#fuck cosmetics we need a no pants update

[voicedbychrispratt]

scouts legs look like this underneath his stupid sweatpants

[dcbbw]

The Rules

I have Christmas asks, unfinished WIPs that I absolutely need to complete by the end of the year, and stories I WANT to write/update, but here I am with yet another story absolutely NO ONE asked for. It’s me dipping my toe into the Horrible Riley pool.  

You know, the MCs that are either an unapologetic bitch using any means necessary to get what she wants, or the social climbing, gold-digging crown chaser fucking her way through Court in her quest for bigger and better. (Take that how you will) 

However, I failed miserably at my goal; while this is a Riley unlike any I have written before, she isn’t horrible. She’s broken, hiding herself behind rules and walls; another exploration that has been done before.   

It is my hope that this story and my take on this character’s development proves to be both interesting and entertaining without stepping on people’s toes.  

So, let’s flip the fairytale shall we, and once again meet a Riley Brooks with a different mindset, perspective, and take on Cordonian Court.  

THANK YOU to all who read this over in part, and a special shoutout to @ao719 for the final read-through and assuring me it makes sense. THANK YOU to all who will read this story; your likes, commentary, and reblogs are appreciated more than you know.  

Please excuse any typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this story 97% error-free.  

Rating this story M for mature themes and subject matter

PS—It goes without saying that this is yet another Liam/Riley AU from me, and it’s a one-shot.  

All characters belong to Pixelberry. 

Song inspo: Hard Times, Ethel Cain 

Word Count: 3,490 

My heeled shoes glide along the highly polished, gold-veined marble flooring in step with my husband, King Liam of Cordonia. The music from the orchestra fills the air, Liam’s murmured sweet nothings fill my ear. 

He smells of mouthwash, expensive cologne, and the smell that is uniquely him.  A smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes curves the edges of my lips as we move as one amongst the dancers.  

I wish I could be happy. 

His grip on my hand tightens as the palm splayed against the small of my back pulls me even closer to him; I smell the starch in his shirt. He has just twirled me when Olivia Nevrakis walks up to us, smiling prettily at her King as she asks if she can cut in. I see the refusal in his eyes, but hear his lips acquiesce.  

I step away slightly, allowing the Duchess just enough room to slide into the spot I vacated. Before I take my leave, I give the couple a last glance. Liam’s eyes are filled with apology and regret; Olivia gives me a triumphant glare.  

I give zero fucks. I gave up on Cordonia a long time ago. It was no longer a fairy tale; it was an opportunity. One I was determined to take full advantage of.  

The tap of my heels as I maneuver my way across the dance floor is swallowed by the sounds of chatter and the clinking of glassware. I stop at the bar and request a whisky sour. I feel the eyes of Court upon my frame, as they have been since I arrived in this tiny Mediterranean country. I hear whispers of American throughout the snippets of conversation I’m privy to as I wait for my drink.  

It isn’t a compliment.  

I am adjusting the bell sleeve of my red velvet gown when the bartender places my drink in front of me. It has a draped scoop neck that teases with peek-a-boo glimpses of cleavage; there is a plunging v-back that showcases my very bountiful ass.  

I am standing before the floor-length three-way mirror in my bedroom’s walk-in closet, carefully inspecting my image when Liam comes up behind me. He’s dressed from the waist down: Black tuxedo pants, black silk socks, and black wingtips so polished, the overhead lighting reflects from them.  

“Where’s your shirt?” I ask in a strangled voice as my eyes travel the planes of his chest and abs.   

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes against my cheek as his arms clasp about my waist.  

I roll my eyes in embarrassment. I’m not unattractive, but like most women, I use cosmetics to enhance what nature gave me.  

His long, strong fingers begin peeling the dress from my shoulders and eventually my unfettered breasts. My body shivers beneath his touch. His head lowers so he can gently nip the skin of my neck; his hair is damp against my flesh. “What is it you desire, my love? Ask, and it shall be yours,” he entreats with hitched breath.  

I lean my neck to the side to grant him greater access as I reply. “A pair of diamond earrings and a shopping trip in Paris.” 

Rule #1: Assign a value to yourself. Men never see your worth, so you have to.  

“The jet will be ready first thing in the morning,” he promises as his erection springs forth from his undone zipper.  

More of the dress is peeled away until my buttocks are exposed. I feel Liam tug at my thong, rolling them down my legs. He sinks to his knees, spreading my ass cheeks apart as his tongue snakes into my forbidden hole.  

He says he loves me, but I know he doesn’t. Not really.  

No one loves a whore.  

 I’m just different: foreigner, commoner, woman of color. New and different have expiration dates. Once the unknown becomes the familiar, he’ll move on to someone else. 

He thinks I don’t care that he’s royal, but I do. How can I not? The trick is to make him think I don’t. The less I ask for, the more he offers. I have cars, properties, jewels, and wealth beyond anyone’s imagination, but it wasn’t freely given.  

Even marriage is quid pro quo.  

Liam moans my name as his hand slides along his length.  

He’s quid. 

He rises and settles his palms firmly on my hips as his hardness invades my sex.  

I’m quo. 

His thrusts are slow, deliberate; his fingers twirl and tweak my nipples. I stay silent as I undulate my hips against his groin. Cries of delight and moans of pleasure choke in my throat.  

Rule #2: Don’t allow yourself to enjoy the experience. Men pay to get their rocks off, not yours.  

I watch it all in the mirror as I count backwards from 100.  

I smile an acknowledgement to the worker before turning to leave; I bump into Drake Walker who has sidled up next to me. I arch a brow to hide my dismay at the unexpected meeting. I don’t like Drake Walker.  

I find him to be a hypocrite.  A whiny hypocrite, constantly complaining about nobility and their ways, yet he makes sure to surround himself with them.  

His only forms of rebellion are to wear denim to their functions, drink their liquor, and silently judge them from back walls and dark corners.  

He says he stays for Liam ... to shield the King from the den of vipers that is Court, but I don’t see what protection he offers. He’s not present at meetings, he isn’t standing guard outside doors … hell, he’s rarely with Liam. 

He says Court owes him for the death of his father.  

My question is: Why?  

He was offered every advantage after his father’s death: growing up in a Palace, the best education possible for free. He was clothed, fed, and had a roof over his head. AND all he had to do was wake up every morning.  

Unlike me, who grew up in a roach and rat infested two-room tenement with a mother who worked three jobs at minimum wage and was brutally robbed, raped, and murdered for the grand sum of $67 when I was fourteen. 

I never knew my father; I doubt my mother did either. I’m a street urchin who survived on street smarts and … attributes, guided by a greasy-haired, gold-toothed Puerto Rican pimp named Luis.  

