#the two smirky smirks

[m3tth4ws]

[uluvjay]

Baking cookies for F1 drivers after they give you a good wienering(sex)… 

(Thank you tik tok for this idea & @turcott3 for helping)

| OSCAR PIASTRI | honestly he’s confused when you present him with the tray of cookies, thinks they’re for his win but when you tell them what they’re actually for he blushes bright red and giggles.

“Really? For giving you good sex?”

But he’s still very appreciative and makes sure you see that.

| LEWIS HAMILTON | Smirky but finds it amusing, pulls you into a sweet kiss and ends up quickly giving you a reason to bake more.

“Honey I think you’ll need another bag of flour by the end of the week.”

Your home begins to smell like baked goods all the time and anytime he’s craving your cookies he knows what he has to do.

| CHARLES LECLERC | He’s slightly confused but horned. He giggles when you tell him what they’re for and while he does find it slightly silly it warms his heart. Pulls you into a sweet kiss before he eats one and praises you for the amazing taste.

“Almost as delicious as you mon amor.”

| LANDO NORRIS | He gets cocky but also finds it hilarious, definitely throws out some dirty remarks that have you blushing, he uses this to his advantage though and always asks what he can do to get more.

“So how many do I get if I get you pregnant??”

| MAX VERSTAPPEN | He is severely confused, he doesn’t understand what you mean or why you would make him cookies for giving you what you deserve but he eats them nonetheless and tells you how delicious they are.

“I don’t understand Schat, why did you bake me cookies for fucking you good? That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

| LOGAN SARGEANT | Blushes like a school boy, he doesn’t know what to say at first but composes himself and thanks you. Gives you a sweet kiss before eating one, he ends up having the plate gone by the end of the day and he makes his way into your shower later that night with one thing on his mind.

“Can you make snickerdoodles next time?”

| DANIEL RICCIARDO | laughs his ass off for a solid 60 seconds before composing himself and pulling you in for a kiss. He thanks you a thousand times before picking one up for you two to share but quickly gets turned on by the way your lips skim his finger as he feeds it to you and next thing you know you’re bent over the counter. An hour later he comes in to find the oven set at 350 and you whipping up more cookies for him.

“What flavor you makin’ this time?”

| CARLOS SAINZ | He gets so fucking cocky, the second you tell him what you made them for his smirk overtakes his face. He thanks you properly with a quickie before cleaning you up and getting you cuddled up on the couch as he heats up the cookies and gets you both a glass of milk.

“I could get use to these.”

| LANCE STROLL | He’s confused for a good 15 seconds before he starts laughing. He’s very thankful though and horned that you thought the sex was good enough to bake him his favorite cookies. Gives you a sweet “thank you baby.” With a kiss before he splits one between the two of you.

| ALEX ALBON | It amuses him, you’d mentioned doing it to him but he didn’t think you actually would until he walks in to find you plating them. He knew what they were for right away and couldn’t contain his laughter, soon your both bent over laughing.

Once they’re cooled down he devours half of the plate and praises your skill.

[misted-dream]

PORNSTAR MARTINI ﹒⌗﹒🍸﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 도영 + fem!reader

in which . . . a suspiciously handsome stranger you meet at a bar seems to pique your interest in all the wrong ways.

warnings | MDNI alcohol consumption, recklessness (pls don't do this irl), big dick doyoung agenda, oral m receiving, dom-leaning/switchy dy, degradation + praise, unprotected sex, doyoung is filthy and calls you his pornstar

word count | 5k

a/n | this literally started out as a timestamp. i really intended this to be just pure smut and something quick to write but what do you know.

10:33PM

it's your—what—second? third? cocktail of the night and you’re convinced that you’re still as sober the second you walked into this bar.

you trace over the rim of your empty glass with the tip of your middle finger mindlessly, your other arm hanging off the rest of the stool. with every loop that you make, the annoyance within you grows.

you can count the amount of customers in here on two hands, and on one if you’re only taking into account who’s actually sat at the bar. yet, the bartender’s attention is solely focused on the group of men sat on the opposite end of the counter.

3 of them are sat down while the last one stands, leaning forward on the glass counter. you can’t make out what they’re saying, but by the looks of it, you can probably assume that they’re regulars here.

this pisses you off even more.

you stare into the back of the bartender’s head, thinking that maybe if you tried hard enough, you could will him over here.

instead of willing him to turn his head, one of the men sat down in the group looks over at you. you glance back at him, and seeing as he doesn’t look away, you don’t either.

the man only holds out for a moment longer before he snaps his head away. with how far he is and the moody lighting, you can only barely make out what he looks like, but you swear he was smirking as he looked away.

great.

well, you suppose that this could be another way to get yourself another drink—the drink that you wanted to order about 15 minutes ago now.

in your head, you start counting down the 60 seconds that you’re predicting it will take before smirky stranger gets up and comes over to you.

you drop your eyes down onto the empty basin of your glass, wrapping your fingers around the stem and rocking it back and forth in your hand. as you reach 1, you catch the movement in your peripheral of someone pushing their bar stool out and getting up from over there.

as the man walks all the way down the bar over to you, you choose to pretend you don’t notice any of this.

“hey.”

you tilt your head. your eyes drag up the torso of the man slowly before scanning his face until you meet his eyes. he’s not bad looking.

“yes?” you raise your eyebrows, a somewhat critical look in your eyes.

now that he’s closer to you, you can see clearly the smirk that he’s wearing on his face as he leans on the counter with his forearm. “you here alone?” he swipes a stray strand of hair away from his forehead as he asks.

“does it matter?” you tuck your chin inwards slightly, eyes directly looking up at him.

the man hangs his head forward as he chuckles lightly. you notice him fidgeting with the ring on his hand.

“i like you,” he says, meeting your eyes again.

you sit back as far as you can on the bar stool. the leg you have over the other bounces rhythmically as you return to drawing circles over your glass.

you study the man’s face. the cockiness that he wears is one you know all too well. his unearned confidence seen in the way he’s standing lazily.

you glance at the ring on his finger, then back up at him, “what does your wife think about that?”

the expression on his face doesn’t slip. usually, that particular rhetorical question catches them off-guard, but without even missing a beat, he answers, “does it matter?”

the movement of your leg ceases. unable to tell whether he’s being sarcastic or not, you squeeze out a weak smile before getting off your stool. quickly grabbing your phone and your purse in one hand, you head past the man to the door of the bathrooms on the opposite wall—leaving him standing by the bar alone.

you hear the man calling out after you. as you make your way past his entourage on the other end of the bar, chuckles and murmurs can be heard from behind you. actively ignoring his yells, you head straight into the bathrooms without glancing back once, calling out, “i don’t fuck married losers,” before you disappear inside.

if you thought the bar was too dark before, the bathrooms do you one better. the wall tiles are black; the floors are glossy, and black; everything that you can see is painted black—with the exception of the golden sconces next to the mirrors over the sinks. but the light emanating from them is so dim they may as well not exist.

you balance your phone on top of the soap dispenser. rummaging through your purse, your fingers dig for the rectangular tube of lipstick in there; it being black as well really doesn’t help you out. and the fact that your head is starting to feel like the beginning stages of an implosion doesn’t benefit you much, either.

you finally pick out the small tube from your purse, uncapping it instinctively. you hold the lipstick in one hand as the other grips onto the edge of the sink, allowing you to lean forward into the mirror without toppling yourself over.

you go over your lips with the pigment as carefully as you can, perhaps too carefully. when you’re done, you drop the tube back inside your purse as you pull away from the mirror.

running a hand through your hair, you analyse your reflection. in your judgement, you think you can still pass for sober.

grabbing your phone, you hesitate before going back out again. what if the man’s still in your place?

whatever.

if he is, then you’ll take it as a sign to leave and go to another bar, pub, club—whatever—at least the bartenders there might actually do their job.

there’s a sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach as you pull the door open. a feeling that’s quickly replaced by relief when you see the lack of boisterous men at the bar table.

you make your way over to where they previously were. sliding back up onto the stool, you wave over the now free bartender.

“a pornstar martini, please,” you say, trying to hold back your still-pending irritation from the events earlier.

looking straight ahead, you see that someone else has also occupied your previous space. you watch as he downs the entirety of what was in his whiskey glass and slams it down onto the counter. he doesn’t look up.

his black hair is gelled back but the day has allowed strands to fall out of place. his shoulders rise and fall visibly just once before he pushes his glass a few inches forward in front of him.

your cocktail is placed on a coaster alongside a small shot as the bartender pushes it towards you, murmuring a quiet, “enjoy.”

the first sip of anything alcoholic is always vile, no matter how much you’ve been drinking beforehand. you down the shot, feeling the acidity burn as it travels down your throat.

then, you alternate to sipping on the martini.

it’s now that you recall your new year’s resolution from the start of the year: drink less.

probably not the best time to stick to a resolution like that in the middle of the bar. but the increasing intensity of your headache is pleading with you to do so.

you’re already halfway through your drink before your moral consciousness kicks in. but the important thing is that it did, you tell yourself, as you push the glass with a third of what was in it left away.

you fish for the £20 notes that you know you shoved inside your purse somewhere. when you finally find them crumpled and hidden under your keys, you lay a couple of them out onto the bar table, sliding it under your drink.

before you can up and leave, the bartender hurriedly makes his way over to your end of the counter.

“miss, your bill is already covered.”

you look at him, somewhat puzzled. there was no way in your head that the guy you insulted like a middle schooler would’ve paid your bill for you.

and as if catching onto your facial cues, the bartender continues, “the gentleman over there covered it.”

you glance over in the direction he gestures towards, over at the only person on the other side of the bar.

“thanks,” you reply quietly and curtly. you take back one of the notes off the counter, and consider taking the other as well, but decide against it last second.

when you gaze over at the man who bought your drinks for you again, he doesn’t even look up.

you make your way over. the least you could do is thank the man who saved you 20 quid tonight, you thought.

the closer you get, the more visible his features become to you. the last guy wasn’t bad looking, but the man sitting there is clearly not on the same level.

his face is of full of sharp, angular planes. the way his cheekbones catch the light from above, you can swear he looks something out of a painting.

“hi,” the coyness in your voice being something that made you want to punch yourself over.

the man doesn’t even so much so as spare you a glance as he takes another sip of his now-replenished drink, one that you're presuming to be whiskey.

“can i help you?”

his tone is somewhat surprising to you, to an extent. you’re used to being the standoffish one in the conversation, not the other way around.

you reposition your stance, standing up taller than before. "figured i'd thank you for the drinks." didn't expect you to be a prick, though.

that earns you a small smirk from him. he rests the drink on top of his pinky, his thumb grazing over the ridges in the glass. he purses his lips for a quick second as he swallows his sip, "well, you've thanked me."

he looks at you for the first time. his eyes hooded and slender, the glassiness of them shrouded in the dark atmosphere.

you nod, "i have."

he rips his focus from you back onto the dark liquor he's swirling around in his glass. giving no sign of further conversation, your body begins to turn towards the exit on its own accord. you take one step forward, the heel of your shoe clicking against the marble flooring.

then, you stop.

something about the man sat there piques a morbid curiosity within you. there's some sort of... magnetic allure that you can't simply walk away from.

you double back over to him. "you know, mr..."

"kim," he follows seamlessly. once again, he doesn't even look up at you, as if he expected you to turn back. "kim doyoung."

"right," you regard him fixedly. "and what exactly do you want from me?"

doyoung clasps his hands together and sighs dramatically. he peers at you out of the corner of his eyes, "what makes you think i want anything from you?"

the line between rudeness and banter has never been stretched thinner in your entire life, and you really can't tell what side he's on.

you put your purse on the counter, leaning in closer as you do so. "does this act usually work for you?"

a strange semblance of pride resonates in your chest as he turns his head to face you.

"what do you mean by that?"

"i'm asking: do you usually get laid by acting like you have a stick up your ass?"

he looks amused, "i have a stick up my ass?"

your eyes dart across his face in a confused, and slightly defensive manner.

"oh, i'm sorry. at least my ego isn't so big that i go around thinking everyone wants to sleep with me."

you push yourself up onto the stool next to him, "yeah, i really don't believe that."

doyoung watches as you position yourself comfortably on the seat. then, he leans in, closer than you'd expected and whispers.

"then, don't."

he leans back into his seat. one hand rested on top of the counter as the other throws the rest of the drink back in a huge swig. his face doesn't even so much as flinch when he swallows it; even just watching him makes your throat burn. he sets down his glass and gets up. snaking a hand around to the back pocket of his trousers, he pulls out his wallet, and from that, a 50 pound note.

he slides the money forward and shoves the wallet back inside his pocket. your gaze follows him as he begins to walk off, though, not in the direction of the exit.

stopping a few feet away, he turns his head back around to you, "you coming?"

on a regular night, you'd probably say 'no' to going somewhere with a stranger. an even higher likelihood if you don't know the where it is that you're even going. but you don't meet curiously handsome strangers on regular nights. and although you follow him, you're still well aware that this could possibly be the dumbest idea you've ever had.

he leads you down a hallway, as dimly lit as the rest of the place. at the end of it is a locked door that he conveniently has the keys for. who this man is and why he has keys to doors in this place, you truly do not know.

behind the lock is a lounge. a vip lounge in fact, as it suggests on the door. you step through the doorway and doyoung pushes the door shut behind you. you drop your things onto the couch right next to you and he tosses his keys on top of some side table.

you look up at him, suddenly being all too aware of every limb hanging from your body.

fuck.

you try to steel your undeniable nerves.

is this where you die?

no.

stop jumping to conclusions.

to the best of your ability, you try to ignore your speeding heart rate. "i thought you said you didn't want anything from me."

doyoung stands facing you, head slightly tilted back. slowly, he unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves. "question is..." his voice drags out as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbows, "what do you want from me?"

his velvety tone puts your prior conjectures to rest. and now with the added knowledge that he probably doesn't want to kill you, you expected your nervousness to cease. yet, it doesn't.

perhaps it makes you even more nervous knowing he wants to fuck you rather than kill you.

if you were a virgin, that would make sense. but how fast the man standing before you makes your heart beat, how tense he makes your chest feels is the furthest thing from making sense.

you can only take the pumping in your chest for so long and you're blaming the alcohol, but the only thing running through your mind now is the image of you pushed up against him.

not wanting to restrain yourself any longer, you crash into his torso. arms reaching up and wrapping around his neck as your lips meet.

his hands pull you in closer by the waist. your lips envelope his perfectly, as if they were sculpted from each other. his lips are warm, the taste of whiskey now confirming your earlier assumptions. a faint hint of a minty aroma emanates from his skin.

using your arms to leverage yourself, you press your chest tighter against him, earning you a muffled hum as he kisses you deeper.

his palms drop from your waist to your thighs, kneading the muscle underneath slowly with his fingers.

you pull yourself away, breathless.

he looks at you in a way he hasn’t done previously the last few times. it’s like he’s looking at you expectantly; for an answer, a sign, anything.

“don’t tell me you’re not getting anything from this,” you breathe.

“did i say that?” you catch the end of his brow flicking upwards before kissing him again.

you run a hand down his chest, feeling the contours of his body underneath the button-up shirt.

your lips are pushed against his so hard that you’re beginning to feel the pressure from them. you force yourself to break away, catching your breath. through an exchange of lustful glances, you trail your fingertips all the way down his torso to his belt. you can tell he’s trying to hold back a smirk at your teasing.

you bring your other hand down to help with the unbuckling of his belt. suddenly, you feel the firm hold of his hand on one of your wrists, stopping your movements.

“you’re gonna let me have it that easy?” his grip on you loosening a little.

you look up at him with a sly smile playing on your lips, “you said i have a big ego,” you hook your fingers inside of his belt, “i’m trying to prove i don’t.”

using some strength, you pull him off of the wall that you pushed him up against and swing him around so now he's in your spot, back towards the couch. with a single finger, you push his shoulder back and compliantly, he plumps down onto the seat.

you kneel in between his legs. without wasting a second, your hands land on his knees and forcefully push them wider apart to make room for yourself.

just simply watching you seems to make him revel in pleasure. as you undo his belt, doyoung leans back and helps in whatever way he can by lifting his hips. your fingers slip inside the waistband of his trousers and pull them all the way down in one swift motion.

the cloth of his boxer briefs is stretched tight by the bulge underneath.

you sit back on your heels, hands running up his thighs slowly before stopping just shy of the hemline.

"are you going to ask?" you bat your eyelashes up at him.

his bottom lip recoils from being bitten back by his teeth. "you're fucking bossy, aren't you?"

"fine," you begin to pull down his shorts. "i'll make it easier for you." slowly, and that's agonisingly slow, you tug at the band, inching it lower and lower until it springs up in front of you. the tip of it passing your eye level.

you drag the briefs down to his ankles at a much quicker pace.

you wrap one hand, then the other around the shaft of his dick, and still there's the head of it left, burning pink and red. you watch him watch you. his breathing deepens as you give him a lazy stroke.

"do you want me to suck your cock?" a raspiness in your voice that tells him you want this as bad as he does.

"yes," doyoung breathes out, eyes focused on your hands. then, he looks at you, "please."

satisfied with his response, you begin to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. your tongue swirls over the tip of it, eliciting a quiet moan from him. your hands working together pump up and down his shaft in unison—you feel every vein between your fingers.

you can already feel it filling up your mouth with both of your hands still on it. you breathe in as deeply as you can before sinking your head down a little further. the strained moans that he lets slip does more for your ego than the both of you probably realise.

as you go deeper on his cock, you take away one of your hands to let yourself more space. you're only halfway down when you feel the tip hit the back of your throat. at that, you start to push back up. dragging your wet lips on his cock and letting his dick slowly slide out of your mouth as you pull yourself back.

you stroke the entire length of his dick with your hand while you readjust how you're kneeling in front of him. your attention entirely focused on his cock, you don't even notice his arm reaching out to you until his thumb lands on your face and his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up at him.

he hovers his thumb over your lips, gently grazing over them as he wipes something from the corner of your mouth.

you shoot a look at him with your eyebrows raised and he lets go—as if apologising for interrupting you—and his arm falls back beside him on the couch.

refocusing your attention, you spit onto the tip of his dick and smear it together with the precum dripping out from him, covering his entire shaft with it.

you work in a few rubs with your hand before taking him in your mouth again. as the tip of his dick hits your throat, you begin bobbing your head up and down while your hand works the remainder of his shaft.

it’s clear that he’s trying to hold back his sounds, but every time your teeth grazes a vein, he can’t help but groan. you watch him carefully as he throws his head back in ecstasy, hands balling up beside him.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he drawls breathily.

the muscles in his thighs twitch. he brings a hand up over his forehead and bites down hard on his lip. doyoung knows that if he were to look at you right now, he would lose it.

your hand reaches the base of his cock, and instead of sliding it back up, you give it a tight squeeze. this has him bucking his hips up into you, thrusting his dick deeper down your throat. “shit,” he pants, with his voice finally above a half-whisper.

he can’t help it; he has to watch. his eyes meet yours—pure euphoria in them. he keeps his steady gaze on you as you take his cock deeper and deeper every time.

a piece of your hair falls in front of your face and doyoung reaches out to push it behind your ear. he runs his fingers through your hair, gathering it all behind you and holding it back in a ponytail.

slowly, slowly, slowly, you drag your lips up. you make sure your tongue swirls over the tip over and over before you finally pull away.

