#pure green coffee

[rom-e-o]

I want to like mugwort tea so much, but IT'S BITTER

I'm steeping for three minutes at a lower temp and adding local honey and it still tastes like how I imagine Pinesol tastes.

[theoptimisticfatalist]

i am never drinking starbucks coffee again

[a-depressed-mouse]

i mean.. his tags.. so pure..

if you can…

please buy this coffee so we can keep him ❤️

I just want to keep my job even though I don't know how to make memes. Buy our coffee. We've got holiday gifts for the coffee lover in your life.

Awesome Coffee is different because 1. we source our beans directly from small farmers collectives, 2. it's better and fresher than grocery store coffee, and 3. ALL of our profit goes to fight maternal and child mortality in impoverished communities, whereas almost all other coffee makes rich people richer, which is the dumbest thing that can be done with coffee (or other forms of wealth).

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🌸Describing Scents For Writers 🌸| List of Scents

Describing aromas can add a whole new layer to your storytelling, immersing your readers in the atmosphere of your scenes. Here's a categorized list of different words to help you describe scents in your writing.

🌿 Fresh & Clean Scents

Crisp

Clean

Pure

Refreshing

Invigorating

Bright

Zesty

Airy

Dewy

Herbal

Minty

Oceanic

Morning breeze

Green grass

Rain-kissed

🌼 Floral Scents

Fragrant

Sweet

Floral

Delicate

Perfumed

Lush

Blooming

Petaled

Jasmine

Rose-scented

Lavender

Hibiscus

Gardenia

Lilac

Wildflower

🍏 Fruity Scents

Juicy

Tangy

Sweet

Citrusy

Tropical

Ripe

Pungent

Tart

Berry-like

Melon-scented

Apple-blossom

Peachy

Grape-like

Banana-esque

Citrus burst

🍂 Earthy & Woody Scents

Musky

Earthy

Woody

Grounded

Rich

Smoky

Resinous

Pine-scented

Oak-like

Cedarwood

Amber

Mossy

Soil-rich

Sandalwood

Forest floor

☕ Spicy & Warm Scents

Spiced

Warm

Cozy

Inviting

Cinnamon-like

Clove-scented

Nutmeg

Ginger

Cardamom

Coffee-infused

Chocolatey

Vanilla-sweet

Toasted

Roasted

Hearth-like

🏭 Industrial & Chemical Scents

Metallic

Oily

Chemical

Synthetic

Acrid

Pungent

Foul

Musty

Smoky

Rubber-like

Diesel-scented

Gasoline

Paint-thinner

Industrial

Sharp

🍃 Natural & Herbal Scents

Herbal

Aromatic

Earthy

Leafy

Grass-like

Sage-scented

Basil-like

Thyme-infused

Rosemary

Chamomile

Green tea

Wild mint

Eucalyptus

Cinnamon-bark

Clary sage

🎉 Unique & Uncommon Scents

Antique

Nostalgic

Ethereal

Enigmatic

Exotic

Haunted

Mysterious

Eerie

Poignant

Dreamlike

Surreal

Enveloping

Mesmerizing

Captivating

Transcendent

I hope this list can help you with your writing. 🌷✨

Feel free to share your favorite scent descriptions in the replies below! What scents do you love to incorporate into your stories?

Happy Writing! - Rin T.

[stonedcoast]

420 All Month: Franken Cakes

420 All Month! Today is Franken Cakes.

IndicaModerately High THC (22% – 26%)Flower Nothing helps me pinpoint exactly how I’m feeling about myself at any given time than running into an old friend who’s obviously doing great. If I’m going through a rough patch – like the times I’ve been dealing with health issues or financial struggles – then boy does that contrast with the friend who is on top of things really hit hard. But if I’m…

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: rafe cameron falls for the preachers daughter.

— warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, hand riding for like a second, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), soft!dom!rafe, innocent!naïve!reader, i think that’s it.

— note: this request was amazing. i love love rafe & innocent!reader, it makes me feel some type of way 🥹 this is kind of a long one, enjoy<3 likes, comments and reblogs are SO appreciated!!

❥ preachers daughter— r.c

Rafe wasn’t sure when his obsession with her started, all he knew was that he wanted her, wanted to ruin her.

He remembers the first time he had ever saw her, it was an early Sunday morning, his father had decided to drag him to Sunday morning service, something Rafe had never imagined himself going to…

… But man, was he glad he did.

He remembered every small detail about her from that morning. She was wearing a long green, floral dress that fell well past her knees, she had a white sweater pulled over her upper half, and a pair of beige strappy heels. Her hair had been done in loose curls, a soft white bow tying it up into a low ponytail, making Rafe blush at the innocence that emitted from her.

The smile that graced her beautiful lips had made Rafe grow painfully hard, having to excuse himself to the restroom to readjust himself.

Rafe had pushed her into the back of his mind though, knowing that a woman like her would never be with a man like him.

She was his polar opposite; pure, kind, without any obvious flaws. Whereas Rafe was impure, violent, and covered in issues from head to toe.. You could thank his father for that.

Rafe knew he didn’t stand a chance, so why, and when, did his obsession with her begin? Why had he caught himself following her around town, watching her every move? Why had he found a way to place a tracking device on her car, his possessive need to know where she was at all times pushing him to do such a crazy thing.

Why had he found himself beating the shit out of any man he’d seen talk to her? Why did he care so much? She didn’t even know he existed, yet, he found himself quite literally stalking her, obsessing over her, vowing to himself that he would protect her at any and all cost.

-

Rafe had continued following her for months before he had finally decided to make his move on her. He’d quickly picked up on her schedule, learned all of her favorite places to shop, eat, where she loved to do her Bible studies.

After six months of constantly following her and learning all he needed to know about her, he had decided it was finally time for him to make his move, make her his.

He was parked outside of the small coffee shop she frequented regularly, watching as she sat at a table, flipping through the pages of her notebook, taking small sips of her coffee order.

He loved that she was completely oblivious of the man who had been watching her for months, in his mind it proved that she did need him in her life, she needed him to take care of her, protect her, teach her to be more aware of her surroundings.

Rafe’s head snaps up when he sees her stand from her spot, gathering her books and pens, pushing her chair in and making her way to the front door.

He quickly hops from his truck, rushing across the street, his plan to make a move being set in motion.

She pushes the door to the coffee shop open, her head hung low as she stepped through the threshold, making it easy for Rafe to step in her way, lightly bumping her and causing her head to snap up.

“Oh, i’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention”

Her face is flushed red, her voice soft, angelic.

The corners of Rafe’s lips quirk up slightly, a small smile on his face as he looks down at her small figure.

“Not a problem, I should have said something. I’m Rafe, and you are?”

He extends his hand out for her to take, to which she quickly complies, placing her small hand in his.

He places a soft kiss to the back of her hand, her breath catching in her throat at the action. She wasn’t sure what to think of the man in front of her, she’d never been greeted like that by anyone.

“I-I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you, Rafe”

“Y/L/N? As in Pastor Y/L/N?” Rafe asks, his eyebrow quirked up as he played his part well.

She smiles, her eyes sparkling at the mention of her father. He attends her church? Why had she never seen him before now?

“Yeah, that’s my dad! You go to our church?”

Rafe chuckles, an amused smirk laid on his lips, “Yeah, sometimes. My dad started making me go a few months ago, i’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now”

He feels himself growing painfully hard when he hears the angelic laugh that falls from her pretty mouth, her eyes lit up as she carefully pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Church not really your thing?” She asks, her lower lip brought between her teeth as she smiled up at him.

“Not really, but hey, your father sure knows how to get you into it huh?”

She shifts herself on her feet, readjusting her books in her hands, “Yeah he’s great, he loves what he does”

Rafe notices the large books in her arms, how she continues to shift and adjust them. “Want me to grab those for you?”