I had no family, no one to catch my abrupt fall from the semblance of stability I had grown up with. Rather than get lost in a broken system, I chose to get swallowed by the mean streets.  

I don’t even have a high school diploma.  

But I follow the rules. 

Drake had the chance for a college education, which he squandered. He says he gave up his life for Liam’s, but Liam insists he begged Drake to return to America. I guess being the Cordonian Commoner was an easier option than actually making something of himself in America.  

He isn’t even an opportunist. Drake Walker is a complete slacker. I don’t respect that. I respect the hustle, the drive, the ambition.  

I work every day including holidays and weekends, and perhaps harder now that I’m in Cordonia. The only difference is it doesn’t always involve being on my back or my knees.  

No, he isn’t my favorite person in this Godforsaken place, but damn, can Drake Walker fuck.  

Court is back in Applewood the evening of the symbolic foxhunt. Despite a hot bath liberally doused with liniment, my entire body aches. I am wearing a dressing gown over a peach satin camisole as I sit before my vanity, running a brush through my thick tresses. Despite the earliness of the hour, my bed is already turned down. 

Music from one of my many playlists drifts from my phone’s speakers, and I am humming along when I hear the doorknob rattle before my room door swings open. I am on my feet, a vase filled with fresh flowers and water hefted above my head, when Drake Walker crosses the doorway.  

Rule #3: Know how to protect yourself and expect the unexpected.  

He stops his steps, hands held up in a gesture of capitulation and his eyes wide. “What the FUCK, Brooks?” he yells.  

“What are you doing in here?” I question angrily, still holding onto the makeshift weapon threateningly.  

He slowly lowers his hands as the back of his shoe kicks the door shut. “Why isn’t your door locked?” he counters.  

“I lock it before I get in bed,” I grumble as I set the vase back on the table.  

“I check all the doors before I retire to my room for the evening. Applewood is old and maintenance isn’t what it used to be. Some of these locks are faulty, so I check them all.” 

He sits on the edge of my bed; I don’t like it but say nothing. The less I say, the sooner he’ll leave.  

“I do earn my keep around here, y’know.” 

“Oh, turning doorknobs definitely screams ‘useful member of society’.” 

His jaw clenches as his brown eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t know what you have against me …” 

I throw the brush down harshly against the vanity’s top. “It isn’t ME! It’s YOU! Since the day we met, you have done nothing but belittle, demean, and distrust me! And I have done absolutely NOTHING to warrant your opinion and judgement of me!” 

He stares at me moodily. I return his gaze, my chest heaving from emotion and exertion. His eyes travel from my face to my bosom, and I know why.  

I’m not wearing makeup. I’m ordinary.  

My breasts, however, are extraordinary: perky and firm with large areolas, elongated nipples. They don’t need rouge and kohl and lipstick. 

Drake has always been one to go for pretty.  

That night at the dive bar in Brooklyn, he alternated between ignoring me or outright dismissing me when I was the waitress; yet, when I was the tour guide wearing my tight dress and heels and painted face … he couldn’t keep his eyes off me.  

Drake needs visual stimulation, something to catch both his eye and attention.  

“I’m protecting you,” he mumbled, his gaze now trained on the floor.  

I rise from my chair; fuck my hair, I’ll do it in the morning. I stomp loudly across the floor until I’m standing directly in front of Drake and holler, “FROM WHAT?”  

He looks up quickly, and I see the brown in his eyes has deepened. His arms abruptly wrap around my waist, his palms sliding down the robe’s slippery fabric as he pulls me onto his lap.  

“This,” he whispers as his mouth covers mine and his tongue enters my mouth. 

It isn’t unpleasant. In fact, I could get used to this.  

His fingertips tiptoe along my spine as our heads turn and tongues intertwine; I feel myself slipping under, giving in to the feelings of want and lust; I quickly pull myself back.  

He has nothing of value to offer. He isn’t an opportunity.  

Rule #4: Men don’t respect women who give it up for free. 

I can’t be the next notch on Drake Walker’s bedpost with nothing to show for it but a wet ass. 

But … if he has nothing of value, and I remove mine … I’d be free.  

To enjoy. To experience. To scream.  

To orgasm.  

I deepen the kiss as I tell myself Drake is a treat to myself. An indulgence.  

A one-time indulgence with a big dick and nimble fingers. 

We both still hate me for rejecting his subsequent advances.  

“Where’re you headed, Your Majesty?” he drawls in a snarky tone. He doesn’t bother to hide his disdain at me becoming one of them.  

I ignore the way his eyes rake over my body, the way my center responds to his appraisal. I step around him primly, my drink clutched in my curled hand.  

“To get some air,” I reply curtly.  

I feel his eyes on my ass as I walk away. “You’re showing a lot of skin. Don’t catch cold,” he advises.  

I don’t make it very far before I am accosted by the Brothers Beaumont. My eyes roll heavenward as they greet me, each with free glasses of my expensive liquor in their hands. They both owe me BIG TIME, and I am still debating what I wish to collect as payment.  

Except everything they now have is due to me. And my attributes.  

Maxwell, who lied to me about the entire social season. It wasn’t an adventure; it was an ordeal. He neglected to tell me he and his house were as poor as church mice, and that I would have to come out of pocket for nearly every expense. He promised to repay me when the social season was over. 

When, against all odds, I did accept Liam’s proposal, Maxwell then proceeded to make a small Hollywood fortune on MY story … and has yet to offer me one fucking dime.  

On top of that, he got brand new on not only me, but Liam as well.  

I admire the hustle, but not when it’s at my expense.  

Bertrand, who talked nothing but shit about me from Day One, paraded me about and pimped me out to bring finance and fame upon HIS house, then begged me to help him win over the love of his life, Savannah Walker.  

Drake’s sister.  

A commoner.  

The irony is not lost on me.  

I wonder if they knew my … differences would be the advantage they needed to get back in Court’s good graces, and that is why Maxwell was so insistent I return with him.  

But I don’t have time for them; I need to escape this room, these people. I give them a false smile and tenuous promises that we’ll talk over dinner and continue along my path. From the corner of my eye, I see Penelope, Olivia, Madeleine, and Neville huddled together, sipping champagne as their eyes flit about the room and their lips move.  

I catch Madeleine’s eye and deliberately slow my gait to ensure they all get a good look at me.  

Pretentious bitches. 

Olivia holds my gaze the longest but is the first to break our staring contest. The Duchess of Lythikos, wrapped in insecurity and shrouded in infamy, is perplexed at what anyone could possibly see in me when Penelope had lineage, Madeleine held pedigrees and titles in two countries, and Olivia herself was RIGHT THERE … drops her gaze like the coward she is.  