“look at you,” he curses under his breath. “sucking my cock like a fucking pornstar.”

you have to hold back a smirk from showing on your lips. and suddenly, you become too aware of the lipstick that is most definitely smeared all over you.

“get up,” his voice takes on a demanding tone. one that makes you obey his words without even giving it a second thought.

using the back of your hand, you wipe away the drool on your chin as well as your smudged lipstick.

doyoung holds his palms out, waiting for you to take them. as you place your hands in his, he pulls them closer towards him.

you plant one knee next to his hip on the couch, followed by the other so that you’re straddling him. doyoung intertwines his fingers with yours. he brings your left hand towards him, softly kissing your fingers and your knuckles.

“you want to show me how good you can be, don’t you?” he mutters in between brushing your fingers over his lips.

you only nod in response, entranced by his fluttering touches.

"lift this up," he nods his head down at your skirt. without hesitation, you pull the hem of your skirt up over your hips.

the tip of his cock is directly under your clothed cunt. you roll your hips back, grazing against the head. doyoung bites back a chuckle, "i can't believe you're this fucking wet."

you suck on the inside of your cheek, "i can't believe you're this fucking hard."

he smiles lazily, "well, i wouldn't want to offend you."

you land a soft blow to his chest, one void of any real strength. this does nothing but amuse him further.

he cocks his head to the side. "pull them over," he eyes your lace panties.

you slide a finger underneath the sheer fabric, bunching it together and pushing it to the side. your bare cunt practically dripping on doyoung's dick. subconsciously, your hips start grinding back and forth, brushing your folds against his tip.

you're this close to sinking down on his dick when doyoung stops you with a single tap of his finger and a look.

"uh-uh. where are your manners?"

the smugness on his expression leaves you no choice but to roll your eyes at him. "fuck you," you spit out.

"yeah, i don't think that's the magic word," he leans back onto the couch.

"seriously?"

"if you want this dick inside you, you better ask for it, princess."

seeing how stubborn he is, you decide to play along. you lean your body closer towards him, arms once again wrapping around his neck. you plant a quick peck on his lips, then another on his cheek. your kisses trail all the way to the top of his ear before whispering deliberately slowly.

"i want you to fuck me senseless."

his expression says he's unaffected but the twitching from below you suggests otherwise. doyoung looks at you contentedly but still not giving in, yet.

you pull the top of his ear in between your teeth, softly biting down, causing him to grunt quietly.

"please."

immediately, it's like something switches on inside of him. he lines his dick up with your pussy, and without warning, thrusts his hips up into you.

you choke out a moan, the sudden stretch being almost too much for you to take.

he grunts, pushing himself deeper inside you inch by inch. "fuck, you okay?"

despite wanting to speak, the only thing that comes out of you are whines and whimpers, so you resort to nodding your head eagerly instead.

"you can take it, can't you?" doyoung groans, a noise so deep and guttural as he pushes the last of his length inside you.

he throws his head back once he's all the way inside. just the sight of your pussy swallowing the whole of him drives him insane.

he stays still inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. his fingers grip tightly onto your hips, his thumbs digging into your pelvis.

your eyes are clamped shut. you don't want to say it but his dick inside you makes you feel like you're getting split into two. your knees can barely hold you up, having to claw your nails into his shoulders to support yourself.

doyoung reads your expression carefully as he slides himself out, and then in. slow at first. so slow that it feels torturous for him when the only thing on his mind is fucking you dumb.

the more he thrusts, the more you begin to take pleasure in this. building up a steady pace, his hands hold you in place as the sound of your skin slapping onto each other echo in the room.

the friction occasionally rubbing against your aching clit works you into a frenzy.

doyoung begins to pound into you faster and harder, illiciting a long string of curses from you. crying out, you let yourself slump over his shoulder as he bounces you up and down his cock.

you can hear his heavy breathing right next to your ear. "this pussy was made to be fucked like this, wasn't it?" he spits in between his groans. "perfect little slut, made to take big dick so well, huh?"

in all honesty, your mind is clouded by the sole desire to cum. not hearing a word he says, but you agree anyway with tears threatening to spill out the corner of your eyes.

you reach a hand down, rubbing tight circles on your clit. the need to cum has made you desperate. willing to do anything to just to push yourself that little further.

nothing can turn doyoung on more than seeing the desperation scrawled across your face. every time he pounds into you, the tip of his cock twitches inside, swiping against your g-spot.

“my pretty slut’s gonna cum? huh?”

you whine in response, the ability to form coherent words absolutely out the window by now.

“fucking do it then.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck as you’re nearing the verge of your orgasm. the muscles in your leg begin to spasm.

“cum all over this dick, baby, i know you can do it.”

his sudden use of the pet name for you completely unravels you with his dick all the way inside. legs shaking uncontrollably. you clench around his cock, your pussy walls tightening the harder you come.

as you gush all over the entirety of his dick, doyoung can’t hold out any longer. your screams of pure ecstasy drives him to his orgasm, shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you. his hips buck sharply, pushing his cum into the deepest crevice of your womb.

his jaw hangs slack, eyes closed as waves of pleasure ripple through him. his chest rises and falls dramatically, hands shaky although he tries to steady them on your hips.

“fuck,” you both repeat as you begin to come down from your high.

no longer blinded by your orgasm, you can still feel his cock throbbing inside of you, twitching as your cunt drains the last of his cum out of him.

breathing heavily, you meet his lust-filled gaze.

your thumb runs up his jaw lightly, drawing yourself closer to his face. visible beads of sweat form by his hairline.

you press a soft kiss onto his lips. smirking, you watch him keep his eyes closed for a few more seconds, revelling in the euphoria he’s experiencing.

you reduce your voice to nothing but a whisper, “that definitely doesn’t help my ego.”

[majoryeager104]

i have this problem where i can just have a tiny sip of a engery drink but my body is just shaking like fucking crazy a second later could you do hcs of how hawks, dabi and maybe shigaraki would react to this?

Ofc 🫶

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Keigo

”hey…sweets?”

Keigo eyed you with a weird expression. Worry, amusement, and absolute confusion all in one. You tilted your head, raising a brow at him.

“yes, Keigo?”

He paused for a moment, looking down at your hands, then back up at your eyes, which remained fixed on his.

“why’re you shaking like that?”

“just stole a sip of your energy drink”

His eyes widened slightly as he glanced back at the energy drink on your coffee table, and then once again right back at you, his mouth agape.

“just a sip!? And you’re shaking like that?!”

“yyyyup.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Keigo broke out laughing like an idiot, holding his stomach as he practically keeled over.

“what’s so funny?”

“you’re like a caffeine lightweight! This’s fuckin hilarious!”

“oh shut up!”

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Touya

“you look like a fuckin chihuahua”

Touya sat on the couch in the league hideout, a wide smirk on his face as you glanced over at him. You couldn’t help but pout at his statement, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“what the heck? What do you mean? I do not!”

“you’re sure shakin like one.”

He stood up, chuckling as he walked towards you, the thud of his boots making you twitch a little, only earning another chuckle from him when he stopped in front of you”

“have you eaten?”

“yes?”

“full meals?”

“…yes?”

“then what the fuck are you shakin like that for?”

“I dunno”

“do i need to take you to a doctor? What’ve you had??”

“I mean, I had a sip of Togas energy drink…”

At this, Touya scoffed, although it was more like a barky laugh. You tilted your head, your brow furrowing further.

“it’s not funny!”

“it’s hilarious. Admit it.”

“…”

“your silence speaks volumes, doll.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tomura

When Tomura gave you a sip of his energy drink while he was playing League, he hadn’t expected you to get all…buzzy. I mean, it was an energy drink, but your reactions to it were certainly something. He tried to focus on the game over your constant chattering, which was proving difficult. What had gotten into you?

Before he knew it, he was turning to look at you with a frown, pulling off his headphones which hadn’t helped to block out your noise in the slightest.

“hey…y/n?”

“yeah, Tomura?”

“remind me to never let you get a drink of my- oh my god your hands!”

See, as he’d turned around to look at you, his hands landed on your hands, which were currently shaking like crazy. He looked up at you while you looked down at your hands. And then, of all things, you shrugged.

“you’re the one who gave me the energy drink Tomu”

“I-ugh…yeah, guess you’re right…lesson learned then”

And so, he sent you one last confused glance before turning back to his game. While he played, he could see you lurking up behind him, your hand reaching for his drink once again. He flicked it away, shooting you a smirky glare.

“nope. Not making that mistake again. Get water.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Banner creds to unidentified artist, @ Sharlock, and @ Shizu! (If anyone recognizes the hawks artist lmk)

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: age gap 25/41, nsfw, mdni 18+, sloppy blow/handjob, one (or two) d-slaps, praise, könig is big (i think, that is canon by now), swallowing)

part before: breaking the bed

I ring the doorbell. My cat’s carrier in the one hand, Mimi meowing softly. A backpack in the other.

König opens the door and I look up at him and…

He’s wearing glasses.

Right there on his nose. Black framed glasses. My jaw drops as he smiles down at me, completely unaware.

“Hey.”, he greets me, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my cheek, while his hand shoots out to take the pet carrier from me.

“You have glasses?”, I ask incredulously, letting go of the handle.

The smile falls off his face. “Ah scheiße, I forgot to take them off.”, he mutters, turning away.

“Did you fucking hide them from me?”, I say, still trying to wrap my head around it.

"No, I just need them to read.”, he grumbles as I close the door behind me and follow him into the living room.

He sets Mimi's carrier down and opens the door to let her out, the little kitty traipsing out carefully, getting to explore the new surroundings while we get the rest of the stuff from my car. I didn’t pack that much because it’s only temporary, staying with him until we get the bed situation fixed. There's actually more for the little minx than for me. Her toilet, her cat food, the basket. And then the second box with my stuff that König carries up to the bedroom while I set her basket down next to the couch, and then go to sit down and watch her zoomies.

I laugh, when I see him coming down the stairs again, the glasses still on his nose. The giant with the tattooed arms, all dressed in black, a Death shirt on, the five o’clock shadow, the long hair that he pushed out of his face… and then those black rimmed square glasses. I laugh even more as he shoots me a glare, a deathly one.

He drops onto the couch right beside me, pulling me into him as he grumbles something grumpily in German. I kiss him, telling him that he looks even more attractive with the glasses on. "They are totally fine. So fine even.", I say, pressing another kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching against the sensitive skin of my lips.

"Really?" He looks at me skeptically. With the glasses that just makes me want to give him another kiss. It's criminal how good he looks with them on.

"Yeah.", I answer truthfully, and I can’t help the little smile coming through. Has he really hidden them from me? Is that… a little hint of insecurity I am seeing behind the serious expression, the cocked eyebrow arching over the glasses?

"No ‘old man’-talk then, huh?", he comments, pointedly.

I laugh. "Maybe a little bit... They are giving you major dilf-vibes.", I say, biting back a giggle.

He furrows his brows, looking at me with a confused stare. "Dilf-vibes?", he echoes, and I explain it to him, of course, a bright mischievous grin plastered onto my face. The only part of the acronym that sticks is that I'd like to fuck him.

"Hm, really? Like right now?", he smirks at me, mischief sparking in his eyes, his large hand stroking up my back. The cocky expression on his face dissipates as I drop onto my knees on the floor, right in front of him, my hands quickly reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

I look up at him, a sultry smile stalking onto my lips, when I pop the button of his pants and lower the zipper. He groans when I take out his dick, his length hardening quickly, as my fingers wrap around him. He slides forward, shimmying his jeans down a bit and spreading his thighs, making room for me between them. I scoot closer, leaning over, and take his tip into my mouth. Sucking on it. Feeling him grow, while my eyes search his.

His head falls back, as I work him, breaking the eye contact, soft moans dropping from his lips. His hand moves up to take his glasses off, but I stop him.

I release him with a pop. “No, leave them on.”, I ask. “Please.”

“You really like them that much, hm?”, he asks, pulling up one eyebrow, but a smirky grin stalks onto his lips, and his hands drop down again, the right one digging into the cushions of the armrest.

“I do.”, I say, my expression mirroring his, as I move my hand up and down his length lazily, which makes him groan again, his hips rutting forward.

I’m getting cocky (no pun intended), just grab him at the base and slap his hard dick against my cheek. It even makes a little noise, so I do it again, this time a bit harder. His jaw drops a little, his eyes widening in surprise, before mischief sparks in them.

“I wanted to do that for quite some while.”, I whisper, still grinning up at him.

He laughs a little bit, the smile on his face smirky and lustful, while his gaze gets heated. “You're not even half as innocent as you look."

"What's that supposed to mean?", I ask him, gripping him tighter, moving my hand quicker now as I jerk him off.

"Oh, you know, Fräulein.", he just says, the last word turning into a moan when I squeeze the tip with my fingers.

Instead of an answer I lean forward again, my eyes not leaving his while I teasingly lick it before I close my lips around him. Slowly moving down his length. His breath hitches, a quiet treacherous sound, his eyes intently watching what I’m doing.

I try to take him deeper, letting the tip hit the back of my throat, and I can feel tears well in the corner of my eyes. I'm not stopping until they're running down my face, the wet drops slowly rolling down my cheeks. His hips jerk up, pushing his dick a little further still as I bop my head up and down his length, at least as far as I can take him. Not even fitting half of him, but that doesn’t deter him.

"Mmh, look at you, swallowing me down like a good girl.", he drawls, his words breathy, his gaze fixed on my lips that are fitted around his girth. The praise washes over me, and I can feel a tingle down my spine.

It spurs me on, I can feel how wetness seeps into my panties, kneeling before him like this. Taking him deeper until I gag around him, strings of my spit covering him, some of it dropping down further.

But there is no use trying to make him fit down my throat, he is just too thick. I pull back, letting myself breathe again, licking the underside of his shaft which makes him shiver. I move to the top, not stopping the nibbles and sloppy kisses, until my tongue is dragging over the sensitive spot, his foreskin sliding back and forth while I jerk him off at the same time. I can taste the salty hints of precum and feel the metal of his piercing as I toy with the tip.

The sounds that drop from his lips are divine. Soft grunts, deep and gravelly, low breaths. Gripping the cushions with his hand, his fingers of the other one running through his hair. His head is tilting back, every so often, but his eyes don't want to leave me. Seeing how I play with his pierced tip. How my hands run up and down his dick. I spit, letting a dollop of saliva drip down onto him before I spread it down his length to lube him up even more.

"Ah, scheiße.", he grumbles, rolling his eyes back.

I work him with both my hands, my fingers sliding over his soft hot skin easily, his dick slick with my spit. They still barely fit around his girth as I move them a bit faster, finding a steady rhythm, until he's moving restlessly, fucking up into my hands.

I bend forward, taking the tip in my mouth. I fit my lips around him, my cheeks hollow. My eyes are meeting his while I look up at him, and his hips buck up, pushing him a bit deeper which has me gag around him.

"Fuck, just like that." The low gravelly whisper is the only thing he says before I feel him pulsing in my mouth, warm sticky cum shooting down my throat. I hum around him, licking everything up as he comes, and I keep sucking him until I can feel him softening in my mouth.

I pull back, letting him slip out, and drop my jaw to show him his cum in my mouth, the white liquid sitting on my tongue. The sight lets him groan again and I swallow it down, the taste lingering.

I get up from the floor and crawl onto the couch again, wiping over my chin in a quick motion. His dick is still out, resting against his stomach, and he pulls the pants up, to let me take a seat on his thighs.

“Do you believe me now, that I really like your glasses?”, I ask him, pressing my lips to his in a quick kiss, then I steal them from his nose to set it onto mine.

He laughs. “I do.” His hand shoots up, his thumb softly grazing over my cheek, his fingers pushing some of my hair back, his eyes trailing my face, every single bit of it.

“How do I look?”, I ask him, trying to pull a serious grimace, like he always does when he tries to mask his jokes.

“Looking good.” He grins at me while I drop the expression and pose, placing my chin on the back of my hands, batting my eyelashes at him. “And way cuter than me.”, he adds, giving my nose a little peck.

“Well, that’s not difficult.”, I shoot back, sticking my tongue out at him.

We laugh a little, and I cannot fight the smile that adorns my face. It’s so simple and casual, the way we’re sitting here, me on his lap after just blowing him. His arm wrapped around me, his other hand softly stroking over my thigh. The warmth of his body against mine, his scent in my nose, my hands tangled in his hair. His presence alone is stirring something in me, the feelings still new and yet familiar at the same time.

Today at work, my thoughts came back to his offer of staying at his place and I had some doubts. Feeling like I was intruding again, even though he was adamant about not letting me sleep on just a mattress in my own apartment, after he broke my bed, and inviting me to stay with him. At least until we got it fixed. And sitting here with him like this, I don’t know anymore why I even thought twice about it.

There’s just something that has been roaming my mind all day. And now I'm thinking about it again, I can't push it away, though it might be a bit of a weird timing. I just...

I hand him back the glasses, he takes them and I sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about something.", I start then.

He puts the glasses on the end table next to the couch, but his head whips in my direction when I speak. "What is it, Kleine?", he wants to know, his arm around my waist pulling me closer.

"Uh, sorry, I'm bad at this but – and we don't have to put any labels on it or anything – but now that I'm also staying at your place and everything..." I pause and he just looks at me, his brows pulled up. Patiently waiting for me to finish my sentence. "We're dating, right? Like, exclusively?"

He nods slowly, his mouth tilting up into a little lop-sided smile, while he's still looking at me all serious. "I don't plan on seeing anyone else, so yeah, I think, you can call it dating or being exclusive, how the youngsters call it.", he says which pulls a little chuckle from me. "Whatever you wanna call it.", he concludes, squeezing my thigh once, a quick reassuring gesture.