She glances down at the books in her arms, and back up at Rafe, his bright blue eyes making butterflies erupt in her stomach, “Uh, sure. Thanks” She smiles, handing him the books and looking toward the ground.

“You wanna ride home?”

She pauses for a moment, her mind drawing a blank as her palms became clammy. Why she was so nervous? She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because he was making her feel things she knew was wrong, maybe it was because she knew better than to get involved with a man without her father’s permission, but something about him made her want to take the risk, break her own rules.

“Sure, that’d be nice. Thank you”

And just like that, Rafe’s plan was falling into place. He had gotten her attention, gotten her to trust him so easily. He loved how naïve she was, how innocent she was, and as much as he’d love to take it slow with her, he felt he’d taken it slow enough, waiting, watching, protecting her for months, even if she didn’t know it.

He had to have a taste of her, had to break her of her innocence, and he needed to do it now. He needed her to be his, and only his.

-

Everything had began moving quickly, Rafe had driven her to his house instead of hers, his lips finding hers in an instant, pulling her from the passenger seat and into his lap.

She was unconsciously grinding herself over his bulge, her hands running over his buzzed hair, his hands tightly gripping at her hips as his tongue explored her mouth.

Her breathing was ragged, hands trembling as she continued pressing herself into him. She wasn’t sure what she was doing or why, it was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so right.

“Rafe” she tries to speak, her words being swallowed by him. He presses his hand flat against her lower back, pushing her further into him as he continues his assault on her mouth.

She plants her palms on his chest, pushing herself back, her back pressed firmly against his steering wheel.

She runs a hand through her hair, her eyes slightly welled up with tears as she tries to calm her breathing.

“This- This is wrong. We don’t even know each other, we- I’m not supposed to have sex until I’m married, I can’t- We can’t-“

Rafe shushes her softly, his thumb running across her bottom lip as his blue eyes burn into her, “Shh, Shh. It’s okay, angel. There’s nothing wrong with this, trust me?”

She sighs, resting her head on his chest, the tears that had fallen from her eyes soaking the fabric of his shirt.

“I-I trust you, but- But this isn’t right, Rafe”

Rafe runs his hand down her side, placing it on her clothed thigh and squeezing lightly, pulling a small squeal from her lips.

“What isn’t right about it? I can teach you things, make you feel things, I promise you’ll love it”

Rafe had his mind set, he was prepared to break her, and he didn’t want to wait any longer. He knew a girl like her, so innocent, so naïve, was bound to break under the pressure.

He could tell she was curious, curious as to what it felt like to be touched by a man, to give her full self to someone, and he wanted to be that person, he needed to be that person.

He was in too deep with her, too obsessed with her. The way she looked, how angelic her voice was, the way she looked wearing clothes that hid even the most innocent parts of her body from the world. He needed her to be his, she would be his.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s go upstairs, and I promise i’ll take good care of you. Do you trust me?”

She brings her bottom lip between her teeth, an action that was so innocent to her, but it drove Rafe crazy. He could feel the blood rush to his cock, making him grow uncomfortably hard beneath the fabric of his jeans.

She gasped when she felt his hard-on pressed into her thigh, an amused smirk playing at Rafe’s lips. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me, you’re so beautiful, let me show you just how beautiful you are. You deserve to be touched, to be made feel good. Don’t you want that?”

A simple “okay” was all she could manage to breathe out, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt him place his hands on her ass, gripping at it tightly.

“Okay what sweetheart? I need you to tell me what you want”

“I-I want you to touch me” She says softly, her voice so low it was almost a whisper, but Rafe had heard her clearly.

He quickly shoves his car door open, his free hand gripping tightly below her ass, keeping her tightly wrapped around his torso.

He gently sets her down onto her feet, shutting the truck door and grabbing her hand, pulling her to the front door of his house.

Rafe wastes no time, pulling her inside and locking the front door and dragging her to the spiral staircase that led upstairs.

Once they reached the top he pulls her into his room, shutting and locking the door. His lips instantly find hers again, the feeling of her lips against his pulling a groan from him. Her lips felt like home to him, warm, and safe- Something Rafe had never felt in his entire life.

He wraps his arms around her waist, his lips consuming hers as he pushes her back flush into his bedroom wall. He runs a hand up her side, his fingers pushing the hem of her shirt up, exposing just the slightest bit of flesh to him. He lightly grazes his fingers up the length of her side, his fingertips finding her bra.

He unclasps it in record time, running a hand up her arm and sliding one strap down her shoulder, moving to the other side and copying his actions until the flimsy fabric fell down her chest and onto his bedroom floor.

He pulls his lips from hers, his deep blue gaze on her face. He burns the image of her current state into his mind, her lips swollen and slightly parted, her chest heaving up and down as she tries to steady her breathing. He loved that he was the one who’d made her like this, loved that he was the one who had her craving more of his touch.

“You wanna take your shirt off princess?” He asks her softly, his thumb swiping across her bottom lip, his other arm still tightly wrapped around her waist.

“Y-Yes”

Rafe grins, pulling his arm from her waist and watching as she brings her hands down to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her cheeks instantly turn a bright shade of pink, her arms flying across her chest to cover herself from him.

He lifts his hands, placing them gently on her arms and pulling them down. “No don’t hide princess, you want me to see you. And you’re so beautiful”

She nods her head slowly, letting her arms fall to her sides. She felt her entire body heat up under Rafe’s stare, his eyes erratically scanning across her chest.

He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, bringing his hands up to softly cup her bare breasts in his palms.

“Such a pretty girl, aren’t you?”

He begins softly massaging her breasts in his hands, his fingers finding her nipples, pinching and pulling at them. He loved the expression that took over her face when he began playing with her sensitive buds, her lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as she panted.

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”

“Y-Yes. Feels- Feels so good, Rafe”

Rafe hums in appreciation, dipping his head down to lick a stripe across both her breasts. She gasps loudly, her head falling back against the wall when he wraps his lips around one of the buds, sucking on it lightly before switching to the other side.

Her hands fly to the back of his head, nails lightly scratching through his buzzed hair. She lets soft moans fall from her lips, and Rafe swore he’d never heard anything so beautiful, so angelic. She was going to be the death of him.

He lets his hands fall, finding her waist and lightly tapping at her thigh, “Jump” he instructs, and she’s quick to obey, straddling him instantly.

Rafe carries her to his bed, letting her fall onto the soft mattress with a soft thud.

He climbs himself on top of her, his arms caging her into the bed. He steadies himself with one hand flat on the mattress, his free hand running up her side, a trail of goosebumps left behind on her skin from his fingertips. He cups her cheek softly, lightly rubbing his thumb across it.

“You want me to take your jeans off? Make you feel good?” Rafe asks, but he gives her no time to answer, his hand being removed from her cheek and finding the button on her jeans.

He swiftly undoes the button, pulling her zipper down slowly before he begins sliding the denim fabric down her legs.

Rafe sucks in a sharp breath when he sees her lacy white panties, an innocent girl like her wearing something like this?

“Fuck”

She blushes at his vulgar words, her breathing shaky as his fingers play with the waistband of her panties.

She lets out a shaky breath when his fingers push down into the front of her underwear, his fingers brushing against her clit, making her hips buck forward from the sensation.

“Rafe” She breathes out, her fingers tightly gripping at his bedding.

“You okay sweetheart?”

“We- We shouldn’t, oh!”

She tries to protest, tries to keep her faith and do as she knows she’s supposed to, but Rafe wasn’t having it. He runs his middle finger through her slick folds, pulling his hand from inside her panties and shoving the digit in his mouth.

He hums in appreciation, the taste of her on his tongue making the blood rush to his already painfully hard and throbbing cock.

“You’re so wet, so sweet. You know this is what you want, isn’t it baby?”