Who’s the commoner now? 

There’s a sneer on Neville’s lips, but his eyes are curious as he studies my body poured into the red dress. He doesn’t bother to hide neither his disdain nor his desire.  

None of these Cordonians do.  

Sometimes, when the night is quietest, I wonder if I’m simply too full of myself; maybe, just maybe these people do find me interesting and funny and my blunt observations of how the world works refreshing.  

And then I come back to reality.  

I have nothing to offer but my body and Maybelline-enhanced looks. While I closely follow politics and international news, and am a voracious reader at times, all I have is a 10th grade education, a body count that would make most folks faint, and know how to serve food.  

They wonder what the King sees in me. They assume to know what I see in him.  

I don’t belong here, and we all know it. But they need me.  

I hold the advantage, the advancement they seek. And it’s between my legs. The Promised Land rests upon my shoulders, and the entrance lies between my thighs. It both confuses and infuriates them that if they could just touch, sniff, taste it … they would be even more exalted than they already were.  

I hate this place.  

Even if I deigned to help them climb one more rung up the social ladder, what can they offer me of value? 

I married the King.  

Which is why they want me.  

To use me even further.  

I mask my insecurity with a curt nod to the small group as I pass them. They reluctantly bow their heads in acknowledgement of their Queen.  

Rule #6: Don’t ever let them see your weaknesses.  

My steps become brisker, quicker as the terrace doors come into view; protocol dictates I keep my head up, but my eyes stare straight ahead. The less people I make eye contact with, the fewer I have to deal with.  

Rule # 7: Mind your business, not everyone else’s.  

The air is stiff and cool against my back as I stare up at the full moon; I breathe contentedly as it bathes my body in its pale light. I enjoy the stolen moments alone; they’re a rarity in my new life. It’s not that I mind crowds; what I don’t like is being the center of attention.  

Unwanted attention.  

I slowly nurse my drink as I look out over the garden maze. I wonder about Liam’s mother, what type of woman she was. She had vision if the magnificent garden is any indication.  

I wonder about Daniel, my one true friend in all the world; is he okay? Would he recognize me now? I don’t look the same, I don’t even smell the same.  

I’m an imposter, playing a role I’m ill-suited for.  

I don’t hear Liam approach me, but I feel his nearness. He emanates an energy that ignites a heat within me.  

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says softly as he sets his glass of scotch on the stone ledge.  

“I needed air before dinner,” I explain.  

He nods, his eyes trained on the lush rosebushes below. “Riley, are you unhappy?” 

I look over at him; his profile is in shadow, and I cannot read his expression. I quickly swallow a gulp of alcohol before answering. “No.”  

It isn’t a complete lie.  

“Why do you ask?” 

“I realize nobility is … different and can be difficult for an outsider to navigate. I have spoken to the most senior members of both Court and Council, and you should find them to be more … helpful going forward. And with our courtship being an unorthodox whirlwind, I just …” 

He breaks off as he lifts his glass to his lips. He studies the amber liquid for a moment before setting the tumbler back down. “We don’t talk. Not about matters of substance.” 

I stare at him. The rules dictate that I don’t speak on matters of importance; men want my body, not my brains. I sit prettily, make noncommittal comments, and nod my head in agreement while I wait to part my lips or spread my legs.  

I know coitus, not communication.  

“What … what do you want to talk about?” I ask as my stomach twists nervously.  

I’m certain that he’s ending the marriage.  

New and different have expiration dates.  

I feel an inexplicable disappointment at the thought. 

He turns his head so I can see fully into his face. His expression is almost tormented, his eyes inscrutable.  

“I am your husband. You are my wife. I’m in love with you but know hardly anything about you! When I touch you, you tremble as if afraid or … repulsed.”  

I hear the crack in his voice as his head drops. 

“If you know nothing about me, how can you be in love with me?” I ask quietly. “Sex isn’t love.” 

His head lifts quickly, and his words tumble from his lips. “With you, I feel alive! I feel possibility! Your touch both soothes and calms me. When I see your face, I feel as if I can take on the world. The courage it must have taken to give up your life to take a chance on a stranger; the strength you must have to endure Court day in and day out … it’s an inspiration. My inspiration!” 

His fingers comb through his hair as he worries his lower lip. “Maybe … maybe that isn’t love at all, but I’m willing to find out. But I need you to give me … give us ... a chance.” 

I hold his gaze, my lower lip trembling. I set my tumbler carefully on the balustrade before wrapping my arms around myself as I desperately think of an acceptable answer.  

“You’re chilled,” he incorrectly surmises as he steps closer to me to pull into an embrace.  

“Riley,” his breath whispers through my tresses, “how do you feel about me? Truly.” 

My eyes close briefly; I feel a tear make its way down my powdered cheek.  

If only Court weren’t such a shitshow.  

If only I were worthy.  

If only there were no rules.  

I press my cheek into the crook of his neck; my arms tighten about his waist.   

“You make me want to break the rules.” 

Tagging:  @jared2612 @ao719  @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie  @liamrhysstalker2020​  @neotericthemis​ @twinkleallnight​ @umccall71​ @superharriet​  @busywoman​ @gabesmommie1130​ @tessa-liam​ @phoenixrising0308​ @beezm​ @gardeningourmet​ @lovingchoices14​ @foreverethereal123​ @mainstreetreader​ @angelasscribbles​ @lady-calypso​ @emkay512​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @21-wishes​ @princessleac1​ @charlotteg234​ @queenrileyrose​ @alj4890​ @yourfavaquarius111​ @motorcitymademadame​ @bbrandy2002​ @queenmiarys​  @choicesficwriterscreations​

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 7 | Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Vivian meets Luke and they decide to take their relationship public via a trip to Centre Court.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

-

Vivian made plans to pick up Tom at his house on Friday night and go to see a movie. He did pretty well with the protocols, although he needed prompting to send Vivian text about his meals. Tom answered the door in just his jeans.

“Ma’am.” He held at his hand to Vivian.

“Sunshine.” She kissed, hand on his neck.

“I’ll finish getting dressed.” She followed him through the house and into the master bedroom. Vivian stopped as she took into the scene. Clothes everywhere. In piles on the floor and on a chair.

“Sunshine. Is this how this always looks?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “More or less, ma’am.” He dug through the closet for a shirt to wear.

“Clean it up now, please.”

“But we’re going to the movies. I can do it when we get back.”

“No, you’re doing it now.” She dropped her purse.