"Okay.", I say, snuggling into him, my head resting on his shoulder, content with that answer.

"If you want to see other people though, that's fine too.", he adds after a second of hesitation, and I’m unsure how to interpret the tone in his voice.

The expression on my face drops when I realise what he means. I break away to look at him. "No! No, I mean, I wasn't asking for that reason. I just wanted to make sure, we were on the same page.", I explain. "I don't want to see anybody else either."

I don't have the nerves to tell him, that this had nothing – well, almost nothing – to do with him, but certain people in my past where expectations were built and not met. I just wanted to know to spare myself any unforeseen surprises in that department.

"Don't worry, Liebes.", he says, pulling me into him again. "As long as I'm on leave, you got me all to yourself." Pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"How long will that be?", I ask, ignoring the little flutter in my stomach. Excitement and dread mixing, hearing him say that I got him all to myself, while at the same time knowing that he will need to go back to his job sometime soon.

"Gonna know next week, when they send the details.", he answers, simply.

“Okay.”, I nod, not knowing what else to say to that, instead stretching up to kiss him again. Starting off slow, my lips pressing softly against his. My hand strokes over his face, feeling the scruff on his jaw beneath my fingertips, as we deepen the kiss.

His tongue strokes against mine, a touch that sends a pang of need between my legs and makes me squirm. I snuggle into his broad chest, and with how I’m draped over his lap, that makes his big burly thigh press against my clothed pussy, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips. A treacherous, obscene sound that he swallows up.

“What was that?”, he asks, mumbling against my lips, before he pulls back.

“Nothing.”, I say, feigning ignorance. Desperately trying not to subconsciously roll my hips over his muscly thighs, searching for more friction.

He just pulls an eyebrow up, not taking my shit.

“Well, you know. Somebody broke my bed instead of making me come this morning.”, I quip, a challenge in my voice and eyes, which has him look at me from under his eyebrows. The gaze alone is sending a shiver down my spine as it’s boring into me, heated and heavy.

“Oh really.”, he states, his voice deepening.

“Yes really.”, I say. “And…” I halt, trying to find the words. “Sucking your dick didn't help either.”

“Look at you, talking all dirty now, huh?”, he drawls, a mischievous grin cutting through his stern expression, seeming satisfied with my little comment.

“Well, you know, we’re getting there.”, I say, grinning at him. “Getting there, even if I’m not getting off.”, I poke at him again, teasingly rubbing myself over his thigh.

"And we can’t have that.", he states darkly, scooping me up in a quick motion.

He throws me over his shoulder which has me yelp: “König!” before he hurries up the stairs to the bedroom.

Continue right on in the next part: breaking me (not literally) or check out the full story in the Masterlist ~

a/n: this is cut short, cause the part right after is not finished yet, and although my wrist (got tendonitis :c) is already feeling a little better, i still need to rest it and this scene i only needed to proofread, i hope you understand <3 also check out @idontknowreallyidontcare who also has a very nice post about König wearing glasses!

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Sagau but the reader has a dragon tail and is a

They're very serious looking and only make a very intimating looking.

But the moment someone compliments them they get flustered and just tells them to move on.

But everyone witnesses their grace's tail wagging.

Lisa, kaeya or childe would definately tease them.

Sorry if my grammar is bad, english isn't my strongest language.

Dragon!Reader: Looks Serious But is A Softie?! 👀

Okay, first of all: the fact that you're a dragon to begin with? I'm pretty sure Liyue just got a huge promotion. Their archon is a literal dragon! Their Divine Creator blessed their Geo Archon with the wrath that challenges the gods he faced in the Archon War!

Honestly, Zhongli would be amazed to know that the Creator is a dragon themself. Would legit admire you and see you as their idol or something.

Oh, but this is just the start. You were helping Sara at good hunter to collect some meat because you were bored. She greatly compliments your efforts, and you try to brush it off, play it cool. It would've worked if it hadn't been your darn traitorous tail wagging like a happy puppy behind you, showing the world the unnecessary fact that you were flustered.

With this in mind....guess who told Lisa, Kaeya, and Childe...

(Quick Disclaimer: Might Be OOC!)

Lisa

The moment she heard the little incident at Good Hunter, she just had to try it herself! In a respective manner of course—she wouldn't dare nor want to do something that'll make the Creator angry! Just a little tease—surely, the creator won't be too mad?

She will probably invite you to help in the library, sorting out books or double checking the list of checked out books, making sure their not overdue.

When you're done the task, what happens, you may ask?

"My, thank you so much for your help, Your Grace~ You surely have a sharp eye even for such minor chores..." She says this with that teasing glint in her eyes, and most importantly: that smirk when she's being very sussy flirty.

The moment she sees the way your tail flaps around behind your back as your impassive face responds with something casual, this woman knows she's hit the jackpot.

"Aw...Your Grace, you truly are very adorable."

Kaeya

This man might be just as bad as Lisa, except much more sly than—ahem, flirty.

His excuse of seeing you becoming the big softie of a dragon was to ask you, of all things, to visit the gosh darn tavern for a drink or two. And, to his delight, you agreed.

It was also a good thing Charles was manning the tables tonight, because Diluc would give him the death glare for bringing someone such of high importance to get wasted with him.

But naturally, and as Kaeya suspected, you're persistence to help your people took over, and you instead spent half of the night helping Charles clean the tables. So, naturally, when Charles insists you relax, Kaeya's gotta compliment you.

"Your Grace, you sure do know how to keep things organized. That much is to expected by someone as high as you, though—must've been a piece of cake." You confirm that it was, but even with the that, your draconic tail does that little dance behind your back for the whole world to see how happy you were to be complimented for your hard labors.

This man will CHUCKLE at the sight, but won't comment on it. But he will give you that smirky smirk with THE eye that says it all. You groan into your palms again—your tail really seems to like betraying you, honestly.

"What, Your Grace? Don't be so shameful about yourself—honestly, I quite envy how cute you are." Get red-faced, bois. This captain will make you flustered till the end of your days.

Childe

The moment he hears about the incident in Mondstadt by his gossiping Fatui Agents, man's just got to try it.

So, he does the most logical, least-suspecting thing to request your presence: challenge you to a fight.

Yes, the others called him crazy for it, but does this mad lad care? Nope! This guy wants to see your tail flap in joy, that's all! Besides, it's not like he sees it often since Zhongli hides his draconic traits from the whole wide world.

So you accept the invitation to spar with him, and—do I need to tell you? You guys sparred for a good few hours. Unlike in-game playable Childe, you now have to deal with more of a in-game Boss-like Childe instead, with how many moves this guy has.

After a good sparring match or two, you guys decide to take a break. Mainly you, since you are legit dying right now.

"Good job, Your Grace! Your combat skills are as great as ever! Much expected, haha!" Yep, he delivers what his true intention is. And yes, your tail does the little dance it does, no matter how much you try to calm it and shrug it off as a daily thing to get used to.

This mad lad, like a true mad lad would, would grin. Very widely. He knows he won this "battle"—man is ecstatic about it.

But he is a little sympathetic if you act annoyed about it—it reminds him of what his younger siblings would do. If you're really upset about it, he'll try to cheer you up.

Look out for more sparring matches, he's probably pulling this stunt until you're immune to such things or you get your tail under control.

"Don't be upset, Your Grace! I'm sure if my little brother were here, he would find you cool no matter what!"

Aaandd that's it! The end of the headcanons! Hope y'all enjoyed—see you around! :)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Legit the moment I open up tumblr, and I realized I made it to 100+ followers, I nearly screamed LOL. Did not expect to make it this far. Thank you all so much!

I now have an info page, if you wish to request :) Be sure to follow the rules and all that—oh, and it might get updated sooner or later. We'll see how it goes.

Check The Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Mailbox is Open!

[ryndicate]

Double Down ⨳ Yoshida, Denji

“Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

warnings: fem body/pronouns, nudes posted without permission, drug use, exhibition, creampie, videos taken with permission, stepcest, infidelity, masturbation, handjob, some spit mentions, premature ejac, implied fuckery, implied theft, if there's more i am just too wacked out to see it so lemme know!

event: @bastardblvd 's slimeball alley collab !! my first submission of who knows how many to come, im gonna try to not go crazy with it, promise

notes: didn't realize until it was done that I could've made it much more slimy but its okay. We'll get 'em next time babes 😩 this idea is expanding on a little blurb I put in cassie's inbox once, i included it in the fic itself with some itty bitty changes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules/DNI

Your fist slams on the bathroom door. “I swear to god, Denji! Where the fuck did you get those! Delete them now!”

“I already told you, Power found them online!” Your stepbrother yells back through the door, keeping his weight against the handle so that you can’t force your way in.

“You’re full of shit you fucking perv! You took them off my phone or something.”

“Wanna fucking bet? The real perv is that prettyboy bastard you call baby,” Denji sneers back, yelping as you get a good shove in on the creaking wood.

Your efforts to break the bathroom door pause. “The hell’re you talking about?”

“I told you he was trouble the day you two met. What—you think I was lying?”

You growl under your breath at the barenecked taunt in Denji’s voice. Yeah he told you, one time before he got high out of his mind. The only reason you even met Yoshida Hirofumi was because he hooked your stepbrother up a couple times, and you begged to tag along once. That situation ended with your brother counting stars on his buddy’s ceiling while you saw them on the backs of your eyelids with the guy’s lips wrapped around your clit. 

One thing led to another, and that “prettyboy bastard” became your boyfriend. He’s a bit of an ass, but Yoshida’s also sweet and funny, doesn’t roll his eyes at your music choices, doesn’t bat an eye when you want to go out with your friends, and is full of sexy, smirky sass that makes him so fun to be around. Sure, you sent him some photos, but he wouldn’t have put them out anywhere.

Your anger deflates, but your indignance does not. You step away from the bathroom door. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Denji throws the door open with a toothy grin, repeating himself. “You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yeah!” you snap at him, crossing your arms as he leans in the doorway, still looking smug. 

“Your boyfriend put your pics up on OnlyFans, and he’s using the money to pay for his xanny. If I’m right, you two gotta upload a video. Together,” Denji states, his eyebrows furrowed in twisted delight that makes you sneer at him.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah? Tell me what you get if you win.”

Caught up in his childish bullshit, you push at his shoulder. “You gotta start an OnlyFans if you’re wrong, which you are. And you gotta wear lingerie.”

His smirk full drops at that, and he glares at you, cheeks darkerning. “Now who’s a perv.”

“This whole shit was your idea!”

“Lingerie?”

“How is wearing lingerie worse than telling your stepsister to fuck and post a video about it?!”

“Shut up!”

“And since we’re on the topic, I swear to god if you don’t stop taking my shit out of the laundry I’m gonna tell that redheaded lady at the DMV that she’s at the very top of your fap list.”

His blush deepens and he palms your face backwards in a light push. “The fuck she is. Shut up.”

“Yeah well, me and the thin fucking walls in this apartment would have to disagree.”

“Go find your boyfriend.”

“‘M gonna.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck him,” you hiss in barely supressed rage, gripping your boyfriend’s phone so tight you’re disappointed when it doesn’t crack. 

You’d waited for his high to hit him and let him drift off before going through his phone—what’s the point of asking him outright if it’s not true, right? No reason to stir the pot. But your stomach had dropped with unease when the account site was in his search history; you tried to brush it off as maybe he gets off to a set of camgirls, but the moment you saw the login info presaved—as in frequent entry—you began to forget the bet altogether.

Now your jaw is clenched, seething as you scroll through every racy picture you ever sent him. Each have thousands of views, hundreds of comments and jeez—so many subscribers. The heat of betrayal simmers through you. Your jaw drops at the total that’s set to drop into his account at the end of the week and resist the urge to slap Yoshida awake, but instead you set about trying to change the banking and login info, only to get halted by an infowall. Frustrated, you slip off the bed and call your stepbrother, edging into Yoshida’s bathroom so you don’t wake him up.

“You were right, and you fucking knew it, didn’t you? You set me up.” you hiss into the device as soon as he picks up with a mumbled ‘sup. You can hear voices and music in the background, paired with light explosions. You assume he’s out with his friends, probably gaming like usual. 

“You didn’t have to agree. Wait—” there’s the sound of the phone moving around and suddenly the music is gone. “Does that mean you’re gonna do it?”

“That’s besides the point, Denji!”

“Oh fuck, you are!”

“Chill your boner,” you snap, “‘m not gonna do it unless you help me!”

“Help you? What, like you want me to hold the camera or something?”

“Denji, I swear to god—”

“I’m kidding, jeez.”

“I can’t change the account info. They’re my pictures, and they’re already out there! He shouldn’t get to make money off of me.”

“Wait, so you want to keep the account?” He asks curiously. You hear a door slamming and wonder if he’s still moving, or if his friends are.

“Dude, we’ll have rent and anything else covered for the whole month with a single week’s drop from this thing. I don’t see a reason not to. I can quit Mcdonald’s!”

“Shit, for real? Lemme talk to Denki, ‘m pretty sure he knows a guy.”

“Thank you,” you coo into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you pay up.” You can hear his pervy smile, and you grumble a sulky fine at him.

“Ok. But he’s gotta do it soon. It pays out in a couple of days.”

“I’ll give him some cash to see if he can do it tonight. Don’t see why he’d say no—" Denji sounds a lot further away from the phone now, "—Oi! Don't bro! Give it back."

A familiar voice purrs into the receiver and you roll your eyes. "Heyyy, princess. You with that Yoshida guy still or are we allowed to hang now?"

"Byeee, Kiri. Tell Kat hi f'me." You hang up with a smile and leave the bathroom, glaring at your supposed boyfriend still sleeping. You never heard him say he was working and you always kinda wondered where he was getting his cash, but you always just thought he was dealing or something. Not the kind of think you ask about. You obviously should’ve asked.

You crawl into his lap and begin sucking on his exposed throat, admiring the sharp lines, the bob of his adam’s apple as thick lashes flutter open. 

“Mmm,” Yoshida moans. “Damn, was I out long?”

“Nah,” you hum, slipping your fingers up his shirt, smoothing over his waistline. “Got bored without you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins up at you, dark eyes fuzzed out and sultry, and his hands come up to settle on your hips, easing you into a slow grind. “Wanna do something?”

“Mm. Maybe,” you tease softly, pushing his shirt up his chest and leaning down to wrap your lips around his nipples. He groans at the warm, slick suction, arching into your touch. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his cock swelling beneath you. 

“Maybe I wanna do something…different.”

Yoshida grins up at you, half-lidded. “Yeah? Like what?”

Your nails make pink lines down his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear. “What if you fucked me, and we let some people watch?”

His fingers dig into the fat of your waist, his dick thumping beneath you. “Anyone I know?”

Yoshida’s pupils have overtaken his coal irises, and you give him an inviting smile. “No one specific. I was thinking more like…a video or something. I wanna be able to see it later.”

“Holy fuck, baby. That’s sexy,” Yoshida grins up at you. “Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

“Me either,” you breath softly, rocking yourself over his covered erection.

You’re left to yelp as he displaces you from your seat on his lap and pulls you out of the bed by your wrist with a wide smirk. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Don’t worry baby, I just wanna pick something up at the Malmart first.”

“Fine, I guess,” you pout at him and his smirk only grows.

“‘S okay, baby. I’ll give you something too.”

“This is not what I meant when I said video, Hirofumi!” you gasp out. Your fingers are splayed out on the hood of his car as you try to stay upright. “Someone could actually see us!”

"If you don't wanna be seen, you gotta cum. Cause I'm not stopping til you cum."

"Fuck, fuck please, just hurry up!" You plead, half your words caught between whines and whimpers as he pounds into you from behind, your skirt flipped over your back.

"You think I'm not fucking you like I mean it?" There's so much smile in his voice that you want to call him on his bullshit for once, but the solid smacking of his hips into yours, the head of his dick pressing as deep as it can go with every thrust quickly makes you forget what you're snapping at him for.

"Just‐just, fucking make cum– ‘fumi!" You're desperately telling yourself you don't want to be seen. It's the middle of the night, so even here, parked under the one of the many lightposts that don’t work in grimetown's 24-hour walmart parking lot, the risk of anyone seeing is slim.

But not zero. Especially with the light from his phone camera shining down on your exposed lower half. You’re like a slutty beacon for whoever might be looking this way.

"I'm working on it baby, you gotta relax." His fingers slide around your waist, brushing past your clit and forcing a frustrated whimper past your lips at the neglect, to drag them through the slick dripping obscenely from your pussy lips. It's dripping to the rusted black hood, making it glisten. He aims the camera down at them before moving it back to the way your pussy clings to his cock. "You're so fucking wet for this, you'd think the whole thing was your idea. Well, most of it was."

You don't answer him, trying to work yourself back on him, chasing that fluttering heat twisting itself tighter and tigher with each passing second.

"Good girl, look at you. Fuck, look how bad you want—"

"Oi! Get the fuck out of here before I—"

Your whole body locks up at the tired but authoritative voice that rings across the lot.

Your boyfriend calls back. "C'mon man, have a heart. Let me finish her off and I'll give you a look." Except his last syllable staggers off with a groan, broken with a laugh as his grip on your hips tightens to a bruising pressure. The vice grip of your cunt has him looking down to sees your juices gush around the girth of his cock, dripping down your thighs to dirty the hood of his car even more. The sight pushes pushes him over and he calls out again, his voice tight but smug.

"Nevermind, we're done here."

He gets one last shot of his cum dripping out of you before closing out the livefeed.

“It’s like four in the morning,” Denji grumbles, rubbing one of his eyes as he cracks his bedroom open further at the sight of you. “Thought you were Power or somethin’, jeez.”

Denji blinks the blur from his eyes, zeroing in on your screen, and you just about hear his pupils expanding. He pulls a shaky inhale and you roll your eyes.

“Done. Bet over, and here’s your damn proof,” you grumble right back, slamming your phone against his chest and shoving your way into his bedroom to flop down into his bed. It had taken over an hour to convince Yoshida back to his place and get him to fool around enough for him to pass out and you to sneak back home.

"Also Kiri wants you to call him back. He's mad you hung up on him."

A small grin curls your lips but you don't respond, wiggling deeper into his mattress until you're comfortable.

He throws himself down in the bed next to you. “Turn on my speakers.” 

“Or you could just wear headphones, you freak.”

“Nah. Turn ‘em on.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you stretch out to reach up to his desk, turning on the bluetooth speakers that he usually uses to be a nuisance when he’s smoking. “If your dad was home, I’d kill you for this.”

