same time. He slides his right arm under your leg, hooking his elbow under your thigh and reaches his hand up and over towards your pussy. His thick pointer finger and thumb easily slip to each side of your puffy clit. Just as you’re about to float off into another dimension he pinches hard. You scream out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching off the mattress. 

He holds your clit in his fingers, easing up the pinch to tease at it with his tongue again while he works the middle finger of his other hand inside of you. 

“You’re so tight,” he hums between licks. “Gotta relax for me. Let me into this tight little cunt.” 

You whimper at the push of his finger inside of you. One of his fingers is easily one and half of yours, and if he’s having a hard time getting just one of them in, you can’t imagine how it will feel to have two. 

“Eyes on me, sweet girl,” he rasps, releasing your clit from his fingers. His strong hand presses lightly on your mound. “You’re safe here, baby. Open up for me.” 

As always, you follow exactly what your dom says. Craning your neck slightly and opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The honey flecks in his dark brown irises warm your skin and as your body relaxes he smiles up at you. You feel Joel’s finger slide the rest of the way in with minimal resistance and it sends a wave of pleasure from your core to your toes.  

“There’s my perfect sweet girl.” He groans as you let out a euphoric whimper. And then he’s back on you. Soft lips pressing to your wet heat, the flat of his large tongue circling your clit. 

Your head falls back to the mattress, “Fuckfuckfuck. Oh god!” 

Your orgasm is embarrassingly close. Joel is hitting almost all the spots you love. No man has gotten you to the edge this quickly. Just as that tingle at the base of your spine starts to spread he curls his finger forward and sucks your clit into your mouth. 

“Mis…hnnng…fuck. I’m - I'm gonna.” You can barely think outside of the pleasure, nevermind form a sentence. 

A second finger slips inside of you, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me what I do to you.” 

Your orgasm hits you like an earthquake, making you shake harder than you ever have. The walls of your pussy clench hard on his strong fingers. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking it between his soft, warm lips. The lewd sounds of his sucking mix with your cries of pleasure. Joel is ruthless, never stopping as you absolutely crumble underneath his touch. Another strong wave of your orgasm rushes through you when he curls his fingers forward again, pressing right on your g-spot.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck Mister Miller.” You whine.

He slows the motion of his tongue as the convulsions of your body slow, working you through the aftershocks of your earth shattering orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he whispers before placing a light kiss to your spent clit and slowly slips his fingers out of you. As your gazes lock he licks your arousal off his fingers and then rolls you onto your stomach. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth when he sees the aftermath of his riding crop punishment earlier. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Just stay on your stomach for me.”

His lips press to your shoulder blade as the mattress baubles under his weight leaving the bed. You glance over at him, watching his broad, tanned back as he grabs a few items. He spins to face you, coconut oil in one hand and an orange juice and a bottle of water in the other. He places the drinks on the bedside table then scoops a bit of coconut oil onto his fingers. 

You wince as he makes contact with your right cheek, “Ouch, Mister Miller.”

“I know. This will help, and hopefully you learned your lesson about talking badly about what belongs to me.” His voice is sweet yet serious and he moves onto the other cheek, then the back of your thighs before his hand wraps around your right ankle, guiding you to bend your knee so he can look at the sole of your foot. 

He places a light kiss on the light pink spot and you giggle, “Your beard tickles.”

He laughs and does the same thing to the other foot before lining his body up with yours and pulling you in to be his little spoon. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, sinking back into his warmth. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he holds you tighter, biceps flexing around your body like a ring of muscled safety. You're both quiet for a few minutes before he breaks it. “You kinda scared me tonight if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, hiding your face in the arm he has under your head.

“No, don’t be. I’ve always been good at reading people, it’s probably more of a curse than a gift, but I just - I could feel that you weren’t in a good space when you got here.”

“Ya,” you agree.

“I know I can’t fix it, it’s not my place, but I hope I at least helped.”

You fixed it.

“You did help. I feel much better. Plus,” you turn to face him, both of you using one of your own arms to support your heads and your other arms wrapping around the other person. “Plus, you were right. I am smart. I can do this. I need to not be so hard on myself.”

Joel smiles sweetly, straight white teeth shining at you. 

“If I can be spanked with a riding crop while handcuffed, fuck, I can be aaaanything.”

You and Joel laugh together and it all feels so natural. Maybe too natural. There’s something comfortable and familiar about him. It might be that southern hospitality, but in all the years you’ve been in Texas you’ve never felt this content with someone else. 

“Mister Miller?” you say as the laughter subsides.

“You can call me Joel now,” his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second after it leaves his lips, almost as if he didn’t intend for it to come out before adding, “The scene is over.”

“Ah, so you’re saying this is a safe nickname zone now?” His smile makes your stomach flip.

“Careful, freckles.” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You give him a closed lipped smile, “Hey, if you’re gonna use it then so am I, sweet cheeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice the extra tight pants tonight.”

He shrugs a strong shoulder to his ear as you continue. “So, if you don’t sleep with your subs, why the piercing?”

He takes one big breath and licks his lips before he starts, his fingertips trailing up and down your arm. “I got it a long time ago, I wasn’t always as strict with my rules. I’m not proud of it, I broke a lot of hearts when I first started this whole thing. I haven’t taken it out because…well, I don’t really know. I guess because when I do finally reach that point with a partner I want them to experience the benefits.”

Always the giver, you think. 

“Can you have a traditional partner while living this lifestyle?” You immediately begin to back track, realizing that you don’t want to seem like you’re getting attached. “Not you in particular. What you do outside of this room isn’t my business. I just mean like, are there doms that have subs that are married? Again, not you.”

He stares at you as you continue to ramble. “That whole thing came out wrong.”

“Relax, freckles, I knew what you meant. You’re kinda cute when you get all flustered and start to ramble though.”

The lid of the now pink painted box of feelings in your mind lifts a little. It seems to have gained an entire personality, and has the voice of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast as it says, ‘oh he definitely feels that tether too.’ 

“To answer your question,” his voice pulls you out of your own mind, “There are doms that do this professionally. I did have paying subs at one point myself and had a fairly serious girlfriend.”

Jealousy churns in your stomach. It’s irrational and you really hope it isn’t whoever Tess is. 

“But,” he continues, “It’s a tricky situation and involves a lot of trust and communication. Probably more than a sub-dom dynamic. But, yes, I’ve seen lots of happily married people who live and explore the kink lifestyle.”

You shiver slightly and he pulls you in closer, tucking your head into his chest, inhaling that ash, leather and natural Joel musk. His hand runs up and down your naked back, the calluses on his fingers scratching slightly. 

His body tenses, almost as if he’s nervous before he speaks. “Did you want to come to a Shibari class with me this week? We are hosting a demonstration at the club on Wednesday.”  

You glance up at him, “I’d really like that, Joel.”

He tucks your head back into his chest. His lips press to the crown of your head at the same time that yours meet the soft skin of his sternum. “It’s a date.”

Part Two

[pistachi0art]

This is what a hyperfixation does to a mf when there’s no new content you have to make your own

[millidew]

rip lucy and mina you would’ve loved farcille. rip marcille you would’ve loved westenray (falin lost interest and fell asleep before finishing the book)