“It can really wait until after the movie. We’ll be late.” Tom continued to protest. He realized his mistake too late, spying the frown on Vivian’s face. “Sorry, ma’am.” His eyes cast downward.

“Get your hamper.” She sat down on the edge of the armchair in the room. Tom disappeared into the bathroom and brought out a large hamper.

“Put the clothes into the hamper.” She crossed her arms as Tom scoffed. With a sigh, he gathered all the clothes, not sure which were clean and which were dirty, not that it mattered at this point.

He smiled as he put all the clothes in the hamper and shut the lid.

“Now take them out.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open but complied reluctantly, pulling the clothes out into a pile.

“Now repeat that twenty times.”

“But the movie, ma’am.”

“Then I suggest you hurry, sunshine. And count it out loud.”

Tom grumbled as he repeated the task, counting it out. As Vivian tapped her foot, staring down at her phone. He picked up his pace as he could sense her irritation growing.

“Twenty.” He worked up a bit of a sweat and closed the lid to the hamper.

Vivian stood and kissed his cheek. “Good job, sunshine. Keep the place picked up. Now let’s go to the movie, we can still make it if we hurry.”

Tom threw on a pair of shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet while Vivian walked to the front door. They made it to the movie in time to grab concessions, but they missed a few previews. Vivian selected seats at the back with her hand on the inside of Tom’s thigh the entire time. Her fingers grazing his cock, causing Tom to jump.

“Do I distract you, sunshine?” Vivian whispered into his ear, nibbling behind the lobe.

“A bit, ma’am.” Tom hissed, squirming in his seat.

“If you stay still for the rest of the movie, you can have a reward when we return home.”

“What kind of reward, ma’am?” He smirked at her in the dark.

She squeezed his leg tight. “The kind that uses my mouth.”

Tom hissed. “Yes ma’am.”

Vivian’s interest in the movie waned as she found it much more entertaining to tease Tom. He did a much better job than she expected him to do so. Tom impressed her.

They waited until everyone else left the theater, in part to allow them some privacy and in part for Tom to cool down.

“Did I earn a reward, darling?” He wore a smug smile on his face.

Vivian sized him up as though turning the decision over in her head, before squeezing his arm. “Yes you did, darling. Now let’s head home.”

-

Tom didn’t let go of Vivian’s hand as they walked up the front steps to his house. He may or may not have dropped his keys trying to open the door in excitement.

“Living room, sunshine. Strip, hands behind your head.”

She swore Tom skipped into the living room and stripped off his pants, shirt and underpants, cock already semi-hard in anticipation. He folded them and put them on the same table as that first night.

“Good boy, sunshine.” Tom’s chest puffed. Her nail ran along his chest, trailing down his torso until running along his shaft. He inhaled sharply. “Very good boy.”

Vivian pulled off her own dress and panties and unhooked her bra. She folded them and handed them to Tom, who placed them on the same table as his own clothes.

Vivian lowered in front of him. “You will not move or touch me. If you do, I stop.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tom shifted his feet.

“Now for your reward.”

She licked the tip of his cock and he moaned. Vivian kissed along his shaft and cupped his balls, heavy in her palm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom hummed, his head falling back.

Tom’s moan made Vivian’s own arousal grow. She took him into her mouth and sucked hard. His hands clenched at his sides. Vivian hollowed her cheeks and sucked off Tom, sliding her lips and tongue along him while fondling him with her other hand. Tom grew close, his balls tightening in Vivian’s hand, and she popped off his cock and jerked his cock until he came in spurts on her chest.

Tom stood still and gazed down at Vivian, covered in him. It was beautiful.

“May I, ma’am?” Tom raised a knowing eyebrow.

Vivian nodded and laid back onto the floor. Tom crawled towards her. He nipped along her inner thigh, her hand grabbing the back of his head, steering him toward her core. His tongue licked along her, already wet.

“That’s it, sunshine.” She moaned.

Tom’s nose nudged along her clit and he pushed her legs wider. He pushed two fingers into Vivian. As he thrusted into her, Tom licked and sucked her clit. She tugged at his hair, sending jabs of pain through him, her nails digging into his scalp. Vivian ground against Tom’s face. The slight stubble rubbing against the delicate skin of her thighs.

“Yes, fuck your mouth, sunshine. So good!” Vivian moaned.

Tom pressed and rubbed against her clit and she came, shuddering against Tom’s mouth, which did not stop. Vivian pulled him away from her. Tom curled up against her leg, hugging it tight. She sat up and petted his hair. Tom hummed.

“I need to go home, sunshine.” Vivian cooed.

“I wish you would stay, ma’am. It is better when you stay.”

Vivian chuckled. “But I have nothing with me.”

Tom stood up. “One moment, ma’am.”

He hustled away and Vivian giggled at how his bare ass swayed as he walked away. He came back with a cosmetic bag and a pair of pajamas, identical to her favorites. Inside the bag were twins of the toiletries in her shower.

“How did you—”

“I took pictures one morning while you slept and then of the label of your pajamas. These seemed to be your favorites. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She pulled him into a passionate kiss. “That is the sweetest thing, sunshine. You are so thoughtful.” Tom blushed. “Help me up, please.” He extended his hand to her and helped her to her feet.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

They both showered and slipped into pajamas and then tucked under the sheets, Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist.

-

Tom woke up to Vivian draped across his torso, her hair tickling along his jaw. He ran his fingers up and down her back and she nuzzled into his neck. Tom realized the relationship was still new. Hell, there hadn’t even been paparazzi photos yet or the obligatory Daily Mail article filled with innuendo and gossip. But everything felt right, like home. He appreciated how Vivian looked after him, not because it was her job, but because she genuinely cared.

Tom closed his eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of her body on his chest until his stomach growled. He tapped on Vivian’s shoulder.

“Ma’am, what would you like for breakfast?” he whispered, drawing circles on her back.

“Hmmmm?” Vivian moaned, rolling onto her side. “Coffee…”

“Anything else?” He kissed her head.

“Food.” she grumbled.

“I think I can oblige. I am going to get up now.”

“Okay…”

Tom took care to lift Vivian’s head up and place it back on the pillow and cover her with the duvet, before tugging on a pair of boxer briefs and heading to the kitchen. He cooked up a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast while the coffee brewed. Once everything was ready, Tom placed two plates on a tray along with coffee.

“Ma’am…” He leaned down and kissed behind her ear. “Breakfast is ready.”

Vivan stretched and sat up with a smile. Tom set the tray down and adjusted the pillows behind Vivian. He placed the tray over her lap and she inhaled the aroma of coffee and eggs.

“Smells divine, sunshine. Thank you.”