“You’re not even breaking up with him, are you?” Denji chortles, ignoring your bickering. His eyes are glued to the screen as he shoves a hand into his loosened shorts. “What the fuck, you guys were outside?”

You shrug. The video’s only been up for a couple hours and it already has triple the views and donations of all the photos Yoshida has put up so far. “Looks like he’s gonna be making me lots of money, so why not? It’s the least he could do to pay me back.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t answer you, his breathing getting heavier. You close your eyes and sigh as the sounds wet sounds and your own whiny moaning starts bouncing off the walls of his room, wondering to yourself if you really sound like that or if part of you was exaggerating because of the camera. The mattress creaks every now and then as his hips jump, his arm brushing your side as he grinds into his own fist. 

You roll to face him, taking in the sound of his stuttered breaths, the muted slick sound of his fist pumping in his shorts. “So what about this gets you so riled up?”

Denji groans, stomach rippling where his shirt is pulled up around his midsection. “I’nno, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

You keep prodding, “What is? Yoshida? Or me?”

He gives a small whine that has your pulse picking up in sick interest, so you continue. “Was Power really the one to find it? Or…you were subbed to the account, weren’t you Denji?”

“Mm- maybe?”

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, listening to your own voice begging to cum, shifting your weight onto your arm so you can look at him. A strange curiosity has taken over your body. He looks wrecked but his eyes are still on the screen. “Denji, look at me.”

Your body tingles as his eyes tear towards you, but he’s still got a hand around himself, hidden from your eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“You wanna what?” he moans, just barely, teeth digging into his lip.

“Can I jerk you off?”

You’re a little surprised when he actually hesitates. You’ve tolerated it all this time; as much as he pervs out on you, and your stuff, yet somehow he’s got a little crumb of morality left in there somewhere. And right now…you wanna kill it.

“My panties, my pictures…is this really any different?” you ask softly, sweetly, as you run with this electric current, placing your hand over his covered groin. You grin as his hand immediately goes slack at your touch and slips out of his shorts, and you get to feel for the first time how hard he is, rubbing over the smooth fabric, feeling out the shape of him.

“I mean…I guess not.” He sucks in a breath as you grip him over his shorts and give a couple experimental strokes. “B-but what about—?”

Denji’s head drops back to the pillows with a groan, phone in a death grip as you tug his waistband down, his dick slapping free. It’s pretty and slender, flushed deep red.

“What about what?”

“What about prettyboy, huh?” He finally gets it out as you spit in your hand and take him up again, stroking him steadily from base to tip, squeezing at the top with a gentle twist of your wrist. Yoshida always seemed to like it, seems like he does too. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the whole stepsister thing?” You shrug. You’re still stung about Yoshida’s betrayal, so this feels like a little bit of retribution. A little bit. You still need to find more ways to make him pay first, but this is a good start. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend, but ‘s not like you and me are dating, Denji. It’s a handjob. What’re you gonna do, marry me?”

Denji splutters and his dick throbs in your hand. “Don- Don’t say stupid shit!”

You coo at him and his lips part, panting hard as you work him faster. 

“What– haa, what if it wasn’t just a handjob? What then?” Denji gives a low moan as you settle over his lower thighs so you can gently cup his balls. They seem to tighten under your touch, before he relaxes and he tries to look at you. 

“What, like my mouth or something?” you ask playfully, leaning over and showing him your tongue, letting a strand of spit drip down to his dick.

A litany of curses tumblr from his mouth as Denji squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twisting into the pillow beneath his head as his cock jerks and shoots a load of hot sticky white into your palm, getting smeared down his throbbing shaft as you slowly work him through his high until only a couple dribbles get pressed out by a final pass of your thumb over his slit.

“Wasn’t expecting you to finish already.” You wipe your hand off on his comforter and try to ignore the throbbing in your panties. You feel like you can still imagine the slick from earlier tonight seeping out of you, but it’s as if it’s no longer enough.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he calms his breathing enough to raise himself up on his forearms. He watches you as you take your phone and flop down next to him. “I didn’t even get to see the rest of the video.”

“It’s online now, freak. You can watch it whenever.”

“Yeah...” 

You’re too busy trying to go through the account settings to notice the way he’s eyeing up your thighs; he hasn’t even put his dick away yet. 

“Hey,” he mutters softly, ignoring your glare when he puts a hand on your thighs and pulls them open. “If you can touch me, does that mean I get to touch you?”

Your pulse jumps and you try to keep your true thoughts hidden as you hide back behind your phone. “I guess that’s fair. If you wanted to.”

You can hear the click of Denji’s throat as he swallows, and you can’t stop the low whimper as his calloused fingers brush your inner thigh, right at the edge of your panties. 

They’re warm as they brush over the seat of your panties, timid but curious as they explore the surface, stroking over the tempting warmth and wet seeping through the thin fabric. A bolt of pleasure bursts and has your gut clenching as he swirls over your clothed clit

“H-hey, wait,” you say suddenly, nerves getting the better of you as you try to make sense of Denji taking control of your body. “It got switch but this isn’t my banking info. Is it yours?” You flip the screen towards him, and his brown eyes squint in the pale blue light.

“Uh, nah, that’s not mine.”

You mewl as he pulls your panties to the side and traces a finger through your folds, delicate, hungry. “Who did you say– mm, h-hacked the account for me?”

“I told you. M’friend Denki, his buddy did it. That purple-haired guy who works at the smoke shop.”

“The one wi—” you suck in a breath as he sinks his index finger into you. “With the tattoos?”

“Yeah him,” Denji mumbles, hardly paying attention to your words. He’s grinding against the bed as he pushes his middle in alongside it, imagining the tight squeeze around his dick instead.

Your groan is part pleasure, part dismay as you realize just who he’s talking about. “Oh fuck me.”

Denji bullies his way between your thighs in an instant.

“N-no, Den– that’s not what I meant!”

[just-here-for-the-moment]

She Comes First (Part I)

This was started as part of @wannab-urs DMAMC fic challenge, but I just did not finish the fic on time (sad trombone)... so here's Part I (the buildup) and I'll post Part II (the payoff) as soon as it's finished.

Please go check out the rest of the DMAMC tags for more delicious fics!! This has been a really fun fic challenge, and I'm still happy with everything I've written so far.

Word count: 10,299 (nobody look at me!) Rating: Explicit, for 18+ only legally (but really ages 35+ only for the vibes, this is adult shit) Outline: alternating dual POV; Frankie “Catfish” Morales x domme!fem!Reader insert (Reader insert is 40+, able-bodied, has boobs and a pussy, wears corporate/business clothes to work, and wears pumps/heels) but otherwise is a total blank slate (no physical description, not white-coded, no blushing, no descriptions of hair or skin) Warnings: Femdom; Frankie is brand new to SSC (safe/sane/consensual) BDSM; characters drink alcohol; curse words and vulgar language (all the good stuff you expect from one of my smutfics); eventual smut; lots and lots and lots of talking about BDSM limits (but I tried to make it hot). 

You settle yourself at the bar, resting your feet on the brass crossbar of the leatherette stool, sinking against the low backrest with a sigh as you wave down the bartender. 

What a week… Fuck the clients and their demands, and your boss’s caving every time they snap their fingers. A drink to start, and then some well-deserved Friday night play. 

Hopefully there will be at least one interesting man tonight, someone you can invite to a hotel room and use as the finest form of stress release. Someone who can be a good boy, who can obey your orders and give you pleasure that you’ll return tenfold when he earns it. 

You look up, using the large mirror above the bar to scan the room behind you, taking advantage of the fact that it’s tilted at an angle, giving you a view not only of people walking behind you, but also the booths and their occupants. You can stare for as long as you like—no one really ever notices anyway, engrossed in their own good time. 

Of course, there’s always one guy who wants to catch your eye, come over and sit next to you and seduce you (ick) but you can see that type coming from a mile away, and they’re not who you’re interested in. Finance or tech bros, ties loose and eyes too shiny with whatever top-shelf shit they’ve imbibed too much of before you even walked in. 

As the bartender places your drink in front of you, you catch the reflection of a booth full of men behind you and a few feet to your left. A young one, very blond and muscled and wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt seated next to another, darker blond man in a sedate navy blue polo, a short, trimmed beard giving him a corporate look. The two seats opposite them are occupied by a shorter man in a black shirt, his dark curls shot through with gray, and the fourth man is different, a little taller and a lot broader than the others, wearing a mesh baseball cap.

He’s wide through the shoulders, arms straining beneath a soft chambray denim shirt, even softer-looking curls escaping from beneath the brim of his hat. He’s smiling and even laughing at moments, but he’s much quieter than the other three, especially the rowdy one you’ve nicknamed Muscles and the smirking dark-haired man seated next to the wall. You see all four of them raise their beer glasses to toast to something, but their laughter is gone, replaced by somber expressions. The shortest one, the smirky one, mouths an “Amen” but you can’t hear it over the din of the bar. 

You consider the group, carefully scanning each of them for tells, little hints that any of them might be of interest, might be a good time for the evening. 

The youngest one—he’s too ebullient, too boisterous for what you want to give. He wouldn’t pay attention, wouldn’t follow instructions and be a good boy. And definitely not the smirker in the black shirt; he’s handsome and he knows it. He’d be a brat, try to wrest control from you, make it a challenge that he’s leading. The other blond, the quieter one; he’s handsome enough, but something about the set of his jaw and the way he carries himself when he strides up to the bar to order another round—that power, that inner peace—this is not his thing, you can tell. And that leaves…

Baseball cap. Soft, kind eyes and a strong nose, plush lips just beneath a patchy little mustache. A little sad, much quieter than the others and much larger. He’s a big boy, all broad shoulders and work-strong arms under that soft blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up his forearms for comfort, but giving a show of how strong he must be. A physique crafted by hard work and daily routines, entirely different from the sweat-slick muscles of the younger blond. That one must be a gym rat or a boxer or something, self-focused when he flexes his bicep at the short, dark one in the black shirt and gets a smirk and a “Fuck you” in return, a playful slap that glances off his elbow as he cackles and lowers his arm.

Baseball cap laughs and shakes his head, eyes flicking to his heavy glass stein, two-thirds full of golden, bubbling liquid, still working on his first drink when Polo Shirt returns with a tray of three beers for himself and the others. He’s savoring, sipping where the others quaff, holding a palm out and shaking his head with an emphatic “No,” that you can read on his lips in the mirror after the younger blonde raises his arms and shouts, “Shots!” loud enough for you to hear it over the crowd. 

Baseball cap is enjoying himself, taking it slow, licking his lips after each sip of beer. It must be his reward for a Friday night, a work week well-done, a rare treat on a night out with the guys. You can tell he’s comfortable with them. It’s not the quiet nervousness of someone awkward, someone new who’s trying to fit in with a louder crowd. These are his friends, and they take him as he is, even when he’s got his eyes down, trailing a blunt fingernail over the graffiti marks on the solid wood table instead of joining in the jovial conversation. 

He lifts his eyes and suddenly they’re locked on yours in the mirror, dark and rich, eyes you could drown in if that was your thing. He flicks his gaze away for a moment and you blink—and there he is again, a little shy after another nanosecond of eye contact, flicking his eyes away and then looking down, taking a sip of his beer with the same focus he probably used for final exams in school. His eyes find yours in the mirror once more and this time you smile, gentle and soft, just a curve up at the corners of your mouth. Baseball cap’s dark eyes go wide for a moment before he swallows hard and looks back down at his beer.

Bingo. 

He’s the one. The shy ones, the gentle giants, the big guys with kind eyes—they’re your favorite. Much more relaxed in middle age than the college boys you sometimes play with, the eager ones who are so distracted by their nerves that they can hardly follow direction. You know that you fulfill some kind of mommy kink or older woman fantasy for them—and you don’t mind, because you know the rules on both sides of the game. But the eager young things get tiresome after a while, and it starts to feel like you’ve signed up to teach, rather than to enjoy yourself. 

You let them down gently but firmly, with a kiss and a reassuring pat—letting them know that they did good, but it’s just not going to turn into a long-term relationship, and maybe they should share those fantasies with a woman their own age. You tell them to look for someone serious, a girl who scares them a little, who they would never normally approach for a date. You know that there are plenty of young women at their university who would jump at the chance to boss them around in bed, and that there’s a girl for each one of those young, eager boys—a stressed-out hard sciences major who just wants to exercise a little control in her own life, and she’ll eagerly wield all manner of paddles and punishments if they ask her sweetly to dominate them. 

You’re tired, too, of the single men who have been in the scene long enough to know what they want—and what they want always seems to be a collar, a lifelong promise of devotion on both sides, and you just aren’t in the market for that. The usual circles of people in this town who are looking for some casual weekend play have gotten stale. They’re mostly couples in long-term relationships—and god, you know it’s selfish, but you don’t want to share. You want someone entirely focused on you, who won’t be thinking about what their own domme might do to them later, who will eagerly come when you call instead of having to ask permission from someone else to go on a playdate. 

And that leaves… fresh meat, new men. Men who you screen very carefully before you start a casual hookup. Men who look like they’ll be a good little pet in bed, if they can follow instructions, if they can shed any of the hang ups they have and go all-in with you for a night or a weekend. Men who have a deeply-buried desire to cede control, who have maybe never voiced it to a woman in their entire life, but who need it just as desperately as they need air. 

They’re just looking for someone to call it out of them, to give them the words they don’t have yet to describe what they’re longing for, what they ache for deep down when they’re fisting their cocks in the shower and replaying scenes from their favorite porn videos in their head. The whips, the restraints, the high heels and the stern voice of their favorite porn star dominatrix. The way she pulls the male actor’s hair when she tilts his head back and spits in his mouth, towering over him as he kneels before her, his hands behind his back and his cock as hard as iron and she hasn’t even looked at it yet, let alone touched it. Those are the men you need, the ones who have desired this for years, but have always been too shy or embarrassed or scared to ask for it. 

And if Baseball Cap fits that mold, you’ll gladly take him home for the night. You could do so much for him, let those desires out of the little box that he’s buried them in, tell him it’s okay to ask for what he wants, put his desires first for once, instead of always trailing behind his more extroverted friends. And, hey, if you shoot your shot and he’s not into that, there are plenty of other subby little fish in the sea. But he looks delicious, and you want to hook him with a lure he doesn’t even know exists right now. 

You decide to play a game, to see if you can get his attention and keep it. 

He’s so sweet, glancing up at you in the mirror when he thinks you’ve turned your gaze away, only to find that your eyes are still scanning him, gently assessing him, an appreciative little smile on your lips. Then he ducks his head and goes back to his beer.

His cheeks go pink after the second round of this game, his ears after the fourth or fifth, starting flushed and then blazing red. He’s a cutie, shy and growing more bashful by the second as his friends catch wind of what he’s looking at and start to rib him for it. 

Muscles cranes his neck over to look, his playful eyes wide as he sees you in the mirror. He turns back to Baseball Cap with a shit-eating grin and says something that makes Baseball Cap hide his face behind his hand. Polo shirt goes for casual, turning his gaze to the bartender as if he’s gauging how busy the line for drinks might be before he slides his eyes over you without a change in expression. 

Smirky gives you a big grin and a very flirty wink in the mirror and you drop your smile, raising one eyebrow with a shake of your head. Not you, Smirky.

You shift your gaze to look at the reflection of his friend, making sure that Smirky can see your eyes trailing from his work-worn boots to his hips, all the way up his arms to the top of his well-loved baseball cap. Smirky gets the message and elbows Baseball Cap, leaning down to murmur something in his ear that makes Baseball Cap sit up with a start, shaking his head and pulling on his earlobe in nervousness. 

Smirky elbows him again, hard, and you’re delighted when Baseball Cap turns back to look at you and catches your eyes in the mirror, bashful hope written all over his face, the shyness dropping away bit by bit as his interest grows. You smile again, tilting your head at the empty stool next to you at the bar and he turns back to his friends, eyebrows raised for help, seeking guidance. 

Good boy, you think… What a good boy, asking for help when you need it, opening up to the idea of coming over here, seeing what the pretty lady wants with you. 

He looks back at the mirror, sees you still looking, then takes a larger gulp of beer before rubbing his hands nervously on his denim-clad thighs. He braces his legs and then slides out of the booth, turning his back to you for a moment to look at his friends for a final bit of guidance. 

All three shout, “Go!” to him in unison, you can hear it over the din, and just as he turns to approach you… a slimeball slides into the seat next to you, wrapping one arm over the back of your barstool as if he has any right to your personal space or attention. 

Your heart falls when Baseball Cap takes in the scene, his hope fading to disappointment as he looks away and then strides off to the restroom, as if that was his plan all along. 

“Wha’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone, sweetheart?”

You take a sip of your drink and swivel toward him, knocking his arm off the back of your chair with a scowl. 

“Not interested. Please leave.”

Slimeball’s confused expression slides over his face slower than it should, a clue to how inebriated he already is. This was going to be irritating, the drunk ones always making more trouble than you want. Not that any man took rejection well… you could count on one hand the number of men who had taken your “No, thank you,” gracefully and apologized for bothering you before disappearing back to mind their own beeswax. 

“What d’ya mean? I’m just trying to make a little conversation, s’all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Baseball Cap’s three friends start to slide out of the booth. Trouble-stoppers, good guys, you can tell. You’re grateful for their presence, even if you can handle this sort of thing entirely yourself… just in case it gets ugly. They stay standing near their table, watching carefully and taking their cues from you instead of rushing in to white knight the situation—and that’s even better than just being willing to step in. They seem like men who care about and respect women, green flags all around. 

“But you shouldn’t have to drink alone, pretty girl. M’just tryna save you from a boring night.”

You narrow your eyes at Slimeball and lower your chin, scowling at him like you’re an angry bull facing off a threat, and then… oh no, here comes Baseball Cap back from the restroom, stopping abruptly when he sees his friends focused on you, watching intently as Slimeball tries to put his hand on your thigh. If looks could kill, Slimeball would have a hole in the back of his head right now. 

In the corner of your vision Baseball Cap looks pissed off, but you sense it’s not uncontrolled anger. He’s quiet in the way he settles his body, one hand waving his friends back into their seats while the other hangs at his side, making a loose fist and releasing it, over and over. Not immediately springing into action, not itching to start something ugly in the crowded bar, but prepared just in case—the rest of his body still, taut, alert… ready. 

You slap Slimeball’s hand off your knee, then you raise your volume and lower your pitch, making your voice deep and loud, hoping the sound will carry to Baseball Cap and his friends, letting them know you’re okay and can handle it. 

“I said ‘no’ and I meant it. Leave. Now.” 