She feels the tears welling up in her eyes, letting a few stray tears fall. Did she want this? She didn’t understand what she was feeling, why she was aroused. She’d never felt like this before. Rafe had her mind racing, she did want this, she knew it was wrong, knew her father would be so disappointed in her, but why deny herself of this feeling when it felt right? Felt good.

She nods her head in response, pulling a small smile from Rafe’s lips. He tugs at her panties, pulling them down her legs and shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans.

He cups her bare cunt, his palm pressing firmly against her clit, making her whimper and squirm beneath his touch.

“You can move baby, make yourself feel good”

She whimpers, moving her hips and grinding herself against his hand. Rafe takes his free hand, his ringed fingers pressing into her thigh as he held her open for him. He removes his hand from her pussy, running a finger through her slick again, gathering her arousal on the digit before he slowly pushes it into her.

“Oh, Oh God!” She cries out, her back arching off the bed, pushing his finger further into her.

“God isn’t here sweetheart, it’s just you and me”

He begins slowly pushing his finger in and out of her soaked core, her velvety walls clenching around his finger. He curls his finger, hitting a spot inside her that had her toes curling.

“I-I, Oh Rafe”

Rafe smirks, adding another finger inside her. He quickens his pace, pushing them in and out harshly. She’s a whimpering mess, her orgasm so close he could feel it from how she was clenching around him.

“You can cum, it’s okay sweetheart, let it out”

She feels a burn between her legs, her belly growing tight as a feeling she’d never felt washes over her. She’s trembling beneath him, legs shaking, fists tightly wrapped around the fabric of his blanket as Rafe helped fuck her through her high.

When he pulls his fingers from her she lets out a small whimper, her body laying limp on his mattress, chest heaving up and down as she comes down from her orgasm.

“See that wasn’t so bad was it?” Rafe asks.

She sucks in a shaky breath, shaking her head. “N-No. Not bad. I’ve never… You know..”

Rafe quirks an eyebrow up at her, that damned amused smirk on his lips. “You’ve never had an orgasm before? I knew that sweetheart”

She hides her face in her hands, body heating up from embarrassment.

Rafe’s hands fly to hers, slowly pulling them down, his free hand rubbing softly across her cheek.

“Don’t hide, it’s okay. I want to teach you, I want you to feel comfortable with me, don’t you feel comfortable with me baby?”

She lets out a deep sigh, “Yes, I-I’m comfortable”

He grins, satisfied that he’d gotten her comfortable with him. He sits himself up on his knees, undoing his belt and tossing it to the floor.

“Do you wanna make me feel good sweet girl?”

She bites at her bottom lip, watching as he undoes the button on his pants followed by his zipper, the fabric sliding down his legs and leaving him in nothing but his underwear and his polo.

“Yes, I wanna make you feel good, teach me?”

Rafe brings his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb sliding across her bottom lip, sliding the digit past her parted lips.

She wraps her lips around his thumb, giving it a light suck, a raspy groan falling from Rafe at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful, gonna be such a good girl f’me, make me feel good, yeah?”

He pulls his thumb from her lips, sliding his briefs down his legs, his erection springing free and slapping just below his belly button. He notices the wide eyed expression on her face, her lips parted in a small ‘o’ as she stared at him.

“It’s okay baby, don’t be scared”

Rafe firmly grasps at his cock, pumping at it slowly, his free hand coming to the back of her head as he helped guide her down. “Put your lips on it baby, I got you”

She does as he says, her lips wrapping around the head first lightly sucking at his swollen tip. Rafe’s grip tightens in her hair, his hips bucking forward.

“Good girl, swirl your tongue around it a little, pretend it’s a popsicle or a lollipop”

She obeys, swirling her tongue around him, the precum that leaked from his tip making its way onto her tongue. She hums around him, the salty taste making her grow wet again.

Rafe slowly pushes himself further into her mouth, his breathing erratic as she takes him fully.

Her teeth graze at his shaft, making him jump back from the pain. “No teeth baby, hollow your cheeks and just move your head up and down slowly”

Her cheeks hollow, her head moving slowly up and down his length, small gags and whimpers falling from her with each push and pull, his head hitting the back of her throat with each push.

Rafe inhales deeply through his nose, his head thrown back in pleasure as she continues to suck and lick every last inch of him.

“Such a good fucking girl”

She feels herself grow wet from his praise, the ache between her thighs back, the craving for more of his touch growing with each passing second.

He tightly grips her hair when he feels himself twitching inside her mouth, pulling her off of him, her cheeks and chin stained with drool.

“Wanna cum inside you, do you want that? Want me to fill your pretty pussy up with my cum?”

She nods her head slowly, laying herself back and spreading her legs for him.

Rafe smiles widely, the innocence that once radiated from her now gone, and all because of him.

He pulls his polo over his head, discarding it on the floor and leaning himself down. He uses one hand to steady himself up, his other hand pumping at his cock and lining himself with her slick entrance.

“Gonna go slow okay? If it hurts, let me know and i’ll let you take a minute to breathe”

She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out except a small whine, the feel of his fat head pushing into her small hole sending a burn through her legs.

Rafe softly shushes her, “Shhh, it’s okay i’m gonna take care of you, alright?”

She blinks away her tears, nodding her head and sucking in a sharp breath. Rafe slowly pushes himself in more, using one hand to lightly stroke her cheek, trying to help her calm her breathing.

He pushes himself inside her fully, stilling his movements and trying to let her adjust to his size. She lets out a soft breath, her hands flying to his shoulders, fingernails digging into the flesh.

“Can I move princess?”

“Yes, please”

Rafe begins to slowly thrust himself inside her, small moans and whimpers falling from her as she begins to rock her hips with his.

“You’re doing so good, my good girl”

She’s a whining mess, the pain replaced with pleasure making her toes curl, her head thrown back into the pillows as she focuses on the feel of each push and pull Rafe makes.

“Not gonna last long with you squeezin’ me like that sweetheart, you feel yourself squeezin’ me? Your pussy begging to be filled with my cum”

She lets out a whine, her bottom lip harshly brought between her teeth as she felt her second orgasm approaching.

“I-I think i’m close” she cries out, her hips bucking up and meeting each of his thrusts.

“Let go for me angel, i’m right behind you”

She clamps down around him, squeezing him tightly and sucking him further into her. His head repeatedly hits at her sweet spot, making her a whimpering, moaning mess.

“Gonna fill you up, give you my babies, don’t you want that baby?”

“Yes! Want you babies, wanna be a mama, please please”

She screams out a moan, her release bursting from her. She was trembling, tears staining her cheeks as Rafe fucked her through her high.

Rafe feels his thrusts grow sloppy, his hips stuttering as he twitches inside her. He pushes himself to the hilt, stilling inside her as the hot ropes of his release spill inside of her.

He lets his head dip down, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his lips attacking the skin with hot kisses.

He pulls himself from inside her, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. He pulls her further into his body, snuggling further into her and breathing in her scent.

“I’m so happy you’re mine now, all mine”

She smiles softly, her eyes drooping as she begins to breathe softly, sleep taking over her.

She wasn’t sure what she would tell her father, or how this would change her life, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her now was the man who had just completely changed her life, and how she was his, and he was hers.

RAFE TAGLIST: @whore-4-drewstarkey @ivy-34 @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @starkeypankowsbae @lizcameron @m-1234 @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @alexisbaumann2004 @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @mel119g @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @jjmaybankisbae @lexasaurs634 @softlilacarrest @fayerite @exhaustedbutelated @lyndys @urmyslxt @presleyanswrites @sierraluvz @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @oceandriveab

moodboard | rafe masterlist | taglist

[alienzil]

Grandfathered In

There, a job well done. Alfred thought to himself as he put the last grocery bag in the back of the car. Meal planning and shopping for a family as large as his own (and their semi frequent unexpected guests) did take quite a bit of his time but he'd managed to finish a bit early this week.

Alfred was thinking fondly of spending his extra time with a nice cup of tea and a book when he heard a noise from the nearby alley.