She handed him a cup of coffee before sipping her own. Made sweet just how she liked it. Tom sipped his own coffee. Vivian grabbed a piece of toast and held it out for Tom. He bit down on the corner, the crispy bread and butter coating his mouth. She followed with a piece of bacon.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He offered her a piece of toast and she snapped at it. They laughed and ate the entire breakfast. Tom moved the tray out of the way and curled next to Vivian.

“So what are your plans today?” She petted his head.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.” He gazed up at her. “Luke wants to meet sometime this week with you and me.”

Vivian frowned. “Did he say why?”

Tom stood to clear the dishes. “He mentioned something about going over what to expect at Wimbledon. The pictures, the fallout, what not.” He ducked out of the room.

Vivian furrowed her brow and tugged on one of Tom’s shirts and followed him. “Fallout?”

“I am sure once I show up on the arm of a stunningly beautiful woman at Centre Court, people will talk.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the notoriety of Tom’s relationships in the press. She did her research before jumping into the relationship.

“To be honest, I am surprised there haven’t been photos already.” She hopped onto the counter while Tom washed the dishes.

“I am as well, ma’am. Should I have Luke call you?”

“Hand me your phone, sunshine.”

Tom hesitantly reached across the counter and handed Vivian his mobile. She scrolled through his contacts and pushed one.

“Why are you calling me on a Saturday morning? What kind of problem did you create and now I have to solve, you tit?”

“Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?” Vivian snapped back. Tom reached for his mobile, but Vivian waved him off and smirked.

“Who is this and why do you have Tom’s mobile?” Luke questioned back.

“It’s Vivian Swann and I have his mobile because he gave it to me.”

“Well… I… I…” Luke sputtered.

“I don’t need your apologies. You wanted to meet with me this week. I’m available Monday at 10 a.m. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke snapped.

“I’ll see you then. I hope you have a lovely weekend, Mr. Windsor.”

“You too. Give my hellos to Tom.”

Vivian glanced over at Tom, who had a look of absolute horror on his face as his publicist talked with his domme girlfriend.

“I will, thank you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Vivian grabbed his hand and pulled Tom close, kissing his lips. “Luke gives his hellos.” She purred at him.

Tom chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist. His lips curled into a smile while he kissed her back. “Wow, Luke is really forward today. I must have a talk with him.”

“I have taken some liberties.” Vivian collapsed into giggles, peppering kisses on Tom’s face. “What do you say we have a lazy weekend, sunshine? Lie on the couch watching movies, ordering takeaway and just being lumps?”

“I like this plan, ma’am. May I suggest we start with a leisurely shower for two?”

“You read my mind.”

-

The two of them didn’t leave Tom’s house for the next two days. They made love on the couch, the bed and even the kitchen counter, when Tom waylaid Vivian as she put away the leftovers from lunch on Sunday.

“I can’t get enough of you, ma’am.” he growled as he thrusted into her.

“Me too, sunshine.” Her nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, leaving red crescent marks. Tom came and slumped against her after Vivian orgasmed.

Vivian should have gone home on Sunday night so she could get ready for work, but she didn’t want to leave Tom. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms or the view of his boyish smile. So instead set her alarm to an obscene time and slipped under the covers to curl over Tom’s back.

-

Vivian needed three cups of coffee on Monday morning and was still a grump arriving at the office. Mary shooed away any unnecessary appointments and screened all Vivian’s phone calls.

“Ms. Swann.” Mary popped her head in at 9:30.

“Yes, Mary?” Vivian groaned, the coffee kicking in.

“You have that personal meeting at 10 a.m. and you emailed me on Saturday to remind you…”

Vivian jumped up and grabbed her suit jacket and purse. “Thank you, Mary.” She hustled out of the building, hoping traffic wouldn’t be too bad.

-

Tom paced inside Luke’s office, waiting for Vivian to arrive. Luke sat behind his enormous glass and steel desk, his eyes following Tom’s path.

“Are you nervous?” Tom jumped at the noise and laughed nervously. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What? No! Just hoping she didn’t get caught in traffic, that’s all.” His closed lip smile doing nothing to dissuade Luke.

“New suit?” Tom glanced down. Vivian had picked it out for him during a shopping trip. He had other suits, but he wanted to wear this one today.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Tom smiled.

“Bit fancy for a meeting with me. You usually turn up in that same fucking sweater and jeans. Trying to impress the girl?”

“No. I have other meetings today.” Tom lied. “And she is not “the girl” or “a girl” she is a woman, my girlfriend, and her name is Vivian. And I would expect you to speak about her in the tone and respect she deserves.”

“Lord, I hope he would.” Vivian kissed Tom’s cheek. “I like the suit, darling.”

Tom blushed. “I like your suit too.” He returned the kiss. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, lovebirds take a seat.” He gestured at the two chairs in front of the desk.” Vivian sat, and then Tom. She reached out to touch his arm.

“So Mr. Windsor, I imagine this meeting has several purposes…”

“Well, actually—”

Vivian cut him off. “Please don’t patronize me with any spin talk. I’m a lawyer, bullshit is my business. Now I believe you wanted this meeting to discuss our upcoming outing to Wimbledon. Which is all fine and good, but I suspect you have also called this meeting to suss me out?”

Luke sat silently for a moment. “Yes, that’s correct. I’d rather know about any potential pitfalls ahead of time. You can’t be too careful.”

Vivian smiled. “I can assure you, I only have Tom’s best interests at heart. In fact, I even offered to sign a NDA, but he refused.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, and he narrowed his eyes at Tom. “You—”

“It was rather romantic.” Vivian squeezed Tom’s arm. “Wasn’t it, darling?”

Tom sat dumbstruck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was in no position to argue. “It was, darling.”

Vivian returned her gaze to Luke. “I am a junior partner at Watkins, Price, and Forbes, I graduated with my law degree from Oxford, attended Wycombe Abbey on scholarship, grew up in Sheffield, lost the accent. I have been sued three times, all due to work. Every time I prevailed. But you knew all of that, Mr. Windsor, because you do your job and do it well. So ask me what you want to ask?”

Luke blinked, his gaze darting between Tom and Vivian. “I like her, Thomas.” He wagged his finger at Vivian. “I like her a lot.” Tom beamed with pride. “You’re right. Now tell me what a basic Google search won’t. Tell what your best mate from Oxford might say to a reporter if offered enough money to clear her overdraft. Those dark secrets no one knows.”

Vivian gazed at Tom, looking for the silent assent to proceed. “Tell him everything, darling.” Tom reached out and squeezed her hand. “He’ll need to know sooner or later.”