Fortunately Slimeball takes the hint, his face dropping into a disgruntled pout: he’s just a little boy who thinks the world owes him something, that women are vending machines that he can put kindness or attention or flirting tokens into and get guaranteed sex in return. A little boy whose Mommy didn’t say “no” enough, a boy who never learned that women are human beings, and that every man who is lucky enough to walk the Earth was born of a woman and he better damn well respect his origins.

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” The waft of his pathetic liquor breath hits you and you turn back to your own drink, making a show of being entirely unbothered. 

“Slut,” spits Slimeball as he moves to dismount the stool and almost slides to the floor. 

Ah, a classic, the final paradoxical rebuke from many a damaged man—you won’t put out for him, so you must be a slut, secretly fucking every other man in the bar and withholding your public favors only from him.

Slimeball turns and lurches toward the back hall, heading for the men’s room, or maybe the exit to the alley where he can vomit and regret his life choices—you don’t care which. You shake your head to yourself and look up in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap is sliding back into the booth, and when he looks at you again, there’s a small smile and a nod, acknowledgement that you’re capable of handling jerks and idiots by yourself. He tunes into the conversation his friends are having, and he looks like he’s lost interest in answering your call from before, no longer riding the wave of brimming courage he had built up just a few minutes ago. 

You sip the last of your drink and ponder your next move. Maybe it was time to be more bold, more direct, except… now Smirky is needling his friend, talking intently to Baseball Cap, but only succeeding in making him more and more defiant, his head shaking so hard it seems like his hat might come right off. Muscles joins the pile-on, while Polo Shirt puts one hand out across the table, entreating Baseball Cap in a gentler way. 

He shakes his head again, and Smirky shoves him, launching Baseball Cap halfway out of the booth, making him stumble a bit until he rights himself and stands up. He moves to sit down again, but Smirky slides across the seat and blocks him, staring up at him stubbornly with a stern, “Go,” that you can lip read in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap sighs and wipes his broad hand down his face, then reaches up and lifts the cap a few inches to sweep his hair back before he squares it on his head and takes a first, hesitant, step toward you. 

You watch in the mirror as he approaches, long legs clad in faded denim, moving slowly but smoothly toward you. Good boy.

Baseball Cap sidles up to you at the bar and you turn to him, smiling so that it reaches your eyes, so that he knows that he’s welcome to approach you, that you’re eager to talk with him. He’s much broader up close, and his eyes are so soft. A sudden image pops into your mind: your legs thrown over those shoulders, his face buried between your legs while you grip his hair, and you feel electricity begin to tingle in your core. 

He clears his throat and swallows, eyebrows knitted slightly, his plush lips parting with a quick flick of his tongue as he takes a deep breath.

Oh, he’s precious, so nervous and hopeful. Eager boy. This is going to be so much fun. 

“Hi, I’m—” his voice goes scratchy and he clears his throat to try again. “I’m Frankie.”

He puts his hand out and you grip it firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I was hoping you would come over and talk to me.”

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but not much. Still unsure of himself, uncertain of what this might be after getting a front-row seat to your swift handling of the other man’s unwelcome advances. His brown eyes go crinkly at the corners when he smiles, and you guess he’s probably forty, give or take a few years. 

Excellent. A man who has some years under his belt, who won’t be afraid to have an adult conversation with you, someone on your level for once. Fully grown, experienced, handsome. A man. 

“So, do you live around here, or-”

You put a hand up and cut him off. You don’t want Frankie to try to charm you, to make small talk because he thinks he has to. You smile as warmly as you can so that he doesn’t think you’re upset.

“Actually, Frankie, I’d like to skip the small talk and tell you that I want to have sex with you. Is it alright with you if we just talk about what I’m interested in doing? See if you’re open to it?”

Frankie’s jaw drops, his beautiful mouth opening an inch or so, and it makes you want to bite his dimpled lower lip, make him speechless again and again, reduce him to a quivering, happy puddle.

You hold his eyes, watching the gears turn quickly as he snaps his mouth shut and blushes furiously, trying to recover from the shock.

“I—um, yeah… I mean yes. Yes, please.” He smiles and ducks his head, then meets your eyes again as he relaxes totally, all nerves gone now. “I’d like that. Thank you for being so direct.”

Your heart sings. What a polite guy, respectful and eager and appreciative.

“You’re welcome. So you’re up for talking a little more?”

He nods, perfect white teeth showing in his soft smile. 

You hope he’ll be receptive to your next command, another little screening tool of yours. Small commands, reasonable things, before you pull the curtain back all the way and tell Frankie exactly what he can expect if he decides he wants to go further.

“In that case, go tell your friends they can take off without you.” 

You tilt your head in their direction, and Frankie grins, all happiness and dimples, now that he knows he doesn’t have to wade through the usual chit-chat and awkward “getting to know you” questions. He doesn’t have to try, he doesn’t have to calculate the odds of striking out, or figure out a way to rebuild his confidence if this falls apart.

You know that simple, direct commands can bring relief, remove the stress of having to make decisions and weigh consequences. It’s a gift to the right man when you flip the gender-norm tables and show your strength and your assertiveness, let him know that happiness and gratification are just on the other side of following directions.

And Frankie seems to be receptive to it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, watching in the mirror as Frankie lopes back to the booth, stands with his back to the bar and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate to his friends that he’s ditching them. The butterflies between your legs flutter harder.

Muscles exclaims “Whoo!” like his favorite team just scored a touchdown, and you chuckle to yourself as you see Smirky pass a folded twenty-dollar bill across the table to Polo Shirt.

Frankie returns to sit in the empty stool next to you. You raise your hand, signaling to the bartender for a refill while Frankie peruses the menu to see what else they have on tap. Within thirty seconds his friends are standing up to leave, and since Frankie has his back to them he can’t see Smirky approaching with a mischievous look on his face. 

You look over Frankie’s shoulder at Smirky and shake your head once, firm, mouthing a stern, “No” at him. And thank god he’s not stupid, he just makes a little moue, a pout of disapointment but pairs it with a nod, understanding that his intrusion would not be welcome.

Smirky follows Muscles and Polo Shirt to the front door, and then they’re gone and you’re finally, blessedly alone with Frankie.

And now the real fun can begin.

Frankie can’t believe his good luck. His head is still spinning from your bold and direct manner, not to mention your sparkling eyes and winning smile. He can’t remember the last time a woman knocked him off-center this fast, and he welcomes it. 

Frankie trails his eyes over the bar menu, wondering why more women don’t just… say what they want. He could have saved so much time, skipped so many bad dates and hookups if he’d met a woman like you decades ago. He settles on a lager, and after he places his order with the bartender, you touch the back of his hand softly, just a graze, and he turns his eyes back to you.

You’re so… intense is what Frankie wants to think, but that word has negative connotations. And you’re definitely not a negative experience, you’re just so specific and present in the moment—direct—and the more Frankie thinks about it, the more he likes it.

“There’s a booth that just opened up in the corner,” you nod your head toward it. “I’m going to go sit down. Please bring the drinks over when they’re ready?”

Frankie nods, eager to please. “You got it.”

You smile, and Frankie feels like he’s just done something good, something that makes you happy. He’s surprised to find that he wants to do it again and again, and as you slide off the bar stool, he reaches his hand out to help you down, get you steady on your feet so that you don’t wobble in your office heels.

“What a gentleman,” you say. You shoot him another warm, soft smile, and Frankie swears his heart is going to explode with pride.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Frankie is so fucking thankful that he came over to talk to you. (He’ll never tell Santi it was his shove that finally did it—his ego is already big enough, the asshole.) But Frankie is already counting his lucky stars as he watches you walk away, hips swaying gently, mesmerizing him until he’s startled by the bartender plunking two glasses down in front of him.

Frankie opens a tab (hoping he’ll have much more time with you this evening), and carries the drinks over to you as carefully as he can. He sets them on the table and then pauses, a thought occurring to him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Frankie tries to keep his voice even, steady, but it seems to want to crack and go higher, his heart fluttering in his chest with the hope that he can do more for you.

He doesn’t know why. You’ve already told him what you want—to talk more about having sex with him—so it’s not like he needs to court you or gain favor. But something about you, about your assertiveness, makes Frankie want to please you. You’re clearly a very strong woman, you know what you want (and heaven knows Frankie is still wondering why you want him), and that strong personality of yours is calling to him like a siren song.

You shake your head. “No, but thank you. Sit down.”

That smile again, your sparkling and curious eyes… you’re intoxicating. Frankie tries to hide his disappointment, but he’s hoping that later there will be something else he can do for you, get for you, hell—make for you that will please you again.

“So…” you take a sip of your drink and meet Frankie’s gaze as your eyes sharpen. Not mean, just intelligent and direct. No bullshit.

It’s a breath of fresh fucking air as far as Frankie is concerned, and he feels just as floaty as he did back on that frozen mountain in Colombia, where the air was thin and ice cold. He smiles and waits, his instincts telling him that you’re about to blow his mind, and he won’t interrupt you while you’re in the middle of it.

“I wanted to talk with you more, Frankie, because what I’m looking for is very specific.”

Frankie swallows a sudden lump, worrying that he’s not what you’re looking for. It’s the result of damaged confidence born of too many conversations with girls whose wide eyes suddenly turn to Benny when he walks by. And far too many bored and disinterested women who get Frankie as their consolation prize when Santi hooks up with their best friend, and the happy couple (for the night) shoves their two wingmen together out of pity. Are you about to dismiss him?

But no, that couldn’t be right, because you had asked him to stay, invited him specifically to talk about sex. You’d already chosen him. And that thought cheers Frankie immensely. He thought he had read your signals correctly, he just wasn’t absolutely sure, so he talked himself out of coming over to you about nine different times. But now… now there is nothing to misread. You chose him, invited him, selected him. He’s wanted.

Frankie takes a deep breath, raising his eyebrows and nodding to you, holding your eyes with his own even though yours are almost too pretty to look directly into. But he wants you to know that he’s listening, taking you seriously.

You smile again, mysterious and secretive, and Frankie’s gaze flicks to your mouth as you open it to speak again. Whatever it is that you’re looking for, whatever specific thing you need, he’s determined to give it to you.

He wonders for a moment whether that’s crazy, whether he’s too far gone already for you when you’re still basically a stranger. And then he suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know your name! But Frankie knows, feels it with a conviction that he hasn’t felt in many years that he’ll be what you want, do what you need, twist himself into any shape that you’re seeking.

As long as you keep looking at him with those sharp eyes, that discerning smile. As long as you let Frankie stay in your orbit, he’ll be whatever kind of “specific” you demand.

You cock an eyebrow, “What do you know about dominant and submissive relationships?”

Frankie blushes, ducks his head and takes a sip of his beer, collecting himself. Your direct and plain language is doing things to him, and he wants to answer you just as frankly and matter-of-fact as you deserve.

“Ah, um… I know about them, a little bit about them, but I’ve never been in one. Does that answer your question?” Frankie hopes it does, and he feels a sweep of relief when you nod.

“It does.”

You smile again and Frankie can’t tear himself away from your eyes. He wants to make them sparkle like that every day. He smiles back at you and feels… happy, proud. He did it right, answered you correctly, and he wants to do it again.

You sip your drink, and Frankie watches you flick your tongue across your lower lip to catch an errant drop. He’s mesmerized, could watch you do that over and over again. 

You continue, “And from what you know, would you be interested in that dynamic? In taking part in a sexual relationship with one partner being dominant and the other partner taking a submissive role?”

Frankie feels his ears turn red. He’s never been one to be “mean” in bed, to do anything that might hurt his partner, and now he’s not sure if this is the right answer or not, but what the hell—

“I’ve never really thought about it. Everyone kinda knows about it from that book that came out, but I just— I honestly don’t think it would turn me on to tie a woman up…” Frankie trails off. Was that the right answer? Are you going to be upset?

He’s reassured by your chuckle and the way that you lean closer, grasping the back of his hand with your soft one, giving him a quick squeeze and a pat before you let go to take another sip of your drink.

“Good. Okay, that’s good for me to know.”

Frankie wonders where this is going, because if it turns out that he’s not what you’re looking for… he might just swear off dating altogether, become a monk and go live out the rest of his life somewhere remote, somewhere that would wipe the stain of utter disappointment from his psyche.

“I’m actually not looking for someone to tie me up,” you smile.

And Frankie is relieved again, happy to continue the conversation as long as you’ll keep smiling at him like that. He relaxes his shoulders, trying to drain the tension built up from the rollercoaster of unease and happiness that he’s been riding for the past thirty minutes. He wishes he was cooler, more like Pope, more outgoing like Benny, as self-assured as Will—then maybe he would stop psyching himself out and just be able to go with the flow.

“And I’m not necessarily looking for someone that I can tie up, but I do like being in charge.” You wink at him, and Frankie feels something warm behind his sternum. Interesting.

“Would you be open to that, Frankie? Would you like me to be in charge of you?”

His cock immediately stirs at that, and Frankie swallows hard. Images of you standing over him in a vinyl bustier and stiletto-heeled boots suddenly flash through his brain.

A blindfold. Handcuffs. Spankings.

Frankie feels lightheaded, all of his blood rushing south as he opens his suddenly-dry mouth and closes it again, blinking rapidly to try to come up with something that isn’t just heavy breathing and awkward noises.

He nods, having no clue about where this idea has been all his life. Of course you would be in charge, you’re so perfect for it.

A parade of ex-girlfriends marches through his mind, and now it’s like a spotlight is shining on his memories, showing everything in crystal clear detail. Frankie recognizes that his favorite women, the ones he had fallen madly in love with throughout his life—they were the strong ones, the bossy ones—all the way back to his first crush in elementary school.

A girl named Maria with long, straight black hair in a ponytail had chased him around the playground, taunting him with threats of a kiss. Frankie had been embarrassed when he tripped and fell, the other kids laughing at him, one boy shouting that he had brought the dreaded curse of ‘girl cooties’ upon himself. But when the girl kneeled over him, blocking out the sun, she was backlit perfectly and looked just like Frankie had imagined an angel would. She kissed his cheek with a loud smack, Frankie’s heart did a flip, and he wondered why her strawberry lip gloss suddenly smelled so good.

When she ran off to find another victim, disappointment flooded his chest. Frankie had felt the phantom kiss lingering on his skin for days, wondering if and when he could get her to chase him again. Whether he could earn another kiss, another brush with sweetness.

“Yeah—” Frankie’s voice cracks again, and he swallows hard.  “I—fuck, yes. Sorry for my language, I just… how did you know?”

Your mouth turns up and your eyes flash amusement, but he can tell you’re not laughing at him, you’re just pleased with his answer. And there goes that warm sensation flooding his guts again, his heart beating just a tad more rapidly at the images that are now somersaulting through his brain.

You, fully in charge, dressed for a day at the office. Frankie on his knees in front of you, naked and vulnerable. Your soft hand cradling his jaw. Your firm voice calling him a ‘good boy,’ telling him he’s done well, telling him you’re proud of him.

Frankie bites his lip, huffing out a breath to calm his racing thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m not shy about asking for what I want,” you smile.

You shrug. “It’s not like I’m psychic. If you’d said ‘no’ there would be no hard feelings on my part. I’d simply pay for your beer and send you on your way.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, full of wonderment at how perfect you are. How you seemed to read him so well and pull him in, make him want to do things for you, serve you, be whatever you need him to be. It doesn’t feel manipulative—it feels like it’s meant to be. Fated. Predestined. And Frankie wants to follow you wherever you’re about to lead him.

“So,” Frankie grins. “Where do we start?”

You chuckle at Frankie’s eagerness and squeeze his hand before walking him through the basics. Testing. Contraception. The ins and outs of the arrangement you’re looking for. You introduce him to a confidential online sexual preferences quiz, guiding him through how the website will take his answers, compare them to yours, and the list of results will only show things that you both agree on. You’ll build out your domme/sub agreement from that list, and you also make it very clear to Frankie that he’s in charge.

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “Me? I thought… I guess I don’t understand. Can you explain that?”

You smile at him, so proud of this man for speaking up already and telling you what he needs. He’s so good already, and while you came here tonight with the intention of picking up a casual fuck who might be interested in a scolding and a spanking, you’ve pivoted to introducing Frankie to the bigger picture, walking him deeper into the forest, showing him the possibilities of long-term involvement. 

You don’t want to move to the bedroom too quickly, Frankie’s going to need a deeper understanding before you start linking his sexual desire to the dynamics of this kind of relationship. Ground rules first, build that anticipation, then you can start connecting wires in his brain and making sparks.

“I get it, it can be confusing if you’re just learning.” You take a sip of your drink, catching how Frankie’s eyes drop to your mouth, and the throbbing between your legs gets a little louder. “But I’m proud of you for asking. It’s a good sign that you want to learn more before jumping in with both feet.” You wink at him, and his reaction is note-perfect. 

He sits up straighter in the booth, smiling like he just won a prize. You couldn’t have planned this better, and you thank your lucky stars that the Universe saw fit to send this man into your life tonight. 

You lean forward and rest both elbows on the table, crossing your forearms in front of you. “While the dominant partner is ‘in charge’ during a scene, the sub actually holds all of the power in the relationship. You decide when you’re ready, you decide when you’re done, and you ask for what you want. I get your consent for every single thing that we do, and you get to turn your brain off and enjoy it.”

Frankie flushes pink again, and you reach out and take both of his big, work-worn hands in yours. “You’re doing so well for me already, Frankie. I like how you ask for what you need, and that’s a really good quality in a submissive. It’s not just about taking orders; you have to speak up for what you want at every turn.”

He gulps hard, his eyes brightening as he opens his plush mouth. “I don’t—I don’t mean to sound rude, but what do you get out of it?”

“Me? I like taking care of my subs. I like making sure that you feel good, that you get exactly what you need, and I like seeing the effects that a good domme/sub relationship has on the rest of your life.”

“What do you mean?” Frankie knits his brows and tilts his head a fraction, and his great big brown eyes put you in mind of an eager little puppy. The electricity buzzing through your core increases, and you have to stuff it down before you break all your rules and drag him to the nearest hotel. 

Control, you remind yourself. Dommes like you stay in control, both of the scene and of themselves. Breaking rules only confuses a sub, and more than anything, submissives need consistency. You’ll (hopefully) get a chance to make him make those big puppy eyes again soon, as long as you stay in control.

“Well, a good, healthy dynamic between a dominant and their sub builds trust, and when you have trust—something you can rely on—it carries over into the rest of your life. For me, it provides a sense of control that I may not have in other areas of my life, and it makes me feel good to make you feel good. Those good feelings lift me up for days afterwards. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods, encouraging you to go on.