He stilled and listened intently. That was the sound of someone in pain. A child in pain if he wasn't mistaken (a sound he would rather he wasn't so familiar with). Well then, the tea would have to wait.

Alfred quietly moved into the alleyway, his hand inside his coat gripping the pistol hidden there. Hurt child or not, it never hurts to be cautious in Gotham.

"Good Heavens!"

There was a boy with pure white hair and bright, barely open, luminous green eyes. He was curled up, partially hidden by the dumpster, clearly barely clinging to consciousness and was oozing bright green blood from a large abdominal wound as well as several smaller cuts and burns.

He approached slowly and held out his hands to try to appear as friendly and non threatening as possible. "You appear to be in a bit of trouble young sir, perhaps I can help?"

The boy nodded weakly and Alfred knelt down and reached to pick him up. Best to get him into the car quickly and make use of his emergency first aid kit to stabilize the boy then get him home for further treatment. The hospital clearly wasn't an option for the young Meta... or alien perhaps? Something to ask once the boy was up to it.

Alfred carefully cradled the child and briskly moved back towards the car. He appeared to be a young teenager but he weighed so little, Alfred almost felt as though he was holding a toddler rather than a teen.

He lay the boy down in the back seat and leaned over to reassure him, gently moving his hair out of his eyes and petting is head in a soothing gesture. "There now, we'll have you right as rain in no time."

"Ha" the injured young Meta tried to laugh. "Might take...some time.. Don't ya think?"

Oh he'd fit right in, Alfred couldn't help thinking. Sassing even as he lay there bleeding. Well, in spirit if not quite the usual appearance, Alfred considered, eyeing the white hair and bright green eyes but-

A bright white suddenly light filled the car. Alfred blinked away the spots from his vision then stared in astonishment at the now black haired, blue eyed boy before him. Well then, fit right in indeed.

*****

Bruce blearily wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table just barely holding in a yawn. He'd been in space on a mission with the Justice League for over 3 weeks and had only just gotten back to Earth in time to crash into bed and get a few hours of sleep before he had to be back up.

He reached for his coffee and looked around the table at his children. Tired as he was, it was good to be home. It even looked like everyone had made it for breakfast, a rare event for their family. Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Damian, Duke and...

"Who's this?" Bruce asked with friendly smile. Did one of his kids make a new friend?

Alfred silently appeared next to him. "That is your son."

"My son?" What was happening? Bruce was too tired for this. He counted again, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Stephanie, Barbara, Damian, Duke and...he looked closely at the last one. Black hair, blue eyes. Looks like one of his... He had no idea who this child was.

"Your son." Alfred said firmly as he sat some papers next to Bruce's plate.

Bruce looked down. Those were adoption papers.

"Oh. My. God." Stephanie whisper screamed from across the table. "That's where B got the adoption habit from!"

Bruce's attention was diverted from the multiple children trying to shush Stephanie as an uncapped pen was placed in front of him. He looked up as Alfred raised a single eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.

"Right, of course. My son."

He quickly scanned the adoption papers as he signed them then looked over at his latest child.

"Welcome to the family, Danny."

Note: I don't currently have plans to continue this. Anyone can add on if they would like to :-)

[tangyangie]

— 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐈 𝐊 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒!!

we all know that saiki isn't too excited when it comes to romance.

so... how did he land you? he doesn't know either. all he does know is that you're the only person he'd actually accept romantic gestures from.

hugs, kisses, cuddling—don't expect him to jump into it suddenly at the beginning of the relationship. he'll definitely need some time do do these things, if he'd do them at all.

but, once he does sort of settle down, he basically lets you do whatever you want. so what if you're harassing him? he prefers it be you over anyone else.

and maaaybe he's okay with cuddles. a little bit. he gravitates towards you in his sleep.

cafe dates!! or, anything with sweets, at all. take him to hershey park, for all he cares—as long as he gets to buy all some candy.

he watches your TV shows with you. he does his best not to get spoiled, and if he does, then he keeps it from you and acts like he wasn't.

he takes interest in the things you like. the music genres you prefer, your favorite hobbies, and so on. unless it involves bugs, he'll probably give what you like a chance.

he tells you about his powers eventually. he doesn't really know how he expects you to act, but he definitely doesn't expect you to just shrug it off. which is exactly what you did.

"you're a what, now?"

"a psychic."

"oh. you're serious?"

"...yes."

"oh.. cool."

please buy him coffee jelly. one second of seeing him in pure bliss is filled with enough joy to last you ten lifetimes.

one time, you tried feeding him coffee jelly while making an airplane "brrrr" sound. you did the whole, "here comes the airplane!!" as you'd spin around and twist the spoon until it came to a rest in saiki's mouth.

"and... that was supposed to taste better, how?"

"it just does. i don't make the rules."

you will playfully flirt with him all the time. doesn't mean he'd respond, but he tolerates it.

from time to time, he may humor you with a quick remark to counter your statements. but, it's always out of the blue, and always will leave your face feeling like an oven with your jaw dropped.

if you think he's one to do it in public, though, then you're crazy. pda is a big no-no.

you got him a pair of sunglasses once, and he stared dead in your eyes (with his glasses on). he asked you why you thought he needed it, and you responded that they were for when his green glasses got tired.

he blinked slowly, shook his head, and ruffled your hair. (it was an excuse to wear his glasses for a bit. don't think he wouldn't read your mind. not like he can help it, anyways.)

if you're cold in public, he stands near you and uses his pyrokinesis to warm you up, and may hold your hand. in secret only. if you tell anyone, his hand in yours is as good as gone.

he doesn't really get jealous. he's fine with being alone, but if you ask him to come along, he most likely won't say no. but if teruhashi is coming along, forget about it.

you play with his hands. like... i can just imagine gently grabbing his fingers and bending them like a seesaw or a bicycle.

he makes you come with him to take care of yuuta, hoping you don't have a resemblance to anyone else in cyborg cyder man no.2, or else yuuta will be all over you.

notes: okay guys 5 finals to go 🫡

[worldoffitness]

Health Nutrition

Health Nutrition is an all-in-one platform for supplements and sportswear. Providing customers existing offers in MoreNiche that we know convert, as well as a range of Health Nutrition health supplements.

[luveline]

also if you’re still taking requests for some established relationship criminal minds fics…

could i possibly get spencer and his bombshell when she’s having issues with not getting as hungry as she usually does? like she eats her fill but her fill is less food than she normally eats? this is very self indulgent so feel free to skip 🙏

thank you for requesting <3 bombshell, fem

“Spencer, lovely?” 

Spencer believes that only occasionally do you use your powers of seduction against him. This stringing of words, Spencer, his name, rolling off of your tongue, and lovely, so quaint and said so nicely, how you’ve called out, that’s unintentional. That’s pure niceness. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, getting up to find you. 

The point of you staying at Spencer’s apartment is to see you, why isn’t he seeing you? (Dramatic. He invites you to spend time here because you want to and he wants you, and whatever you do while you’re here is fine by him.) 

You’re in the kitchen peeling fruits. A whole fruit salad, green and red apples cut in small slices like prep for an apple-sugar crumble, peeled tangerine, strawberries, pear, grapes. “Nothing is wrong,” you sing-song. “Wait, why do you think that?” 

“No reason.” He sweeps as much of your mountain of peels and off cuts into his hand as he can and carries it to his mini compost bin. This’ll take some time. “You did call me, though?” 

“Yeah, I want your opinion.” You slice through another strawberry.

Spencer cleans the last of the peels away, rinses his hands, and creeps up on you. “Why are you drawing this out? Is it an important question? Don’t be nervous,” he says, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Your shoulder is soft where he presses his nose. 

“It’s not important, I just wanna know if you think it’s okay to melt some chocolate and drizzle it over the fruit. Is that greedy? Am I gonna go into a sugar overload?” 