“So I kissed a girl a few times at Oxford, no pictures and I can’t even remember her name. I had an ex who I needed to get a restraining order against about seven years ago. He is now in prison for assaulting another woman. I’ve had a few online dating profiles that are now deactivated. And…” She glanced at Tom one more time and he nodded. “… Tom and I engage in a D/s lifestyle relationship.”

“Well, that is not all that bad… Wait, what? A D/s lifestyle relationship? Tom would you like to explain?” Luke glared, nostrils flaring.

“I only brought it up because I have had a couple of similar relationships in the past. They all ended amicably, but you never know.” Vivian interjected. “D/s is dominant/submissive.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Do the two, use like whips and masks and that sort of thing? Because Tom, your sex life is really…”

Tom and Vivian burst into laughter. “Luke, if you could see your face. Not yet.” He winked at Vivian. “But I will be certain to take photos.” Luke shot up. “Kidding! It just means an exchange of power. I have given the power to Vivian and in return she takes care of me.” Tom’s face softened. “Quite well I may so.”

“And you of me, darling.” They leaned over and kissed. Luke gagged in the background.

“Ok, enough, please stop making out in my office. I would like to keep my breakfast in my stomach. Now this D/s does it interfere with Tom’s job?” He directed his questions towards Vivian.

“Nope, I stay completely out of his work. It is imperative he remain autonomous in that regard. I do pick out his clothes for events and what not, but whether or not he chooses to attend something or film a project or not is entirely his purview. Just as he wouldn’t tell me how to prepare for trial.”

“And otherwise, you do what?” Luke asked. “I’m not talking in bed, but you said lifestyle. What else do you do for Tom?”

“Make sure he is eating properly, getting enough, keeping to his schedule.”

“That makes two of us.” Luke interjected.

“If you share his schedule with me, I am more than happy to help. He…” she pinched Tom’s side. “… has refused to share his calendar with me thus far. I’m stuck with the schedule he emails me on Sunday.” Tom glanced away.

“Done. Tom. I take it back.” Luke commented, straightfaced. “I don’t like her. I love her. In fact, if you screw this up, I might date her myself.”

Vivian blushed. She appreciated her efforts being valued but someone other than Tom, although it wasn’t necessary. She cleared her throat.

“So now that all the dirty laundry is out for all to see, let’s talk tennis.”

Luke slammed his hands on the desk. “Right, so the two of you will definitely be photographed. We have two options, deny a relationship or be honest about the two of you dating. If you want to deny, I can’t have the two of you kissing at the event. We can spin you two as just good friends until you are ready to reveal. But regardless, the papers are likely to post something. Vivian, I would tell you not to read the comments.”

“I would support that.” Tom piped in.

Vivian nodded. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. I would like your email and phone number in case I need to get a hold of you or Boy Wonder over here.” Tom grinned.

“I like that nickname.” Vivian fished out a business card and wrote on the back. “There is my business information and my personal information is on the back.” Luke set the card down by his monitor.

“Luke…” Tom extended his hand. The two shook hands and embraced before Luke extended his hand to Vivian.

“I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did.” Luke pulled Vivian into a hug. “If you break his heart, I will kill you.” he whispered in her ear.

“The same goes for you, Luke, old boy.” she smiled back, she squeezed his hand hard.

“You have some grip.” Luke commented, shaking out his hand.

“Thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I have some paperwork that needs my attention back at the office.” She grabbed her purse.

“I’ll walk you out.” Tom followed her. They walked in silence to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close behind them.

Once they did, Vivian grabbed the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him. “I do love you in that suit.”

“I wore it for you.” Tom tugged at her lower lip. “Do you have to get back to the office right now?” His hands teased along her side.

“What did you have in mind, sunshine?”

“Lunch.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows.

Vivian burst into laughter. “Are you ever not hungry?”

“Not when I am around you.”

-

“You’re wearing the tennis racquet tie?” Vivian called out from the living room. She leaned against a chair and fiddled with her swan necklace. She was nervous. This was a big deal. And after today, everything would change.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom’s voice rang out. He stepped into the living room in his dark blue pinstriped suit and light blue shirt. His brown oxfords shining in the light.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look in a suit, sunshine?” Vivian straightened his tie and picked off a piece of lint from the lapel.

“Ever heard of Tumblr?” He grabbed her purse. “We’ll be late, ma’am.”

Vivian wasn’t used to seeing so many celebrities. She did her best to not gawk. She clung to Tom as he smiled on his way into the stadium. Tom leaned to whisper into her ear.

“You are going to put holes into my jacket with your nails, darling. Relax and smile. You are doing great.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” She kissed his cheek back.

“I hope the photographers got that.” Tom chuckled.

They made their way to their seats at the Centre Court. “You didn’t say Sophie and Ben would be here.” Vivian nudged Tom’s arm.

“Huh?” His head snapped toward Vivian’s hand to see Benedict and Sophie making their way to them.

“Sophie!” Vivian stood up to envelope Sophie into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Sophie frowned. “I told Ben to have Tom tell you.”

“I may have forgotten to text Tom.” Ben shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Sophie smacked Benedict hard on the arm. “Ow! Do you mind, there are cameras everywhere?” he hissed.

“Good, then they’ll know I’m mad at you. You are looking dapper, Thomas.” Sophie smiled.

“Vivian picked out at the outfit.”

“So sweet. And Vivian. that dress is divine.”

Vivian blushed. “Tom bought it for me.”

“Way to make me look bad, mate.” Benedict commented, still rubbing his shoulder. “You know you can tone down the perfect gentleman, Disney prince routine every once in the while? Give us mere mortals a chance.”

Tom smirked. “Now why would I do that?”

“I like him just fine the way he is.” Vivian piped up. Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist as he tilted his head to kiss her. She reached up to cup his face.

“That goes double for me, darling.” Tom beamed down at her.

“I see the two of you have decided to go public. I heard camera shutters from here.” Sophie commented. “We’ll be back.” Sophie tugged Ben away.

Tom and Vivian settled into their seats to watch Nadal and Djokovic play in the finals. Vivian’s hand lighted on the back of Tom’s neck and shoulders. His knees tilted towards her, touching against her bare skin. Tom described the play in animated gestures, causing Vivian to laugh.

“I love when you get excited like this.” she commented.

“Like a puppy?” Tom offered.

“No, like an excited child. It is beyond sweet how your face lights up.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“When we get home,” Vivian leaned over to whisper in Tom’s ear, her voice low so the surrounding spectators couldn’t hear. “I’m going to blindfold you with that tie and spank your cute little ass with a tennis racquet. Is that understood?”