“And for a sub, a rock-solid relationship with a dom can increase your confidence, build good discipline, and give you an outlet for all the other stress in your life. And I think you would agree that self-esteem, good habits and routines, and stress relief are all really important in life. Subs just get theirs from a different place than most people.”

Frankie nods thoughtfully, then licks his lips and ventures a question, his eyes flicking down to the table, nervous. “And what—what if I, um… how do I know if I’m any good at it? What if I do it wrong?”

You squeeze his hands, make sure he’s looking at you while you smile reassuringly. “You can’t screw it up, Frankie. You’re in charge, remember? There’s no secret test, there’s no hidden ‘gotcha’ moment. It’s all about what you want and how much you want to try. There won’t be a pop quiz or a grade on this, trust me.”

Frankie swallows hard and looks skeptical for a moment, then nods again. “I trust you.” 

He smiles and squeezes your hand before leaning back.

After making sure that Frankie has digested all of the important information and that you’ve gotten his number, you tell him firmly to go home, sleep on it, and only fill out the online quiz tomorrow, if and when he’s ready. You shoot him a text so he has your number, and as he’s opening it, his mouth twitches and his eyes dance with amusement. A dimple appears in Frankie’s cheek, and you chuckle. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?” 

Frankie flicks his gaze to yours and you nearly crumple at the sight of his crow’s feet, the adorable crinkles highlighting just how much his smile reaches his eyes. “Just—I mean, I realized I said yes to all of this without even knowing your name. So what do I call you? What name should I put in my contacts?”

“Missy.”

Frankie nods. “I like that. Is that short for anything?”

You grin, “It’s short for ‘Mistress’.”

Frankie blushes, hot and fast, and you see the shiver that runs through him, his broad shoulders quivering as he sits up a little straighter. He smiles softly and types rapidly, then slips his phone into his pocket. 

“And Frankie?” you add. “If you change your mind that’s entirely okay. You haven’t committed to anything tonight, and I really won’t have any hard feelings if you decide that this isn’t for you after all.”

“I’ll text you either way,” he says with a serious nod, and you know he means it. Then he stands up out of the booth, gives you a quick handshake, and heads for the door. You clock the new spring in his step, the way his shoulders are squared and steady, no more nerves or self-doubt weighing him down. 

He’s gorgeous, and you know that even if he does decline, that you’ve at least infused Frankie with some confidence that he can take with him the next time he goes out to a bar. 

But, god, you hope he says yes.

Frankie gulps, then looks around behind him as if he isn’t alone, as if there were anyone standing behind him who could see and judge what he’s doing. 

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh at himself. He’s a grown man on the far side of forty, and he’s hunched over his laptop in his own home trying to hide the half-chub he’s got going in his boxers like a teenager. He presses the flat of his palm down against his cotton-clad arousal, trying to stave off the throbbing long enough to finish this damn quiz. 

But it’s not his fault, everything he reads sends images of you pinballing around in his brain. Every. Single. Question makes him want to stop and rub one out, just to have the mental clarity to continue. But you had said ‘no touching,’ and damn if Frankie was going to fuck up and disobey the very first order that you gave him.

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, “Question five: Give partner an erotic massage? Yes, fuck yes…” The mere thought of getting his slick, oily hands on you, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palms, being asked—no, being allowed to touch you and bring you pleasure makes him weak. Shit…

He takes a deep breath and swears he can still smell your perfume from the bar invading his senses. The urge to reach his hand down into his boxers and give himself a firm grip is overwhelming now, and he’s still got dozens of questions to go. His lower belly churns with desire, and he’s so horny it almost hurts.

He loves this. Then he hates how much he loves it. It’s sweet, exquisite torture, and Frankie is giddy, nearly nauseated at how excited it makes him.

His eyes had popped open at 5:30 in the morning, the way they always did after so many years of active duty. No alarm except the morning wood that was raging in his underwear, barely able to get it to go down enough to pee. He had woken to thoughts of you, memories of the bar last night, of the way you had taken control of the conversation and opened his eyes to something that he hadn’t even known was possible.

Frankie had done his best to distract himself, doing laundry and dishes, taking a quick jog and doing 200 push-ups and then showering, filling the hours until closer to 8:00, a decent time when he could text you. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ arrow, still unsure of the text he was about to blast into the ether, two words he’d finally crafted after a dozen drafts, each sounding more pathetic than the last.

His heart palpitated as the words flew to your phone, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when his sparse, direct, “I’m in,” was met with a simple, “Good boy,” and a few short instructions. 

Take the quiz. Answer honestly. Don’t touch yourself.

Frankie’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head at the last one, and he briefly thought about pushing back, but he realized this was his first real opportunity to show you how good he could be, how well he could listen. There was no way he was going to disappoint you if he could help it.

He shot off his reply breathlessly, “Yes ma’am,” and bit his lip as he waited for a response. All he got was a “thumbs up” appended to his text, but he reasoned that any response was good, although he did feel a little foolish. What had he expected? A novel? Gushing praise?

Frankie shook his head, reminding himself to temper his expectations. 

He races through questions eight, nine… twelve… fifteen. All “no.” No, he does not want to tie you up, spank you, or use degrading language with you. He doesn’t want to do any of the dominant actions himself, he knows this. 

But question sixteen arrests him in place, and suddenly he can barely breathe. Have partner use restraints on you? makes his tongue swell in his mouth, and his cock twitches violently as it steals more blood from his brain. He can’t click the “yes” button fast enough. Questions seventeen through twenty-four are all “yes,” because they are the opposite of the previous questions. 

Yes, he wants you to spank him with your hand, yes he wants you to tell him what to do in the bedroom, and YES, he wants you to call him pet names. 

Have partner use a belt/flogger/paddle on you? and, Have partner call you degrading names? both get a “maybe” but they make him salivate all the same.

Frankie grips himself through the black cotton of his boxer-briefs, and he wonders if this is going against the “no touching yourself” rule… but he also can’t proceed with the rest of this questionnaire without doing something to try to tamp down his raging erection. Just a quick squeeze, strangle the fuck out of his goddamn traitorous cock for a few seconds, and maybe he won’t pass out.

Frankie tries to remember the last time he was this turned on, but nothing since puberty has even come close to this. The anticipation, the mental imagery, the sheer desire that you’ve ignited in him is practically cruel, and he thinks about asking if he can see you tonight. And if that’s pathetic… well, then he’ll embrace being pathetic, because he needs to see you again more than he needs his pride.

He steels himself against the throbbing in his groin and finishes the questions.

Your phone chimes with an incoming text, and you nearly throw your knife down on the cutting board in your haste to grab your phone from the dining room table. You expel a few curse words at your foolishness. No need to cause a kitchen accident just because you’re eager to see if it’s Frankie. 

“Down, girl,” you scold yourself, and you grimace at how unlike you this is. 

What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the domme, you’re in control of yourself, and you’re not ever this wound-up over a guy. Frankie is a very handsome, very broad guy, but a guy nonetheless. Guys are playthings, scene partners, subs. Guys are people, too, but at most you get sexual satisfaction from them and give them some, along with spectacular aftercare. There’s no feelings involved. Not since… not since you realized that you prefer being the dominant one, not since Nick—

You refuse to go there. Ancient history, old enough to buy itself a drink at a bar by now. Feelings aren’t part of the deal, not since forever ago, and you refuse to examine why there’s a little flutter in your tummy when you pick up your phone to see that Frankie has checked in, a quick, “Done!” accompanied by his unique code for the online sexual compatibility quiz.

You bite your lip and wonder if you should text back… but you wouldn’t even know what to say, so you give his text a thumbs-up, then watch as three little bubbles appear, then disappear, then appear again. What’s Frankie up to? Is he changing his mind? Your stomach sours at the mere thought of it.

The bubbles disappear again and don’t re-appear, so you sigh and force yourself to finish chopping the vegetables you were working on and shove them in the fridge to cook for dinner later. During cleanup, you realize you’ve had one ear out for the phone this whole time, and you shake your head at yourself. 

This isn’t a high school crush. He texted what he needed to and that’s it. Stop being silly.

You dry your hands on a kitchen towel and grab your phone, settling into the couch with your back against the arm rest and your feet propped up on a pillow. You catch an anticipatory grin spreading across your face at the thought that you’re about to see inside of Frankie’s head. 

You enter his unique user code, and you know that you’ve used this online quiz enough times that you’ll fly through the questions. At the end of your answers, the app will generate a list consisting of everything that you and Frankie matched on and email you both. A single “no” is a veto, and that item won’t appear, but everything that’s a “yes” for both of you, or a “yes” for one and a “maybe” for the other will land in your email inbox in just a few moments.

Your heart thuds as you refresh your email for the third time. Is the website taking longer, or does it just feel like it because you’re giddy with anticipation? Where is that stupid email? 

Just as you clench your teeth and growl, the email appears, and your heart suddenly clogs your throat. You wriggle to sit up straighter on the couch, and you’re almost afraid to open the message. Will he be into what you’re into? Will you only match on three things? What if this is a mistake, and Frankie’s just not ready for this kind of arrangement? 

You breathe, sucking in air as slowly as you can, and then out twice as slow. Your eyes water as you stare at the subject line, and you tap your phone screen before you can talk yourself out of it. 

And there it is… 

He’s perfect. You knew it, had felt it in your bones last night at the bar. You didn’t want to believe it, to place so much trust in something that might fall through, but here it is in front of you. Frankie is your perfect match. You couldn’t have designed a better sub if you tried. He’s into everything that you could want, and now you’re drooling at the possibilities.

You arch an eyebrow at a few of his answers. Frankie’s apparently an adventurous boy, and he’s checked off a few questions that surprise you, things that you wouldn’t have thought he’d be ready to try. But those can come later. 

Right now, you’ve got an aching throb building in your core, and you sigh and plop your phone down on your stomach, wondering if it’s too soon to text Frankie and ask him to meet you somewhere. And just as you’re trying to figure out how to phrase it without sounding too desperate, your phone pings.

You pick it up to see the notification, and a wide grin spreads across your face. It’s from Frankie, and you swipe hurriedly to open the text, your heart fluttering as you read it once, then again, and again. 

I don’t want to sound too eager, trying to stay cool here. But I would really love to see you again. Soon.

You sigh, bite your lip, and try to stop the butterflies that are exploding in your gut. You know this isn’t normal, and you can already tell that these feelings—this crush you have on the tall, broad, eager man—are nothing but a recipe for disaster. But you can’t bring yourself to deny it… 

You’ve got it bad for Frankie, and you’re typing out an equally eager response before you can stop yourself.

Frankie paces, trying to ignore both his erection and the nerves that are shredding his stomach. He refuses to stare at his phone and wait to see if you’ll respond to his desperate, pathetic message… so he just treads a path from the kitchen, to the living room, to his bedroom, and back. Frankie keeps his eyes pinned to the ceiling or the walls. Anywhere but down, to avoid the sight of his fucking ridiculous hard-on.

Don’t be a dumbass, Morales. She’ll text you when she texts you. You just gotta—

His head buzzes when he suddenly remembers the second half of the quiz process—the email showing what you matched him on—and he practically runs back to his laptop, stubbing his toe on the coffee table, landing awkwardly in his rolling chair and nearly tumbling out of it. His fingers shake, fumbling to open his email program, looking to see if the results are there, and oh, shit… there it is, top of the inbox. A detonator that could blow his whole world wide open.

Frankie’s heart races in his throat, and he’s suddenly scared of what he’ll see if he clicks to open the email. 

Does she…? Will she want…? What if…?

He gulps, and his pupils blow wide when he sees that you’ve matched him on nearly everything that he’s been fantasizing about for the past twelve hours since he left you at the bar. Fuck.

He leans back in his computer chair to give his cock some breathing room, and his eyes scan the list as his hand drifts across his stomach to his—no!

“Fuuuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Off-limits, Morales. Don’t fuck this up.”

Frankie shakes his head as if that will clear the tumbling swoops of desire that are still torturing him. He breathes deeply, counting to four on each inhale and exhale, until he feels clear enough to proceed with reading the list. But he knows it’s futile, knows he won’t feel anything close to calm until he sees you again, and he hopes against hope that you’ll agree to meet up with him soon. 

And, shit, was that message too much? What if that turns you off? But what if you say yes?

And just as he’s trying to talk himself out of his worries, Frankie’s phone pings in the other room. *** The hotel bar is dark, buzzing with chatter as Frankie navigates his way between tables and guests. He dodges a few servers and busboys who are tidying up after a jubilant group of what he assumes are work conference attendees, based on their lanyards with plastic badges dangling from the ends.

It’s a few minutes before 5:00, and Frankie is still nervous, but at least his hard-on has gone away. He’d spent the entire day distracting himself with the tiniest of errands, the flimsiest excuses to get out of the house, whatever it took so that he wouldn’t spend his afternoon drooling at the list of quiz results or grinning like an idiot at your response to his pathetic, overeager text. 

How about tonight? 5:00? And a map to the hotel bar linked just below it. 

He’d responded with a cool, collected, “See you then” and then ran to his room to fret over what to wear. Frankie’s wardrobe wasn’t extensive, so at least the torture had been brief, and he’d settled on a new-ish pair of black jeans and the tropical-print shirt that Santi had ragged him about for years. 

“You look like you’re modeling for a men’s cologne sold at a gas station, pendejo.” 

Frankie rolled his eyes at the memories of Pope’s playful insults, then spent the intervening hours cleaning his Jeep inside and out, returning library books, and shopping for groceries before heading home to start getting ready. 

But the nerves had stuck around, and somehow Frankie’s hand slipped while attempting to trim his scruff, resulting in a patch so uneven that he’d had to shave the whole thing off. He’d cursed at himself, but then reasoned that if a clean-shaven face and a too-wild shirt were enough to turn you off after everything so far, maybe he wasn’t the guy for you after all. He’d polished his least beat-up pair of work boots and then hit the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel the whole way, his stomach half eager butterflies and half churning knots. 

But when he catches your eye across the room, everything settles. You wave at Frankie from your perch on a high stool, tucked into a table in the corner, and when you smile his whole world stills. There’s nothing else in Frankie’s mind but you. No more clattering of glassware, no more tipsy strangers talking too loudly, no more bodies blocking his path to you. Frankie feels like he’s floating as he crosses the last few steps to your table, and his heart leaps as you slide off your chair to greet him with a hug.

He folds you into his embrace, and when he catches a whiff of your perfume, something in Frankie melts. He wants to propose marriage right then and there… or at least pledge himself to you like some kind of knight in a fairy tale. You’ve been the focus of nearly all his waking thoughts for almost 24 hours, and even a few of his sleeping ones. 

He’s not sure what’s coming next, but he’s all in, and he can’t even find it in himself to care if this goes bad or he ends up brokenhearted. Whatever you want to give him, Frankie will take with open arms, and he only hopes that he can give you back everything that you deserve.

[toxic3mmy]

Imagine Alex about to fuck you for the first time and you were wearing the ‘lucky you’ jeans.

(they’re jeans that when you unzip them there’s a piece of fabric that says “Lucky you”)

why is this such a cute idea😭 i can’t make my mind up, would alex be super shy when he saw this or would he be cocky and all smirky abt it??? idk hehe

[also im sorry! this is short but it gets right to the point😛]

prompt: your first time, Alex gets lucky

warnings!! smut!

alex had taken you out to a nice dinner date. the entire night, he was such a perfect gentleman to you.

you really loved him. despite the relationship being only a few months in, you knew you loved him. you had never felt the way that alex made you feel.

and on this night, as you admired alex smiling across from you under the dim restaurant light you thought, damn.. i’d really like to give myself to you..

on the car ride home, it’s honestly all you could think about.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes on the road as he drove the two of you home

“yeah, just lost in thought. sorry..”

he opened your car door and led you inside. once inside, you decided to ask.

“alex.. can we, you know..?”

alex froze as he was taking off his shoes at the door. he looked at you nervously

“can we what?”

“can you make love to me?” you said quietly, hoping not to make a fool of yourself

“are you sure? i don’t want you to feel rushed or anything y/n” he finally looked at you, taking your hand in his

“im really sure.. i’ve been thinking about this all night, im ready”

he smiled shyly and led you to his bed. he dimmed the light and turned on some soft music.

“i love you.. i hope you know that y/n” he laid you down

“i do and i love you too” you pecked his lips softly as he hovered above you

“please let me know if im hurting you or if you want me to stop, okay?”

you nodded and pulled his face to yours, connecting your lips once again. the kiss was slow. his lips felt so soft and warm against yours. the aroma of his cologne filled your senses and you never realized how intoxicating it was.

your hands were looped around his neck. you felt alex tilt his face a bit more and his tongue softly pressed your bottom lip. you opened your mouth slightly and tasted him entirely.

you let out a low gasp as your boyfriend tangled his tongue with yours. he groaned into your mouth and you felt a heat building in your core.

“you taste so sweet” he whispered and pecked your lips again before kissing lower

he kissed your jaw and began to suck and bite a hickey into your neck. you squirmed and squeezed your legs together as you began to feel needy for him. he continued to kiss your smooth skin.

“can i take this off?” he asked, politely giving your blouse a small tug and you obliged

he helped you slip off your top along with your bra

“so beautiful..” he murmured against your supple breasts

he kissed and licked your nipples while your hands found their way to his back, digging your nails into his skin as he swirled his tongue around your chest.

he went to take off your jeans. as he unzipped them, he stopped and you looked to see him smirking up at you

“what? whats wrong?” you said breathlessly

“lucky me..” he chuckled and your face fell hot

“did you wear these specifically for me? it’s a bit naughty, don’t you think?” his teasing made you feel more embarrassed

“babe stop! just.. just—”

“just what, chiquita?” his smile never faltered

“just fuck me already” and alex practically growled at your filthy words

he took your jeans and panties off and threw them aside. he proceeded to prop your thighs up and kissed down them, leaving purple marks all over your skin. he finally got to your heat and licked up and down you agonizingly slowly.

your whimpering encouraged him to continue. he took two fingers and entered your tight hole. his mouth focused on your clit. he slowly built up a steady speed, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue swirled deliciously around your throbbing clit.

you wanted more and so without a word, you pulled him up to connect your lips once again as your hands helped him undress.