“That’s not greedy.” Spencer laughs softly, kissing your cheek. 

You pull away from him, but only to look at him with your own smile. It’s one he’s starting to know rather well, the I love you smile, fond and indulgent at once. It makes you look like you’re gonna pinch his cheeks. 

“You’re hungry, right?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I am.” It’s a lot of fruit. Spencer doesn’t know exactly why he says it at that very moment, but he suggests, “How about we make a little pot for fondue instead. That way if we don’t eat it all now we can put the fruit back in the fridge.” 

“You just want me to feed you,” you tease. 

Spencer hadn’t thought about it, but the image is a pleasant one. “Fondue was invented purely for dessert purposes at first, no seduction involved.” 

“Let’s involve it anyway.” 

He grins. “Before or after we eat?” he asks lightly. 

You tell him before in a way that reminds him that you aren’t just his best friend but his twin flame, drawing him close to you, your hands fragrant with orange rind and the sweet strawberry juice staining your fingertips. You take his face into your hands as he holds your waist, and when you kiss him, he smiles the entire time. 

“It wasn’t just chocolate,” he says, pulling away. “It was cream and cherry liquor, too.” 

“We should try it one day.” 

Spencer resists the urge to grab your face and squeeze your cheeks. “Yeah, we will.” 

He melts some chocolate and heats a small round dish in the oven. He pours the chocolate into the dish and you, impressed, sing his praises as you make some lemonade slush in the blender. It’s a fresh, cold snack for a warmer day. You take it in the living room with the window wide open and the drapes drawn back, sunshine at your feet. 

Spencer pulls you into his lap as much as you’ll allow him on the couch, the coffee table dragged to be in front of you, the TV remote held hostage under your arm. You dip a slice of apple into chocolate and offer it to him.

Spencer accepts it. He finds, as the bowl empties, the chocolate cools, that you don’t seem to eat very much. He slows his grazing in case he’s being greedy, but after what could only be a handful of fruit you’re done, curling into his side and hugging his leg. Your attention is on the TV but your legs wiggle restlessly.

“Is something on your mind?” he asks. 

“I don’t feel very hungry.” 

“That’s okay. It was a lot of fruit, angel, we can wrap it up.” 

“I feel like my appetite is awful lately,” you lament, sitting up to tip back across his lap, your shoulders to his thighs, looking up at him with a frown. “Do I look like I’ve lost weight to you?” 

Spencer holds your cheek. “I haven’t noticed anything, are you worried?” he asks, rubbing the softest part of your cheek with his thumb. 

“I guess it’s not a bad thing?” You wince. 

“It’s not a bad thing if you don’t feel hungry, but you need to eat. Maybe we can just switch to some dense food for a while. Protein bars and nuts, stuff like that.” Spencer leans down to tap your noses together. You laugh under your breath. “Do you want to lose weight?” he asks, frowning. 

“Not really. I’d prefer not to.” 

“Okay, good. You’re perfect like this,” he says. “We can just make sure you get your intake through whatever means necessary until we figure out what’s changed. Maybe you’re just changing. We can start having smaller meals throughout the day. It’s better for digestion.” 

You reach for a curl, twisting it around your fingers. “I have an appetite for you, at least.” 

“That’s corny,” he says. 

“You love it, though.” 

Spencer pushes the ‘diminishing appetite’ search results from his head. He can worry later, when you’ve been well and thoroughly kissed. 

[differentsoulsweets]

Apollo

Απολλων [Apollo] God of prophecy and oracles, music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease

Epithets: ⟡ Proopsios [Foreseeing] ⟡ Phoibos [Bright] ⟡ Akestor [Healer] ⟡ Alexikakos [Averter of Evil] ⟡ Theoxenios [ God of Foreigners ] ⟡ Pythios [Slayers of Python] ⟡ Chrusaor [Of Golden Sword] ⟡ Daphnephorios [Bearer of Laurels] ⟡ Loimios [ Deliverer from Pague] ⟡ Moiragetes [Leader of Fate] ⟡ Pagasios [Pagasaean] ⟡ Hekaergos [Far-shooting]

Domains: ⟡ Prophecy & Oracles ⟡ Light ⟡ Music & Arts ⟡ Song & poetry ⟡ Archery ⟡ Healing & medicine ⟡ Plague & Disease ⟡ Protection of the young ⟡ Boys ⟡ Sudden Death ⟡ Knowledge ⟡ Herds & Flocks ⟡ Protector of Fugitives

Devotional acts: ⟡ Donate to medical charities ⟡ Draw or Paint ⟡ Read poetry or listen to music ⟡ Sing or play an instrument ⟡ Go to the library

Associations

Symbol: ⟡ The Lyre ⟡ Silver bow & Arrows ⟡ Dolphins ⟡ Swans ⟡ Crows ⟡ Ravens ⟡ Lions ⟡ Wolves ⟡ Mice ⟡ Griffins ⟡ Hawks ⟡ Snakes ⟡ Laurel wreath ⟡ Fire / flame ⟡ The sun / Light ⟡ Tripod ⟡ Apples

Element: ⟡ Light

Color: ⟡ Orange ; yellow ; Gold ⟡ Red ⟡ Pure white ⟡ Pink ⟡ Purple ⟡ Green ⟡ Blue

Crystals & stones: ⟡ Sunstone ⟡ Amber ⟡ Honey ; Yellow Calcite ⟡ Rutilated ; Clear ; Rose quartz

Fruits,Vegetables,Flowers,Herbs: ⟡ Cypress ⟡ Laurel ⟡ Larkspur ⟡ The-apple-tree ⟡ The palm tree ⟡ Hyacinth

Animal: ✧Swan ⟡ Raven ⟡ Tortoise ⟡ Serpent ⟡ Wolf ⟡ Dolphin ⟡ Mouse

Incense: ✧ Bay ⟡ Frankincense ⟡ Cypress

Food & Drinks: ⟡ Red wine ⟡ Olive oil ⟡ Water ⟡ Fruit ⟡ Honey ⟡ Almonds ⟡ Citruses ⟡ Cinnamon ⟡ Coffee ⟡ Herbal tea with Honey cakes ⟡ Bay leaves ⟡ Anise

Day, Season, Time of Day: ✧ Sunday ⟡ Middsummer ⟡ Midday ⟡ May

Tarot: ✧ The Sun ⟡ The chariot ⟡ Strength ⟡ Temperance

[lex-the-flex]

Misty Mornings

Origins!Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: On this particular morning, Logan is in need of a shave, and you’re more than happy to take on the job.

Word Count: 650

Warning(s): None, PURE FLUFF! (Cause Logan deserves it). A tiny amount of nervousness.

A/N: If I had a man that would let me do this, I’d be his forever. (Basically a MEGA GREEN FLAG) Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

The low coo of multiple mourning doves echo across the woods lingering beyond your backyard. The strong scent of the early morning lake balances itself against the soft and subtle fog hovering over the calm water as the morning sun threatens to break the cool air. Pulling your knitted blanket closer, a calm breeze welcomes the ambiance and colors of Autumn to the secluded place you call home. 

Being fully engrossed in your novel, you don’t hear Logan walking down the dock. Turning the page, the creaking sound of the wooden deck brings you back to reality.

“Baby?” He asks. 

“Hi, Lo.” You respond. 

Closing your book, you stand up to greet Logan with a warm hug. Extending on your toes, he briefly presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold.” Logan replies. 

“It’s not snowing yet, babe. Trust me.” You smile, before reaching down to pick up your book. 

Offering his hand to you, you close your palm around Logan’s fingers as he leads you back towards the elegant two storied cabin. Folding your blanket, you throw it on the back of an armchair along with your book. 

Following Logan into the kitchen, you hop up on the granite countertop, and he turns on the coffee pot. Gazing up at Logan, you hum to yourself at the sight before you. 