Tom crossed his legs, no easy feat in the cramped seating area and covered his mouth with his hand in case the paparazzi were watching. He bit his lower lip and leaned over to whisper back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled as she rubbed Tom’s shoulders and neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling. Now let’s enjoy the game.”

Tom shifted in his seat.

“Miss anything?” Benedict asked.

Vivian smiled up at Ben and Sophie. “Just making plans for later tonight.”

Sophie sat down next to Vivian. “Can we join in?” she asked innocently. Tom coughed.

“Darling,” Vivian turned her attention back to Tom, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Have some water.” She handed him a water bottle. Tom took a long swig.

“I don’t see why not? I was trying to decide where to go for dinner. Unless the two of you need to get back home to the kids?”

Sophie grabbed Vivian’s arm. “I know a delightful little place not too far away.”

“Sounds delicious.” Vivian glanced over at Tom, whose face was an uncomely shade of white. “What do you say, boys? Want to join us?”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Benedict commented.

“Of course, darling.”

Vivian chuckled. “Isn’t it lovely when people just do what we want, Sophie?”

“Indeed it is.”

-

The rest of the match was torture for Tom. Vivian kept squeezing his knee and rubbing his neck which caused blood to rush to body parts he would rather not in public. She was doing it on purpose and there wasn’t much Tom could do to stop it.

“You’re teasing me, darling.” Tom hissed into her ear.

“Yes I am, darling. It’s not my fault, your mind is in the gutter.”

“Who put it there?”

Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty. But you know you love it.”

The match dragged on and Tom wanted nothing more than to beg off dinner and returned Vivians’ apartment but he knew she would never let him. She was enjoying torturing him too much.

Vivian made a point of ordering not only an appetizer and entrée but dessert and coffee. Tom picked at their dessert.

“Tom, are you okay?” Benedict asked as he sipped a decaf coffee. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Not going to lie, Ben. I am rather eager to get home.” He stretched and yawned for effect. He shot a glare over at Benedict while Vivian chatted with Sophie about her necklace.

“Right. Sophs…. we really should be going.”

“But I was—”

“I mean we should be going.” Benedict leaned over and whispered in his wife’s ear.

“Right, dear. The boys will need us. Vivian….” The women hugged. “… a delight as always. Tom…” Tom reached over the table to hug Sophie and Benedict.

“Love you, Soph. You too, Ben.” The couple quickly left the restaurant giving their goodbyes and promises to get together soon.

Vivian turned to Tom. “Did you just shoo away our friends so that you can get home sooner?”

“Yes, darling.” Tom smirked. “I am….” He tugged on his tie. “…. looking forward to the evening’s activities.”

Vivian’s hand grazed Tom’s crotch, and she noticed his cock already semi-hard.

“It would appear you are.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH15

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

WC: 3334

A/N: Sorry, I’m updating a lot but these two are all I can think of lately when I have time to think at all.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean stands under the stream of warm water, Jo’s words still ringing in his ears. He closes his eyes, letting the water wash over him.

Jo’s right.

Of course she’s right. 

Doesn’t mean he likes it, though.

That’s textbook Dean Winchester, ain’t it? It also kind of shows that he’s capable of love, which should be a good thing. He thought he didn’t have it in him, gave up hope because as he told Jo, love is rare. But yeah, his family, he loves them. Unconditionally. There’s nothing they could do to make him unlove them. And Jo’s right about that.

But loving unconditionally, is that really the only thing he’s capable of? Does he love Y/N? The thought of her makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

No, it’s not love, he thinks.

At least not yet. 

But he’s on the highway there and it should scare him. He should be terrified but strangely, he’s not.

Dean’s dick starts to grow but he immediately thinks of something else, doesn’t want to rub himself off, not when there’s the prospect of seeing Y/N later. Instead, he thinks of all the things he still has to do today, thinks about looking at the sales numbers, planning next deliveries in his head, has to go back to his apartment to feed the cat, baseball, golf, the ending of Game Of Thrones… Just thinks of all the unsexy things he can possibly manage in order to make his boner go away.

***

Crowley’s waiting for Dean in Crowley’s new strip club (bought under a false alias, obviously) and as soon as Dean steps in, he notices that it’s not a normal strip club. At least it’s not like the ones he's been to lately.

It’s exclusive, looks somewhat fancy and expensive. All the girls are probably screened every three months, some even given boosting cosmetic surgeries and he can imagine that they cost more an hour than most men make in a month.

He doesn’t know if it’s only stripping but knowing Crowley, it most likely isn’t.

A big bald bodyguard leads Dean up the stairs and he feels kind of exposed, it’s only 9PM and there aren’t many people here yet. However, there were familiar faces. Doctors and politicians, people who Dean knows for sure that they have an equally beautiful wife or girlfriends at home. People Dean knows are shady, people Dean makes deals with. 

They pass two women on the upper floor, it’s the VIP section and Dean wonders why there is one when the club is Members Only anyway. The women whisper something to each other as Dean walks by. He knows they’re talking about him because they’re checking him out. Can feel their eyes on him, they’re probably hoping that he'll chat them up. He did that a lot in the past. Took them to a hotel, left later with the promise to call, which of course, he never did. But yeah, he’s in a strip club and for them, he’s probably just a walking dollar sign. 

He stays focused, follows the bodyguard to a door which is most likely the entrance to an exclusive lounge. Dean snorts at the thought. Only Crowley would open a Members Only club and still manage to segregate different levels. Dean bets it depends on one's income which section you belong in. He knows Crowley too well.

Dean risks a glance to the floor level before he steps through the door, sees girls dancing, sees them grinding on laps, all of them half naked. And out of nowhere, there’s a feeling of longing in his heart that he can't quite place, maybe mostly because he’s never felt it before. Dean thinks he would rather be anywhere but here, and that’s a given. But most of all, he thinks that he’d like to be with her right now. 

He flips his wrist, sees that it’s 9:07PM, thinks that the Roadhouse probably slowly starts to fill up.

“You can go in.” The bodyguard’s words jolts Dean back to reality.

The moment Dean steps through the door, a wall of humidity hits him square in his face. The air gets thicker, it gets harder to breathe and the temperature is significantly warmer.

He can see a pool at the back, it’s lit up in some lilac shade colors. In front of the pool is a group of big bulky leather chairs Crowley and his men are sitting in. All of them have a girl on their lap except Crowley. Crowley has two — on each side. There are more people mingling in the pool, some are in the back to the other side where there are more chairs and beds. All the girls are dressed in a bikini and some of them are even naked. Dean swallows hard.

“Winchester!” Crowley’s as cheery as ever. “Sit down!” He gestures to an empty chair among them.