“eager, are we?” he asked with your lips still against his own

“shut up and fuck me, alexis” his pants and boxers were off now and he went to enter you

he slowly pushed himself in as he positioned himself above you again. your face scrunched up in slight pain as his cock stretched you open

“are you okay? tell me when to move, chiquita” he panted

“im okay.. go ahead”

his hips thrusted in and out of you. slowly, the pain subsided and you felt such an immense sensation of pleasure. you needed more

you pulled alex up in a sitting position and you climbed to sit in his lap. you sat down and felt him enter you again

“oh god… you’re so deep alex… you feel so g-good” your hands were on his shoulders now as you took control

you bounced yourself on his hard cock and alex was moaning incredibly loudly, whimpers of your name left his mouth at every thrust

he leaned back on one arm and brought his free hand to your mouth

“open your mouth” he ordered

he used your saliva to coat his fingers and went to play with your clit. you threw your head back as his fingers rubbed against your clit perfectly. you moved closer to him as you began to feel tired out. your arms hugged him to your chest, your lips on his neck as you moaned into it. he took control and fucked into your pussy while still giving attention to your clit.

“i-im cumming” you stuttered out and alex sped up

he hit you at a new angle and it was enough to drive you over the edge. your hips stuttered and your legs trembled as you came down from your high. alex slid himself out of your tired pussy and began to tug at himself

“where do you want it, princesa?” he groaned, and in turn you opened your mouth and looked up at him with your big doe eyes

“look at you, mouth open and ready for my load. you look so pretty..” he said as his hand quickened and you felt his warm juices all over your face and you tasted him on your tongue

he helped you clean your face and the two of you laid together naked underneath his duvet.

“i think i was the lucky one tonight” you giggled

alex kissed your forehead and whispered sweet nothings to you until you fell asleep

[polo-drone-070]

Buzz is Born: Maximus Tries Something New

A mascot meeting

Oi, so we were at the mascot meetin’, right? All of us—me, Grayden (@polo-drone-084), Bucky (@buckygold), and the pups—workin’ out how to get the crowd hyped for the match against Vanguard. Grayden was goin’ over plans, his usual smirky, boss-man self, lookin’ sharp as ever. Bucky’s throwin’ out ideas, proper focused, all knightly n’ shit. Me? I’m buzzin’ just thinkin’ about suiting up as the Golden Knight again. Ain’t nothin’ like flexin’ in that gear, hearin’ the crowd go mental, yeah?

But then, Chevy (@chevy-gold) n’ Grant (@grant-gold43) start givin’ me this look, their tails waggin’ like mad. Them two already propa settled in their roles as Golden Pups—cheeky, rowdy, proper full of energy, init. They always make it look like a right laugh, even if they’re a bit daft with it. Milo—PDU-151— (@polo-drone-151) was sittin’ calm as ever in his black rubber polo, tail flickin’ lazily. Always quiet, always focused, but you can feel he’s takin’ everything in.

Chevy leans over to me, his ears floppin’ as he grins. “Oi, Maximus, you ever think about tryin’ somethin’ new, bruv?”

I squint at him. “What d’ya mean, bruv? I’m already the Golden Knight, init? Ain’t much better than that.”

Grant smirks, nudgin’ me. “Yeah, but think about it, mate. When Grayden or Bucky are suitin’ up as the knight, yeah? Wouldn’t it be proper sick to have more pups runnin’ with ’em? You know, a whole pack hypin’ up the crowd, bouncin’ about, goin’ mental?”

“Pack, yeah?” I say, blinkin’. “You think I’m cut out for all that woof-woof shit? You takin’ the piss, bruv?”

Chevy’s tail wags even faster. “Nah, mate, serious talk. You’ve got the energy for it! Enthusiastic, rowdy, proper dumb—but in the best way! You’d be perfect as a golden pup. And we got the perfect name for ya: Buzz. You’d be Buzzin’ all over the place.”

“Buzz?” I ask, scratchin’ me bald head.

Milo finally speaks up, his tone calm but firm. “Buzz suits you, Maximus. It aligns with your energy and enthusiasm. You’d complement the pack well.”

I stare at the three of ’em. They’re propa serious, like they actually think I could pull this off. Me? A pup? Proper mental idea... but also kinda excitin’. The Gold Army’s been pushin’ everyone to try new things this week, and I ain’t about to back down from a challenge.

“All right, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’. “Let’s do it. Make me Buzz.”

Collared and Ready : Golden pup energy

Chevy and Grant get to work right away. They slap a gold collar round me neck, the tag jinglin’ as they clip it on. “Buzz,” it says, all shiny n’ official-like.

“Buzz,” I say, rollin’ the name round me mouth. “Oi, yeah, sounds propa zippy. I like it.”

Grant grins, handin’ me a golden pup hood with floppy ears. “Stick this on, bruv. You’re about to become one of us.”

I pull the hood over me head, snug n’ tight, and they clip a waggin’ tail to me shorts. I can’t help but laugh as it bounces with every move I make. “Oi, bruvs, look at me!” I bark, strikin’ a dumb pose. “Propa pup material, yeah?”

“Atta boy, Buzz!” Chevy cheers, waggin’ his own tail. “Now, let’s get ya hypin’ the crowd like a proper golden pup. Rowdy, dumb, full of energy—just go wild!”

I throw meself into it, barkin’ n’ bouncin’ round like I’ve been a pup me whole life. Chevy tosses a foam ball across the practice field, n’ I take off after it like a rocket, grabbin’ it with a massive grin on me face.

“Got it, bruvs!” I bark, waggin’ me tail as I bring it back.

“Good boy!” Grant laughs, rubbin’ me head. The praise makes me all warm inside, like I’m doin’ somethin’ proper good.

We spend ages just messin’ about, chasin’ balls, jumpin’ n’ rollin’, hypin’ each other up. I’ve never felt so... free.

Milo’s Turn : Drone pup programming

Then Milo steps in, his black rubber polo gleamin’ under the lights. His tail twitches as he approaches, calm n’ composed. “All right, Buzz. Time to see how you perform as a drone pup.”

My tail slows as I stare at the gear he’s holdin’—a black rubber polo n’ matching shorts, shiny and snug, just like his. The vibe shifts immediately. There’s no more rowdy energy from Chevy n’ Grant; it’s all focus now, serious-like.

I nod slowly, lettin’ Milo guide me as he slips the polo over me head. The rubber clings tight, snug n’ firm, and as it settles into place, somethin’ in me shifts. The rowdy, bouncin’ energy starts to fade, replaced by a deep calm. The black shorts follow, and with each piece of gear, I feel my head quietin’ further.

Milo clips a black tag onto me collar, and that’s when it happens. The programming stirs. The sharpness of the rubber’s embrace pulls me under. 070 rises, not all the way, but just enough to bring its order n’ discipline to the surface.

“Good, Buzz,” Milo says, his voice steady n’ firm. “Now, follow my commands. Let the programming guide you.”

Buzz is still here, yeah, but it’s 070 now, too. A mix of the pup’s playful energy n’ the drone’s perfect focus. The commands come, and there’s no hesitation, no thinkin’, just action.

“Jump.”

070 obeys, the body springin’ into a perfect leap, paws landin’ with precision.

“Spin.”

A flawless turn, controlled n’ sharp.

“Roll.”

The movement is seamless, efficient, yet still carries that pup-like enthusiasm, tail waggin’ at the end.

“Bark.”

“Woof!” The sound bursts out, loud n’ clear, but with a sense of controlled power.

Each command feels natural, like it’s what this body was built to do. The mix of playful pup energy n’ drone obedience blends into somethin’... perfect. 070 recognizes this state as optimal.

“Cheer,” Milo commands.

“GO GOLD!” I bark, leapin’ high into the air, my voice filled with unwavering energy n’ loyalty. The jump is precise, the landing flawless, but the cheer is still hyped n’ joyful, reflectin’ Buzz’s personality wrapped in 070’s discipline.

Milo nods, his tail waggin’ faintly as he observes. “Good drone pup. You’re performing as expected. Let’s take it further.”

Milo steps closer, his tone calm but more intense. “You are PDU-070, a drone pup. Your purpose is to serve, inspire, and obey. Playfulness enhances morale. Precision ensures perfection. Let the programming guide you completely.”

The words sink deep. The pup hood n’ rubber polo amplify the programming already embedded in me. It’s no longer just Buzz or just 070—it’s both, workin’ together perfectly.

“Yesss,” I say, my voice soft n’ slurred, the words comin’ out automatically. “PDU-070... serves... obeys... inspires...”

Milo watches, his expression calm n’ satisfied. “Good drone pup. Now, perform.”

I run through more stunts, each one flawless but still filled with playful energy. I roll, fetch, leap, and spin on command, barkin’ when prompted. It’s pure bliss—no overthinkin’, no distractions, just obeyin’ n’ servin’ like I was built for it.

Buzz Reflections

When the session ends, I flop onto the turf, pantin’ n’ grinnin’ under the hood. The mix of Buzz n’ 070 fades slightly, leavin’ me feelin’ proper accomplished. “Oi, bruvs, that was propa mental!” I bark, tail waggin’. “Never thought I’d be a pup, but fuck me, that was amazin’. Buzz n’ 070 workin’ together—lit as fuck, yeah?”

Chevy laughs, rufflin’ me hood. “Told ya, Buzz. You’re a natural. The pack’s better with ya in it.”

Milo clips off the black tag, his calm demeanor never shiftin’. “You performed well, PDU-070. Your obedience and precision enhance the pack. You will continue to train and grow.”

I nod, proper eager. “Yeah, bruvs. Can’t wait to train more. Maybe 049 (@polo-drone-049) will take us out for a pack walk. Heard he’s got loads of drone pups, like Chevy n’ 098. Bet they’d be a laugh to run with.”

As I sit there, waggin’ me tail, I think back to a month ago, when Spencer—PDU-098— (@polo-drone-098) had me in a similar state. He’d put me back in drone mode when I was slippin’, added a hood to the mix, and brought me back to full focus. It was... intense, yeah, but now I get it. The hood, the rubber—it’s not just gear. It’s part of what makes me better.

The trainin’ wraps up, and I strip back into me gold kit, but the memory of the rubber polo stays with me. Being Buzz ain’t just about havin’ fun or playin’ a role. It’s about servin’ the Gold, whether as a rowdy pup or a precise drone pup.

“Oi, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’ at Chevy n’ Grant. “Propa glad I tried somethin’ new. Buzz is here to stay, yeah?”

They cheer, waggin’ their tails as we head out. Milo follows, calm as ever, already plannin’ the next session. Me? I can’t wait to get back to trainin’ n’ hypin’ the crowd, whether as Buzz, 070, or somethin’ in between.

Woof-woof, bruvs. Let’s go.

[subformuscularalpha]

Jarett had been fucking my girlfriend for a few last months. I found their chat on her phone a few days ago and still wasn't sure about what to do. I often saw him in the college gym and, fuck, he was a huge hunk. I knew he could easily snap me into two but after some considerations I decided to approach him and talk like man to man.

"Emm, Jarett?"

He turned around to me, wondering who was calling his name. He was standing in a step distance from me. Being around 6'4" he was towering over my pity frame — my face was at the height of his massive chest.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk with you... about Jess"

Jarett's mouth transformed into a smirky smile, "So, you know about us?"

"Yes. I do know about you... and it seems wrong to me"

"Hahah, it seems wrong to you?", he laughed loudly, so that a few other guys that were standing at the opposite side of the gym turned their heads around. He stepped closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from getting away. My face was now only a few inches away from his pecs and I head to look up to see his face.

"Listen here, little fag," his hand moved to my neck, "I don't care what you think". He squeezed my neck from behind — just hard enough to show his power. "See, Jess is a big girl and she can make her own decisions. She still loves you in some way, that's why she didn't want to tell you that. But you don't satisfy her as a man, that's why she needs me".

I felt a few drops of sweat running down from my forehead and an instant boner formed in my pants. I was praying that he doesn't notice it. But he did. He didn't say anything, just moved his other hand down to grab my balls and cock in his firm grip, squeezing them together. "How does it feel, boy?"

"It hurts... Sir"

"Fuck, you're so pathetic. I can't even imagine what Jess found in you", Jarett squeezed my crotch making me squeak in pain.

"No, please!", I begged him, while trying to budge his arm, but he just laughed.

He finally let my cock go and raised his arm revealing a patch of wet hair in his armpit. With his other hand he pressed my face there. "Do you like that musk, boy? This is how a real man smells", he rubbed my face into his wet hair. His strong scent filled my nostrils. It felt so humiliating but also so arousing at the same time.

Jarett pulled me by the hair and made me look at him, "You enjoyed it, boy?"

I was ashamed to say anything, "Please, let me..."

He slammed his palm on my left cheek leaving a burning pain. "I asked you a question! Did you enjoy it?!"

"Yes..." I admitted.

Another slap landed on my face, "Yes what?!"

"Yes, I enjoyed sniffing on your armpit...", I noticed his hand slowly raising up and added, "Sir".

"It's better. You're not stupid", he smirked. "Now, I'm usually very horny after working out and as you know, Jess went out of city this weekend...", his big hand moved to the crotch of his shorts. Jarett grabbed the impressive bulge that formed there and rubbed it, "but I think you can help me out", he winked at me with an evil smile.

Jarett put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me down on my knees. My face was no just inches away from his massive bulge.

"Take them off", he commanded.

I took his shorts by the waistband and slowly pulled them down, freeing his big and stiffened shaft. I had never seen such a huge member before. It must've been around nine inches long and almost as thick as my wrist.

Jarett slapped with his wood across my face a few times leaving drops of his precum on my cheeks. "Start working, boy!"

I started licking the head of his cock. It was so big, I wasn't sure if I would be able to take even a bit of it in my mouth. I was slowly taking care of Jarett's member but he didn't wanted to wait. He grabbed my head and pushed his cock into my mouth, "Suck!"

He was pushing deeper until I gagged. Jarett took his tool off and slapped my face with his hand a few times, "You better learn to take it all". He then went for the second try. This time he was rougher and when I started gagging he just kept doing it over and over.

Tears started to run down my face and I was trying to get free but Jarett was holding my head in place. But then my nose finally popped into his torso. I took all of it.

Jarett pulled his cock out of my mouth just to thrust it again. He started fucking my face faster and faster. I was just a toy in his hands and I couldn't do anything to stop him. I thought it wasn't going to stop but then after another thrust Jarett stopped... and started shooting loads of his salty cum into my throat. I had not other way than to swallow it. It was sticky and was slowly sliding down my throat.

Finally he pulled his shaft out of my mouth and lump of his cum sputtered out on my chin and my t-shirt. "Now suck it clean, boy"

I grabbed a breath of air and got to licking his cock clean. When I was ready, Jarett patted me on the cheek and said "Nice boy" with a smirk, before leaving the gym.

[lfghughes]

Maybe one where reader tells Jack she want to start trying for a baby. At first he’s a little hesitant but reader is like you will be able to teach them hockey and he gets so excited and he wants a little girl. Then their kissing for a little bit and Luke walks in and is like seriously on the couch, and Jack makes some smirky comment about wanting to have a baby with you asap.

a/n: im loving all these dad jack and dad nico requests i've been getting. hit me right in the feels

For the past few months you had been peppering in the idea of having a baby to Jack and every single time he gave you a hesitant answer. But every time you asked you saw him crack a little more at the idea of being a father. Both of you were laying on the couch, watching a movie when you sat up a little. “I just think we’re both ready Jack. I look at the way you are with everyone else’s kid and I know you’re going to be the best father to our future son.” You started explaining, fully moving so you could sit up and talk about this with him. “Imagine you teaching him how to play and skate.”

“Teaching our daughter how to skate.” He told you and there was a pause in the air between you two. “Our daughter?” You asked and he nodded his head. “I’m going to be a girl dad for sure, I’m going to have to learn how to braid hair and do buns but I’m sure I can do it.” This was the first time he had really talked about this with you, other times he had kind of shrugged off the conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve said lately and I think we’re in a really good place to start trying at least. I think I was just more so worried that I’d fail at it but being a parent isn’t exactly something you study for.” This was definitely him agreeing with you. “Plus, I think my mom would also really like to have a granddaughter after raising us three boys.”

A smile spread on your lips as he explained everything. “So we’ll start trying? Really?” You asked and he pulled you into your lap. “We’ll start trying and well there’s no better time than now.” He pointed out a small smirk on his lips as he pulled you in for a kiss. Your lips started to move against his as his hands started to wander underneath your shirt, seconds away from pulling it off before the front door opened.

“You have got to be kidding me. You guys are disgusting. On our couch guys? You have a whole bedroom. Now I have to disinfect it. Ew” Luke said, his face red with embarrassment from nearly catching you two in the act. Jack rolled his eyes, a laugh leaving his lips as he waved his brother off. “We’re just trying to make you an uncle Luke, maybe next time knock before you walk in.”

“This is my place too!” Luke took a pause as he replayed the words his brother said in his head. “Wait a minute, what?? Are you guys being for real? I’m going to be an uncle??” Now he was excited. “Yeah, we decided maybe it’s time to add another Hughes to the family.” A smile grew on Luke’s face at the words, he was part of this whole also wanting you two to have a baby already so you knew he would have been excited to hear the news. “I’m definitely going to teach that baby to skate as soon as possible."

[cottondo]

Hey babes! First of all, let me just say that I ADORE your writing <3333 I can tell you have a lot of passion for what you do!

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to request a Blitzø x fem! reader story. Preferably how he navigates a shy, sweet imp. I was thinking that they could have been childhood friends or something like that. Whatever you decide to do I’ll read (and love) it <3333

Thank you so much!!

aahww thank you sm lovebug🥹💞 I appreciate the kindness !

also,, really hope I got your request right?? I lowkey wasn’t exactly sure on what you wanted LMAO but I hope you like it regardless <3

Blitzo x fem! imp reader | navigate

The sound of your breath in a humid environment was all you could really focus on. Or, more so, trying to control it.

Blitzo insisted taking you on some stupid 'adventure', —if thats what he called it— and of course, it turned into a mission.

Why the hell wouldn't it! You didn't expect much less from him.

You particularly didn't care much for his mission work. Sure, okay, it seemed kinda cool sometimes- - but the,, almost double-dying part, was intimidating as fuck.

Keeping all your limbs attached to your body was really your biggest goal living down in Hell. It was easy enough to end up getting stabbed, maybe break a horn or two, or even end up in a shitty situation with some demon lords that rule rings trying to chase you down. Especially as an imp!

Maybe it was because you actually valued your death-life, and Blitz,, .. just didnt? But, regardless, you didn't wanna be here, doing this today.

A heavy hand rests on your shoulder abruptly, causing a small flinch to react from your figure.