“What is it?” He asks with a sly grin. 

“Nothin’. I’m just not used to you ever being in the kitchen. It’s still strange to me.” You explain. 

“Oh, yeah? And how long have we been together?” Logan questions, walking to you. 

Placing both of his hands on either side of your hips, you tilt your head backwards and wrap your arms around his large shoulders. Smiling, the two of you just gaze at each other lovingly for a moment, silently enjoying the peace. 

Running your fingers through Logan’s thick dark hair, he lightly chuckles when you move onto his slightly overgrown beard. 

“Hmm, you need to shave.” You firmly state, tickling his scruff. 

“Is that a threat, darlin’?” He teases. 

“Maybe… Will you let me trim your beard this time? Please?” You ask. 

Determined to get an answer, Logan finally agrees, ultimately losing the never-ending battle. 

Leaving you in the kitchen, Logan shortly returns with his shaving kit. Placing it on the counter next to you, he unzips the small leather pouch and takes out a pair of scissors. Handing them to you, Logan carefully returns his hands to your hips, eager to see what you’ll do. Softly cutting off pieces of your lover’s beard, you suddenly become focused on the task at hand, unaware of Logan’s loving and intrigued stare. 

HIs light hazel eyes glance deeply along the edges of your face, studying the details of your focused state. Unconsciously wrapping your legs around Logan’s waist, he slowly pulls you closer, wanting to be more intimate. Your heart begins to pound in your chest, nearing the end of your task. 

“I”m almost done, babe.” You whisper, flicking away the remnants of his beard. 

Finishing up, you set down the scissors and wipe Logan’s freshly trimmed jawline. 

“There you go, you’re all nice and clean.” You reply. 

“Mmm, thank you, Y/N. It feels so much better already. You should imagine it.” Logan teases. 

Lowering his lips to the nape of your neck, Logan playfully kisses the soft skin of your neck. Allowing you to feel the fresh scruff tickle you, a smile creeps on his lips whilst a gentle moan escapes your mouth. 

“Okay, cowboy… le–” You try, but can’t. 

Unable to push Logan away, you find yourself craving his touch even more. Tangling your fingers in his thick hair, his mouth searches for yours. Kissing you passionately, your fingers grip Logan’s strong muscles whilst he lifts you from the counter and carries you deeper into the house. 

wolverine masterlist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasm15

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

@mostly-marvel-musings

[hhughes]

៹࣪ ៸៸ ALL OF THE SMALL THINGS THAT YOU DO . . . ꒱꒱

ᥫ 𝘩𝑒𝘢𝑑𝘤𝑎𝘯𝑜𝘯𝑠 small things they do that make you feel loved . . .

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. quinn hughes ; jack hughes ; luke hughes ; nico hischier. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. domesticity. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

യ QUINN HUGHES

boyfriend quinn who stays over at your place more often than not. it’s easier for you to get ready for work since all your stuff is there, so whenever quinn gets a few days off he’ll always spend them at your place.

he started getting up earlier , sneaking out of bed before your alarm even goes off and for a while you were just wondering where he went before you caught him one day.

looking outside your kitchen window you saw quinn brushing the last bit of snow off your windshield and shovel it away from your car.

“ hey angel , you’re awake earlier than usual, ” quinn greets, shrugging off his jacket and taking off his boots as you start the coffee pot

“ yeah I was investigating where my boyfriend has been sneaking off to these last few weeks, “ you say, as shuffles his way over to you and wraps his arms around your waist; burrowing his cold nose into your neck

“ just getting last night’s snow out of your way, “ he mumbles against your skin, pressing kisses against your neck

“ you didn’t have to do that baby, but thank you. you’re spoiling me, i’m gonna get used to it and then miss it when you’re not here, “ you tease, and he uses his hands on your hips to spin you around, pushing you back against the counter

“ I was actually hoping you’d let me hire someone to do it for you, “ quinn suggests with a hopeful tone, knowing exactly how you were gonna respond to this.

“ quinn, don’t start, ” you absolutely hated when he spent unnecessary money on you.

“ I know I know, but it’s more for my peace of mind than it is for yours really. I hate the idea of you having to go out there the morning after a storm and move all that snow by yourself. not even just the snow, what about all the freezing rain we get? what if you slip and fall? hit your head? break your wrist, again? “ he emphasizes the last part and your send him a little glare in return. you slipped and broke your wrist one time and now the guy couldn’t let it go.

" everyone can slip and fall quinn, " you argue and he brings his hands up to cup your jaw on either side, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks gently

" yeah , honey , but I don't care and worry about everyone, I care and worry about you. “ he retorts and you almost cave seeing the pure adoration he has for you reflected in those green eyes

“ I’ve lived in Vancouver my entire life. the weather is nothing new to me, I can handle it. but i’m guessing if I don’t agree to this you’re gonna keep sneaking out and doing it for me anyway?” you ask and release a little sigh when he nods in confirmation

the last thing you wanted to do was make your boyfriend get up at the crack of dawn, especially on days like today, his off days, just to clean the snow off your driveway and you knew he would if you didn’t agree to this.

“fine, but not all the time. only when we get really heavy snow okay? and no more sneaking out of bed. I miss my personal little furnace when you’re not there,” you pout and he smiles before pecking your lips softly, his hands moving to your lower back

“ that’s all i’m good for huh? shovelling your snow and warming you up? ” quinn teases, hands moving down even further and squeezing your butt as your hands make their way to his hair

“ you’re pretty good at washing my hair too. wanna join me in the shower? “ you mumble against quinn’s lips and he keeps the kiss going for a few seconds before pulling away and responding

“ you know I can never say no to that, “

യ NICO HISCHIER

bf!nico who shows you love by packing you lunch in the morning cause you’re always running late and you never grab something before you go.

he noticed it one night when the two of you were doing your nightly routine that consisted of him laying with his head on your stomach, your hands going through his hair as whatever movie you decided on was playing on the screen.

“sorry” you say sheepishly, your hand freezing in his hair when your stomach suddenly growled loudly and he glances up at you with an amused little grin

“you hungry baby?” he asks, pressing a few soft kisses to your stomach

“yeah , I haven’t eaten all day.” you accidentally let the words slip, and immediately wince after, knowing how your mother-hen boyfriend was going to react.

“you haven’t eaten all day?” nico asks exasperated , sitting up as he looks at you with a frown between his eyes, one of his hands finding its way to your stomach and rubbing soft circles as if he could sooth the hunger away

" that's not healthy schatz, " your boyfriend chastised softly, when you answer his question with a nod.

" I know, I was just running late this morning so I didn't have time to pack lunch. and I had a busy day so I couldn't run out and get something, but I'm gonna eat the entire day's worth of pasta when our dinner gets here. promise, " you respond, moving closer and kissing that frown away

" you gotta take better care of my girl, ya hear me? " nico says, pulling you onto his lap and pressing a kiss to your temple

" aye aye captain, " you answer teasingly and a giggle escapes as gently nips at your shoulder in retaliation.

but ever since then nico wakes up a little earlier and packs you lunch. of course he writes you little notes and tucks them into the bag.

and whenever he's on roadies he'll always make sure to doordash it to you along with some flowers and a note that tells you how much he misses you <3

യ JACK HUGHES

bf!jack who really does all the little things that many people may overlook but since you know from experience what it’s like to be in relationships with people who don’t even do the little things, you appreciate it so much.

he always goes out of his way to clean up the apartment your share, so that it doesn’t feel like you have to take care of him 24/7. in fact it’s the other way around. he’s the one who will load and unload the dishwasher. do your laundry when he’s doing his. clean up your car when he’s cleaning up his.

and yes the occasional mix up of white clothing and coloured clothing does happen, which results in a few your white tops, being a variety of different colours. mix ups that jack repeatedly apologized for and promised to replace when luke pointed it out to him one day.