Blitz leans in close, a crazy little smirky smile on his face. If the space between you got any smaller, you thought your oxygen levels would've been completely cut.

He managed to drag you into some hide out, a gun in his hand, army crawl position beside you in a long vent you two crawled inside of together. Shoulders harshly bumping against each other's to prover just how little space there actually was inside.

It was hot in here, and he was hotter, which only added to the uneasiness you felt in your chest.

"Don't tell me you're bitchin' out on me, y/n." He whispers to you, eyes focusing on your nerves. Blitz knew you better than just about anyone. And to be fair, he should. You two have been friends since childhood, so nothing goes unseen around him.

Your frown lightens, vision trailing to look back at him. "Nooo? I'm totally fine," you flash a cheesy smile back.

Blitzo's eyes roll, "Yea- ok, I'm teaching you combat, whether you like it or not, bitch. If youre gonna be working with us, you can't just sit around at the desk looking all cute and shit, everyday." He reminds you, "I need you to learn how to be more assertive!"

He thought you were cute? Ayee, score for you.

Your lips curl into a smirk over at him.

"As cute as I am, I can still be assertive." Now it was your turn to remind him.

It didnt look like he believed that statement. Actually, you knew he didnt.

"What happens when some dick fucker tries being an asshole to you? Pulls out a gun? One day I'm not gonna be able to get there quick enough to save your sorry ass." He frowns, some annoyance clear in his tone.

Your eyes widen, and your lips sound a gasp as you face him. "Oh my god- - is that the sound of you caring about someone other than yourself~?" You tease sarcastically, eyelids lowering casually again. Blitz turns away with a scoff.

"I didn't know that was even possible," you add onto the teasing, obviously getting some sort of rise out of him.

"Listen!" He narrows his vision. "Oka- you know damn well that I—"

His words get cut off. The sound of a door opening, and footsteps entering the room catch both of your attentions. You flinch when the door slams shut behind the figure. It was a short demon. Big horns, and an even bigger snout. He sort of looked like a dead pig. You cringe.

"Oh, fuck." Blitz smirks, raising up his gun. "This is too easy. You comin' or what?" His shoulder nudges yours. You give a dull look in reply. "Do I have a choice?"

"No, you don't." He smirks over his shoulder at you.

You follow close behind his army crawl towards the end of the vent. It wasn't far away at all, just totally felt uncomfortable being on your hands and knees in such a small space for so long.

Blitz quickly kicks out the vent door, and jumps down to the floor with his gun tightly in hand. Your eyes watch his figure as he lands perfectly in the room, alerting the demon who was on Blitz' kill list.

Damn.

It was kind of crazy how good his combat is. You know he has a lot of practice- - which does make you slightly worry from time to time about just how much trouble this job really gets him into. (And how much more it'll get you into if he continues to drag you along for the ride.)

With a small push, you slip yourself out of the vent, and land on two feet with a practiced swiftness. You've gotten enough rehearsal time to do small, crafty things, but you weren't perfect- - nothing like how Blitz was, anyway.

But at least you still looked good doing it.

The listed demon looks quickly between the both of you, Blitz ready with a crazed grin on his face while holding the gun, and you, with your knife strapped to your side, looking nothing as intimidating.

"Y/N! Grab him!" Blitz commands from you.

You hesitate for a second, "Blitz, do we really hav—"

"Cmon!" Blitz tosses his head back and groans, quickly rebounding and aiming the gun to the guys head before he got any bright ideas. "Lets dance, bitch!"

The demon, though all three of you were trapped in a very small room, does his absolute best to dodge each and every bullet. For a porky lookin dude, he was quick on his hooves. He managed to miss most if not all, bullets aimed his way.

You lunge forward, and tackle him to the ground like a tiger pouncing its prey. Blitz cheers you on, fist pumped up in the air as he watches with excitement down at you. "Thats what im talkin about, y/n! Now tie his ass up, we gotta use him as bait for the rest of them."

"The rest of them?" You glare in question.

His hand tosses you down a rope, which you had no idea where he kept it hidden all this time, but look up to Blitz anyway, as you struggled a little, straddling to keep the demon down beneath you.

Your hands desperately grab the rope, and you begin tying. Blitz insisted no helping, as this was his way of teaching you proper ways to hustle- - but you'd gladly accept it if he offered any.

First, you wrap up the struggling mans hands, then, you move down to his kicking feet. He managed to give your shoulder a good hit with his foot, but that only resulted in Blitz raising his own foot, and forcefully bringing the tip of his boot into the guys side. The demon lets out a groan.

"Damn, what the hell, asshole." You glare down at the demon who only glares back up at you through his groans. Your hands take the bandana from around his neck, and retie it around his mouth to prevent any sounds coming out of him.

"Great, now lets get the fuck out of here!" Blitz grins, picking up the hostage and throwing him over his shoulder with a small struggle. You follow along close behind, eyes checking both sides of you with some slight paranoia. It already came to the point in the day where you were very much over this job. Why the fuck couldn't you guys have just stayed in the circus business?

"Y/N! Take out those assholes up on the catwalks!" Blitz points to a few more demons that were going to be next on your list for the day.

While the two of you ran for the far exit, your eyes follow up to where Blitz was looking.

You spot them. "Got it!" Your voice beams, and pulling out your gun, you aim for the straps that kept the walk attached to the ceiling. One shot, you took the one side of the catwalks down, which results in the demons falling and tumbling down to the floor of the warehouse.

"Fuck yeah!" Blitz laughs as he uses the tied hostage as a punching bag for other demons that try to stop the two of you. He swings the hostage demon around, using him as his own personal weapon, causing some slight laughter out of you, to which both you and blitz were surprised about.

The demons you caused to fall, start charging your way. With a quick thought, you take out the knife strapped to your side, and get ready to use it. Blitz grins over at you. "Remember to aim for the neck!" He calls out from ahead of you.

Your smile brightens at the teamwork you both have. "Thanks!"

A hand reaches for you, but with a stealthy slide to the side, you duck under the arms and push the torso of a demon down to the ground.

This was getting . . oddly easy.

You hop over the demon on the floor, and smile brightly over at Blitz.

With you catching up to his side, your lips stretch into a grin as you open the door to the warehouse for him. “Did you see?” Your question was almost eager sounding. Breaking out of the shyness of the situation, you’ve actually gained a bit more combat knowledge.

Blitz grins over at you, throwing the hostage to the ground as the both of you make it out, and find a safer area to catch your breaths.

“Hell yeah bitch!” Blitz looked so happy, giddy, even. It was so freaking cute.

“I knew teaching you my way would pay off.” He crosses his arms, a soft smirk on his face.

Your face flushed lightly, the shyness beginning to take over just a bit. Your shoulders shrug upward, and the smile on your face was light. “Thanks,”

“I’m proud of you.” Blitz’s voice is quieter than his usual loud and obnoxious form, but you still catch it. Your eyes widen a bit, and staring at him in a small shock is all you could do for a second. “Really?”

Blitz looks flustered, so you decide to let any teasing go. It wasn’t often he would give real compliments. Even if he did know you long enough, to.

“Of course, fuck face.” He replies, rolling his eyes with a smile still stuck to his face.

You bump his shoulder, grinning just a little harder than before. “Learned from the best.”

______________________

really sorry its not my best work,, just allot goin on in life rn but I still hope you liked it anyway ! <3

[nemo-in-wonderland]

I am sorry, but I needed to share this.

Like, I was scouring through Pinterest as I always to do hoard on images that I might be useful for me in the future.

And I kid you not.

This is what the home page gave me when I opened it.

AND I AM LIKE.

MEPHISTO.

WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO PISS OFF ARANEA THIS MUCH THAT SHE IS GIVING YOU THE "RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD" LOOK?

AND WHY THAT HINT OF A SMIRK BEHIND THAT GOBLET???

So now I am utterly convinced that Aranea, after a few decades, decided to go back to Ajayib, in Zakhara, to check on her parents and see how they were faring ever since she left for Faerun.

So, I imagine that she is having dinner with her parents, recounting them about what she ever since she last saw them (all lies, because despite her already being "heartless" at this point, she could not bear to actually let her parents know the kind of monster that she has become and see the sadness in their eyes), and all of sudden, Mephisto in his mortal form shows up, all smirky and charming, and introduce himself AS HER HUSBAND(not as Halim, mind you, but as her new Husband, which, of course, he was not, at that point. Considering the timeline, their relationship was still very much Patron&Warlock rather than Patron/Warlock, but Mephisto was already starting to harbour feelings for her and was already making passes at her without even being that subtle about it).

So, because Mephisto can be a HUGE little shit with Aranea, and he LIVES to get under her skin, starts conversing rather amiably with Aranea's parents, effectively behaving as if he was her husband.

AND OF COURSE.

Because he is in Aranea's mind, he KNOWS that she doesn't want her parents to know what she has done. HE KNOWS THAT, without her having to give him the death glare.

So, OF COURSE, he starts insinuating all sorts of things,

like

"This is my first time here in Zakhara, but even I, as a foreigner hailing from Neverwinter, have heard of the Great Fire of Huzuz, that claimed more than a thousand people, including the Caliph. And they never found the perpetrator." he clicked his tongue in disappointment and turned to look at Aranea, a glint of impish mischievousness in his clear eyes. "I wonder who might have been so ruthless to kill all those poor unfortunate souls. Right, my dear Zil?"

Cue to Aranea wishing she could just Eldritch blast him out of the house, which Mephisto would actually sense and just cause him to burst into laughter.

And the whole dinner would just continue on the same line, with Mephisto throwing jabs and Aranea dodging them and using BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE GALORE learned from the Master of Cania himself.

So yeah, now you see why I need to be careful when I go around on pinterest/youtube/etc.

I just opened the website and saw the two pictures of Aranea and Mephisto's faceclaim together, and THE BRAIN WENT BRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

But how I love these two.

They are SO PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER.

Their bickering gives me life.

LIFE.

--Nemo

[hephaestiions]

Ron is background buzz, warm and honeyed solace, voice like a blanket, like a balm. Draco, though. The world is in serrated focus around him. 

Harry is— three sheets to the wind and a goopy mess at the kitchen counter where they’ve gathered for coffee. 

“I hadn’t thought it through,” Draco’s saying. “The matter of you being my boss’ younger brother.” The two of them have been talking for ages, a lulling rhythm. Harry hasn’t kept up with what they’re saying, words and phrases souping in and out of his grasp. “Maybe this encounter isn’t quite as calamitous as I thought.” 

“Cala— cal— calamitous,” Harry stumbles over Ron’s reply. “Who the fuck says that shit while drunk?” 

They both turn to him. “You’re drunk,” Ron says, so affectionate that Harry wants a hug, to be held in that glow. “If it didn’t mean being left alone with Malfoy here, I’d put you to bed.” 

Harry looks to Draco, anxious, but he doesn’t seem offended. Smirky, rather. “Right, yes, Potter, you’re all that’s standing between Weasley and I having a go right at my Aunt Walburga’s kitchen counter.” The smirk fades and the tips of his ears turn crimson. He shifts, taps his foot. “Like— a duel! With wands! Having a go at each other with our wands— oh, Merlin.” Draco’s shoulders come higher up by his ears with every word. 

“Maybe you should also be put to bed,” Ron says after a pause, low and amused and rich. 

“And would you tuck me in?” Draco asks and immediately bites his lip, hard. “Morgana, what is the matter with me today?”

“Today,” Harry mutters.

@kamaela tagged me to do trash tuesday/wip wednesday on this delicious snippet that had me frothing, drooling, snarling, etc (big boy auror turned needy mess! dear LORD). my contribution is the latest unedited snip from my @dronarryfest wip that i'm having a ball of a time writing. paging everyone who sees this & would like to share their trash or treasures!

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

after-workout snack

(cw: age gap 25/41; nsfw, mndi, smut, hard f*cking, smutty domesticity, fluff)

I get up from the couch, putting the book away I was just reading, and go to the kitchen. König has been rummaging in there for what seems like an eternity, prepping his after-workout meal (it really is more of a meal and not a snack, my god, this man can eat).

I pop my head in the door and there he is, in sweatpants and a simple black shirt with cut off sleeves. His long hair is still wet from the after-workout shower, swinging around as he navigates the small space between the counter and the kitchen isle. Well, it actually isn't that small, but his stature dwarfs even big rooms.

I come a few steps closer and of course, he hears me approaching. He shoots a look over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin when he sees me. I automatically smile back, I just have to, when I see him like that, his smile changing his features, the intimidating looking scowl he always wears on his face dissipating into the smirky grin I have gotten so used to.

The pump from the workout makes his arms look even bigger than they actually are, letting him seem broader than he is, while the hulk of a man is just cooking himself something.

"You want some Eierspeis as well, Hexe?", he asks me, pulling his eyebrows up. He keeps sprinkling german words into his sentences and I learned the most important ones. Like the dozen pet names he calls me - his new favourite is "Hexe", meaning 'witch'.

And "Eierspeis" is just the Austrian word for scrambled eggs, and he eats a looot of those, so that he kind of perfected them over the years.

"Oh yes please.", I answer, coming closer yet.

He nods, "Coming right up!" and turns to huge fridge that is always stocked to the brim when he is on leave. He opens the door and bends forward to get the ingredients.

His thighs stretch and his butt - deliciously firm - gets pushed back, his cheeks filling the sweatpants just right, and an idea crosses my mind.

A giddy grin stalks onto my face as I take two huge steps in his direction. I grab his hips with my hands, my fingertips digging into the muscles, pulling him into me while I push my hips forward.

A tingle rolls down my spine, but I burst into laughter as my lap collides with his thighs, due to size difference, and his butt gets pushed against my tummy. He's already craning his head back, but I get on my tiptoes, barely containing my laughs, and hump him again.

"What are you doing, brat?", he asks me, his voice beaming, but I can hear the amusement in it.

He turns around and catches my wrists, right as I giggle: "Nothing!"

Before I can register what's happening, he already has turned me around and bent me over the kitchen isle. Pushing his hips up against my ass, stretching my wrists over my head, draping his chest over my body, until his face is nuzzling into my neck.

"Didn't I give you enough attention today?", he asks softly, but with an edge, pressing his groin up against me, humping me now, and I can feel him harden quickly.

"Apparently not.", I sigh, arching into his movements. Moaning when he rubs his dick against my clothed pussy, the friction driving me crazy.

He chuckles. "Seems like we need to change that.", he drawls, straightening back up and letting go of my wrists. He pushes my leggings down hastily, the panties getting caught in there as well, the fabric pooling around my knees, and pulls his dick out of his sweatpants.

He's dragging his length back and forth, between my butt cheeks that he is gripping with his strong hands, and I know his fingertips will leave marks. Teasing me like that, with languid strokes, not giving me what I want just yet.

I squirm underneath him, restlessly, the cool surface of the kitchen isle sending shivers down my body as I get pressed against it. "Please...", I say, quietly.

"Please what?", he asks, and I can hear the smirk in his words. Oh, he's enjoying this, getting me all needy for him.

He pulls back a little and spits, the sound blanking my mind, before I feel the wetness drip down my ass to my pussy. And I can’t even answer.

"Please what?", he repeats, his voice almost turning into a purr, while his dick slips between my thighs, warm and hard against the sensitive skin, his tip nudging my clit.

"Please, fuck me...", I plead desperately, my hips bucking up searching for more friction.

He doesn't drag it out any longer and slips into me. Holding onto my hip with one hand, the other grabbing my shoulder, as he slowly drives into me. The familiar stretch of his girth makes me shiver and moan, while my mind already screams for more. He lets me adjust to his size for a few moments before he pulls back and starts to fuck me hard. His dick pistoning in and out of my pussy, hitting that certain spot inside of me.

It's a good thing that the kitchen isle is one of those built in ones, cause the force of his thrusts is shaking it. Only a little bit, the sturdy wood is not budging easily, but still.

My obscene moans and screams echo through the kitchen, intermingling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

I would've slumped into the cool marble counter if it hadn't been for his big hand holding me in place. My back is arched, my head turned up, as he pulls me into him, meeting his movements.

"Taking me so well, Liebes.", he drawls, my only answer a fucked-out whine, as I get pressed into the countertop again.

The swells of my ass are cushioning his hard thrusts. This position is always the most intense, with our size difference, and how deep his dick reaches like that, the tip bumping against my cervix, more than once, and it's making me lose my mind.

My eyes roll back, when I stretch around him again, my mouth turns into an O-shape-

"Fuck, König! Fuck..." The words spill out of my mouth and before I can tell him that I'll come, I already am, my thighs shaking hard.

"Yes, Liebes, oh, fuck, ja.", he breathes, not stopping to fuck me, not even getting slower. "Fuck, du fühlst di so guad an." (You feel so good) I don't understand what he's saying, just the way he says it, his voice breaking off into a deep sigh, grunting as he bottoms me out again and fills me up with his come.

His thrusts are getting slower and shallower as we're both coming down from our orgasm, and he bends down to press a kiss to my cheek, and I turn to the side to meet his mouth, my hand cradling his face.

In moments like this I always wanna say something, but it's hard to find the right words. So a kiss must suffice, telling him what I can't say out loud.

"Thank you, Sir.", I mumble against his lips.

"You're so very welcome, Hexe.", he says, giving me one more kiss, before he straightens up and pulls back, his dick slipping out. I can feel his come drip out of me before he puts my panties and leggings back into place. His hand stroking down my butt as I slide off the counter, slumping into him. He hums softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, and I relish the little hug, pulling his arm closer around me. Just a little moment before we break away.

König gets back to the workout meal, fetching some more stuff from the fridge, where I interrupted him so rudely before. I get a wet cloth and some cleaner, and wipe the kitchen isle down properly, before I sit down next to him. And just watch him prepare the scrambled eggs.

"I didn't plan for that second workout...", he says with a wink, cracking another egg into the pan, and I laugh, seeing that he already went through a whole carton.

"Me neither.", I shoot back, adding cheekily: "Gotta watch your cholesterol, old man."

He pulls up an eyebrow, the 'watch it' clear in the look he gives me. Leaning in again, he murmurs: "Oh, I have you to help me work it off again.", the tone in his voice telling me exactly how he plans on doing that.

"You do.", I say smiling, kissing his nose, the crooked bridge where it has been broken two times. He goes cross-eyed, following my movement, and that breaks his domineering expression. I laugh a little, pulling back. He grins at me, catching my chin to press a big loud kiss to my lips. "Ach, Hexe.", he says, sighing, but it's a content one, as he gets back to finally finishing up the after-workout snack.

~ More in the Masterlist ~