“ you should’ve said something earlier, “ jack pouts when he examines the seven tops laying on the bed that you got out when he asked you to show him all the shirts he’s ruined

“ you were doing something nice, I didn’t wanna make you feel bad by pointing it out, besides you didn’t ruin them, just gave them a little make over, ” you tease and laugh when jack glares at you as his cheeks turn red

“ m’sorry baby. we can go shopping this weekend I’ll buy you new ones yeah? ” he says, pressing a sloppy kiss to jaw as he collects your tops off the bed and puts them on the chair in the corner. a place he’ll see them and remember to check the brands later.

speaking of shopping, jack loves getting you things. it was something you had to get used to at the start of your relationship as he’d often come home from roadies with a little gift for you.

it’s just sweet knowing that he’s thinking of you even when he’s far away and he’s focused on something else.

is 100% the type of boyfriend to send you money and with a text that reads “go get yourself something nice, you deserve it x ”

he makes sure to leave you a pair of his sweats and a hoodie whenever he goes on the road because he knows how much it helps you when he’s gone.

even buys you the same cologne he uses so you can spray it on the hoodie and it’ll smell like him even if he’s not here.

can’t convince me he doesn’t do a ton of these cute little things for his girl

യ LUKE HUGHES

boyfriend luke hughes who is a bit of a nerd and collects a bunch of random trinkets and collectables.

and once he starts dating you, he just starts collecting a bunch of random things that you might need at any given moment.

need a hair tie? luke has one around his wrist, waiting with anticipation for your hair to start annoying you so he can offer it to you.

getting a random tension headache? luke has some painkillers in the glove compartment. heat pack for your cramps are also in there. along with an eyelash curler.

he even buys mini versions of your essentials (lip gloss, hand sanitizer, etc) and keeps them with him in case you forget yours.

luke’s ass jean pocket? your miniature handbag. he literally has anything and everything you’d need in one of those back pockets. a bobby pin cause a strand of hair has been annoying you? just stick your hand in one of those back pockets and grab one.

and he loves sitting with you at your vanity while you do your makeup. and over time he learns your routine and starts handing you your products🥺

“ going a bit fancier today bub, can you hand me my bronzer? “ you mumble while applying your concealer as luke holds out your mascara

“ um — “ he mutters, retracting his hand and spins your little product cabinet around, looking for a little bottle with the word “bronzer” on it

“ it’s this one, “ you say, reaching and grabbing it yourself and luke’s cheeks redden a bit in response

“ sorry, ” he says sheepishly and you giggle as you lean over to press a kiss against his cheek

“ don’t worry about it baby, “

[hoseoksluna]

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole  / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.  

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls. 

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that. 

An act. 

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for. 

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is. 

In your case, you were going into this blind. 

And so was he, your dream fulfiller. 

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more. 

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him. 

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment. 

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him. 

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked. 

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his. 

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime. 

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run. 

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance. 

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression. 

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed. 

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it. 

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly. 

And the other day, you did. 

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek. 

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you. 

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed. 

You couldn’t get rid of it. 

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either. 

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard  

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go. 

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case. 

Glory hole. 

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of. 

Beetle. 

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to. 

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away. 

And the painting paused your blood flow. 

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.  

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for. 

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it. 

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here. 

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did. 

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have. 

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well. 

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream. 

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money. 

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it. 

Or… 

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots. 

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.” 

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet. 

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity. 

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit. 

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second? 

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait. 

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body. 

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality. 

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering. 

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.” 

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door. 

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery. 

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on. 

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure  with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them. 

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest. 

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess. 

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream. 

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way. 

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat. 

You cross your ankles. 

And you wait, all over again. 

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven. 

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you. 

One point up for Mr. Kim. 

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in. 

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch. 

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting. 

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more. 

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you. 

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence. 

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much. 

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds. 

He heightens your tremor by doing that. 

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously. 

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago. 

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it. 

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit. 

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it. 

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his. 

The plan worked. 

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel. 

You let him see your pussy. 

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see. 

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this. 

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid. 

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you. 

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other. 

Body to body. 

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you. 

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake. 

You growl. 

He stops his circles. 

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears. 

And the man… 

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger. 

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back. 

Embeds life into time. 

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands. 

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown. 

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to. 

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips. 

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him. 

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness. 

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence. 

Where you can speak. 

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?” 

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words. 

“Get back inside the cubicle.” 

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings. 

And you know what to do. 

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.” 

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken. 

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it? 

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks. 

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.” 

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck. 

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do. 

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch. 

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood. 

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.” 

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams. 

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?” 

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.” 

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?” 

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast. 

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously. 

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing. 

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself. 

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?” 

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice. 

And you don’t really mind. 

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?” 

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.” 

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.” 

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back. 

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?” 

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you. 

“Why?” 

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it. 

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish. 

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched. 

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.” 

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.” 

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.” 

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?” 

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?” 

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.” 

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?” 

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.” 

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.” 

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.” 

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.” 

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you. 

“What number was that?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.” 

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down. 

“Nine.” 

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb. 

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather. 

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back. 

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses. 

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth. 

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.” 

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in. 

And he doesn’t go easy on you. 

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth. 

And Namjoon elevates your experience. 

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit. 

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless. 

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?” 

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals. 

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you. 

“Get on the bed. On your knees.” 

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching. 

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him. 

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?” 

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.” 

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss. 

A kiss that was more than a kiss. 

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness. 

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed. 

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it. 

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod. 

You can only moan his name. 

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.” 

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life. 

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.” 

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices. 

“Joonie, Joonie bug.” 

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you. 

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?” 

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit. 

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes. 

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.” 

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust. 

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back. 

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time. 

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him. 

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself. 

A wave of strange emotions engulf you. 

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby. 

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible. 

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling. 

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.” 

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be. 

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?” 

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles. 

He truly won’t stop teasing you. 

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness. 

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings. 

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him. 

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his. 

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?” 

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too. 

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony. 

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl. 

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth. 

You can’t love him any deeper. 

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you. 

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[flannelshirtandjeans]

I designed my own Monster High ghoul doll! She is the daughter of Näkki, a water spirit that can camouflage itself as rock or driftwood and drowns people who are careless in water. She is Finnish, loves metal music and coffee, and cares deeply about sustainable fishing practices and protecting lakes and ponds and rivers. Her pet is a skeletal seal pup, who once died in fishermen's nets, but was brought to a new life by Lumme's sadness and anger. She's a part of the metal club at MH, but doesn't play or sing, more just enjoys listening to it and bonding with her fellow students. She my seem quiet and reserved, but won't stop talking if you get to know her properly!

Some design notes under cut:

Also I'd like to add design notes to this:

- fishing nets and hooks & related things are a big design note in her doll because she did almost die by drowning stuck in a fishing net, and she has Feelings about questionable fishing practices.

- there's a permanent tangle of netting around her neck to represent the way she technically died

- her purse is a glass float

- her hair is a light ashy blonde-brown - dirt road brown as we call it in Finland, which is a common hair color in Finland, with accents of darker brown, green, and blue.

- blue eyes, cloudy iris, dark eye whites. Netting eye-shine

- her base skin tone is a light grey, but she has rocky camouflage and birch-tree camouflage on her limbs, ears, and forehead to represent her camouflage/shapechanging abilities

- Luunappi is a skeletal "kuutti", baby northern ringed seal, who died of getting stuck in nets, and Lumme's anger and sadness at the injustice magically revived it

- frappe bc Finns drink ridiculous amounts if coffee per capita but I didn't want to give her straight up black coffee

- Karelian boo-strie is a Karelian pastry but made to look like a fish with big teeth

- her object heel is a fishing loom stone, a type of a fishing weight

- her phone is not an iCasket bc she's _Finnish_ and obvs reps Nokia instead. Hence Noakiasket

- sea glass bottle bottom sunglasses. Seaglass is frosty so that's a little funny for sunglasses but listen.

- the CD is "Nemo" by _Nightfish_ which is obviously a silly riff on Nightwish, which is a Finnish metal band, and she loves metal (Finland has so many metal bands. We just really love metal.). I decided on a CD-player purely for nostalgic reasons.

- "Land of a thousand lake monsters" refers to Finlnd, and you can see the shape of Finland on the cover. Finland is called the land of a thousand lakes, so we probably have a lot of lake monsters too.

- yellow comes a little out of nowhere for this, but I like raincoat yellow and it reminds me of fishers, so I can have it.

[delirious-donna]

Bath Time Gone Wrong [Part One]

an: a huge thanks to @satorini for the prompt that produced this. Let's see if this goes anywhere... it sure has potential.

prompt: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: none, SFW

Series Masterlist | Part Two

You couldn’t believe your luck. Not only was your friend clearly loaded, they had immaculate taste as well. All of this you might never have discovered if it hadn’t been for a miscommunication that left you with no place to stay over spring break.

It would be wrong to blame your parents for forgetting that you would be coming home for the two week break, instead arranging for the family home to be renovated whilst they cruised to goodness knows where, but you still felt that stab of disappointment and hurt in your gut. One phone call to confirm dates would have fixed that, but no, what was done was done.

Instead, you found yourself in a penthouse apartment that your friend from college said you could use as it was currently sitting empty. Those were Karin’s exact words, “Don’t worry about it, the place is empty anyways. May as well make the most of it!”

Whistling through your teeth, you did a slow 360 spin of the entranceway. 

The moment your Uber had pulled up outside the building you had an inkling that the inside was going to be luxurious, and you were dead right. The penthouse apartment on the very top floor needed a code and a swipe of a keycard to access by elevator. Your fingers fumbled on the keypad in your nervous excitement, only blowing out a breath of relief when you began to move smoothly upward.

As the doors opened, you found that the apartment was almost entirely open plan with panoramic windows of the cityscape lining the length of the wall in front of you. “Well, fuck…”  

The decor wasn’t quite minimalist, there were too many home comforts to allow for that, but everything was clean lines and muted colour palettes. The sprawling couch scattered with one too many throw pillows, a basket of neatly folded blankets of every type of thickness tucked into the corner and a lush potted plant with long spiky green leaves all added that homely touch that true minimalist apartments lacked.

It was spacious but oddly welcoming with a rich scent that permeated the air, French coffee and freshly baked bread. You wondered if there was perhaps a housekeeper or someone that stopped by every few days to keep the place ticking over.

That thought was how you found yourself exploring deeper into the apartment, searching for an occupied room or some sign of life. There were no noises to be heard, no telltale signs that a terrified housekeeper might pop out any moment and scare the bejeezus out of you. What you did find was several seemingly unused bedrooms in different colour schemes and what you assumed was the master bedroom.

What a sight.

The bed dominated the majority of the room, a thick grey duvet adorned with pillows and a turned down fleece lined blanket on top. What kind of luxury lifestyle did Karin live that she had this kind of place stashed away, unused?

Perhaps you should have peeked inside the closets or the walk-in wardrobe at the very least, but you were drawn like the proverbial moth to a flame by the enticing peek of an en-suite bathroom.

Dumping your small wheelie suitcase and hold-all by the bed, you scurried towards the pristine black and white marble decorated room. It was safe to say you were giggling like an idiot, hands clapping together at the generously sized tub and did it have jets too? Oh my gosh, it did!

In your pure unfiltered joy, you found some jasmine scented bubble bath tucked away behind the bathroom mirror, completely overlooking the men’s razor and bottle of expensive cologne that sat beside it.

A bath would be exactly the thing to begin your new adventure. You could soak, shave your legs, listen to some music and contemplate what you could get up to with your two weeks here. Oh, takeout! You could order something super decadent and pretend that this was actually your place for a little while. 

The possibilities were endless. 

You set your phone up in the bathroom, finding a favourite playlist and blasting the music louder than you would have done back home. No one would mind, you were alone and the noise surely wouldn’t filter to any of the apartments below.

This was going to be an amazing spring break, you could feel it.

Kento was tired. What was new?

A weary hand passed over his face as he examined his reflection in the elevator mirror. Has he always looked this tired? Maybe.

He exhaled as the doors opened into his apartment, but only two steps forward told him that something was not right. Nothing had been touched or moved in the living area or kitchen, yet an unfamiliar scent mingled with the one he was used to. 

Slowly, he deposited his briefcase and shrugged out of his jacket to hang it in the closet by the front door. He kicked out of his too-tight shoes and two fingers loosened the knot of his tie whilst his frown deepened.

His home office was exactly as it should be. The same with his little gym studio. None of the unoccupied guest bedrooms were disturbed, including the one that Karin had long claimed as her own for when she visited once in a blue moon.

Had Karin decided to visit thinking that he’d be away on the business trip that was cancelled last minute? It would be just like her to do something like that, but he was certain she would have stayed away from his room—the master suite.

Now certain to find his baby sister, who was as far from being a baby than ever, somewhere within the walls of his home, he felt his temper bubble. He didn’t need to be disturbed during what was pitched to him as mandated paid time off.

Kento was already annoyed by the idea that was forced upon him earlier this afternoon, and it wasn’t until he reached his building did he begin to think perhaps it was a blessing. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken any vacation time. A week or so to unwind, maybe read for the first time in months, sample a new whisky imported from Scotland… 

The possibilities were endless.

He spied a small suitcase open on his bed, the contents a riotous jumble that made his head pound just to look at. A trail of clothing led from the bed to the bathroom door which stood slightly ajar. Perfumed steam escaped and his teeth grit together in irritation. Music played rather loudly in his opinion, a bright bubbly song with lyrics in a different language he couldn’t understand.

Did he dare to burst into the bathroom and scare the living daylights out of his darling little sister? The idea was tempting. The only downside being that he had no interest in mistakenly seeing her in some state of undress if she hadn’t yet made it into the bath. He would listen a little longer, wait until he was sure he wasn’t going to irreparably damage both his eyesight and his psyche before acting. 

Kento padded around the bed, pulling his tie off and throwing it on the pillow to deal with later. The top three buttons on his shirt unbuttoned easily and breathing became a little easier again. Not for the first time, his mood shifted again. It would be nice to see Karin, catch up and find out how school was going. There was never enough time during the holidays to really enjoy her company so maybe this was all working out for the best.

He was still going to give her the fright of her life though.

The sound of splashing reached his ears and he smiled. Memories of tormenting his little sister rose to the surface whilst he tiptoed silently towards the bathroom door. He could hear the sound of humming along to the music and he had to stifle a snort of laughter, singing was not her forte.

A strong hand gripped the edge of the door. Kento held his breath, preparing to yell. Silently, he counted to three and leapt inside.

“Boooo!”

You had never screamed so loud in your entire life. A man was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his features twisted in amusement but quickly shifting into sheer mortification.

Water sloshed over the side of the bath, bubbles going up your nose as you pushed your body low into the fragrant water. An intruder!

“Who the fuck are you?” You yelled indignantly, anger finally overcoming the terror ripping through your heart. Whoever he was, he was tall and incredibly pissed off. 

His blond hair fell into his eyes, a hand the size of a dustbin lid swiping it back only to highlight the furious scrunch of his eyebrows. Sharp hazel eyes swung between you and the wall, clearly unsure where to look. In other circumstances, you would have called him good-looking, handsome even but not when you were so very vulnerable.

He spoke, almost to himself. “You’re not Karin…” 

You knew that name, it was your friend’s name. This was her pl—Shit, this wasn’t her place. You could scream.

“I’m Nanami Kento, and you’re in my bath. Who are you?”