“Crowley,” Dean nods, unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off to drape it behind the chair before he sits down.

It’s almost unbearably hot and humid. 

“Drink?” Crowley already signals his hand to the waitress who’s wearing a skin tight dress. Probably to be able to distinguish her from the other girls. Something to say that she’s only here to serve drinks. Crowley looks to Dean with a smirk on his face. “And a girl? Honey, get him a girl.”

“Drink yes. Gotta pass on the girl, Crowley.” Dean says, and adds, “Can we get to business?”

Crowley laughs, his hands tighten on the girl on his lap. “You’ll get a girl anyway.”

God dammit.

The drink comes, served by a girl with long, dark hair. At least she still wears her bikini. Rainbows and unicorns are on it. He thinks it’s kinda cute, would probably suit Y/N better. He takes the drink from her, it’s whiskey because Crowley knows what he drinks. 

She climbs into Dean’s lap and he’s doing his best not to touch her, his hand rests on the arm of the chair with one hand clutching at his tumbler like his life depends on it.

“Hi, I’m Unicorn.” She says in a deep alluring voice while her hands play with his tie, her breasts press up against him and they nearly spill out of her bikini top. 

And really, Dean’s so fucking glad he’s not a teenager anymore and learned throughout the years to have his cock under control.

“Hey,” Dean says out of courtesy, and takes a big gulp of his drink. “Unicorn? Really?”

She chuckles. “I had to come up with something.”

“So you went by Unicorn and not like some typical stripper name. What are they? Candy? Crystal? Cherry?”

“Hey, I like unicorns!” She laughs, points her fingers to her bikini top, arches her back and pushes her chest out and Dean grins at that because it’s so colorful it’s bordering on bad taste. 

There’s something in her eyes that makes him think she’s probably new to all of this. Maybe only graduated and needed money to make ends meet. He lets her dance around in his lap, but keeps his hands away from her.

Crowley talks about the club (very exclusive and expensive), tells Dean about all the things they can do here (you name it — you get it), informs Dean that he and his men wouldn’t have to pay for a membership (not that Dean will tell his men that anyway). And then Crowley stands up, loosens the knot that holds his robe together (Dean didn’t even notice that the guy was wearing a freaking robe) and tells Dean to wait for business talk because he wants to take a dip in the pool and if Dean wanted, he could join him.

Yeah no, over his dead body. There’s no way he’s going to bathe in filthy water. So he sits back and orders himself another drink.

“So,” Unicorn says while she swings her hips from side to side on his thigh. “I can feel that you don’t really want me on your lap and honestly, I don’t really wanna be here myself but can you play along? I don’t wanna lose my job.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought about it. Was actually close to tell her to fuck right off his lap but yeah, he doesn’t want to be the reason she’ll get fired for. 

“Can we just stay like this? Like, no further touching? Just you on my thigh?”

“Sure,” 

Unicorn still moves a little to keep up the facade, but it’s not as intense as it was before, not that it mattered because it didn’t really affect him. 

It was about a couple of minutes of lap wriggling later that his phone vibrates in his pants and Unicorn yelps up with a laugh.

“Yeah, I should get that.” He says, and she gets up to let him fish his phone out of his pocket.

He looks at the screen. It’s the Roadhouse. Landline. Which is weird. He never gets calls from there.

Dean slides his thumb over the screen and puts the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“There’s a man dressed in black jeans and black leather jacket, standing at the bar since the start of my shift. He ordered a beer but that’s it. Nothing else. And he watches me. It’s creepy. Bet his beer is stale now and he still sips at it. Which makes it all so much creepier.”

His heart takes a leap upon hearing her voice and Dean smiles. He can hear the music in the background, can hear people talking. Y/N called him from work. From a freaking landline. Which means that she probably memorized his number, knows it by heart, and he can’t help but grin a little wider, feels the crinkles around his eyes as they deepened.

“Baby, that’s Adam.”

Unicorn climbs back into his lap but as they agreed before, she stays where she’s allowed.

“You have someone watching me? Someone named Adam?” Y/N gets loud.

“Relax. He’s just gonna stay in the bar. See it as some kind of bouncer. He’s not allowed to follow you anywhere unless I say so.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you before I did that.” Dean really wanted to but there was no time.

“I wish you did, too.” She huffs out, and adds, “He stares at me right now. What a creep.”

Dean laughs, “He’s only doing what I told him to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“To not let you out of his sight.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Then he’ll stay in front of the door. He won’t go in unless he has a death wish, don’t worry about that.”

“Like standing in front is not creepy at all.” She says, and then adds, “So if I was to punch him or say, stick my tongue out or flash him, he wouldn’t do anything right?”

“I would hope that you won’t flash him.” Dean might play it off as a joke but he really hopes she won’t. “But to answer your question, no. He won’t do anything to you. He just keeps all the other creeps away.”

“Because he’s the king of the creeps.” She laughs. “I just did.”

“What? Flash him?”

“Duh! Stuck my tongue out. He didn’t even blink! Is he human?”

“I would hope so because I’d be paying him way too much if he wasn’t.”

“When are you coming?” Her voice is smaller now. 

Dean sighs, would love to go there now because Crowley is too busy splashing around with girls anyway. “As soon as I can get away, I promise.”

“Okay,” There’s a sigh on the other line and then she adds. “Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” 

He keeps his phone in his hand, pushing at the button, making his screen light up again to look at the time.

“Is that your girl?” Unicorn asks, stealing a glimpse at his phone, as the lock screen lights up.

It’s a picture of Y/N. He took it in the morning when she slept at his place. Her hair was messy around her face, his shirt that she was wearing rode down, revealing her shoulder. Her lips slightly parted. He always kept it as his home screen and he figured, today he could also use it as his lock screen.

“Yeah,” Dean couldn’t hide the grin, neither the proud feeling in his chest. “That’s her.” The light goes out and he thumbs the button to light it up again. “She’d kill me if she knows I took this picture.”

Unicorn is looking intensely, squinting her eyes a little, too. 

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Unicorn says, “She looks familiar, is all.”

Just when Dean wants to ask more, Crowley stands before him, the water dripping down the short man’s legs. “Right, we can go talk business now.” 

Fucking finally, Dean thinks. Unicorn scrambles off his lap and he stands up, pocketing his phone before he lets Crowley lead him into an office in the back.

It’s past 2AM when Dean walks through the door. She knows it’s him because every time that man walks it, everyone shuts the hell up.

Her cheeks heat up. It’s what always happens when she sees him and it’s really not fucking fair because he looks so good. He’s wearing a suit, probably tailored, a white shirt, the top three buttons are undone. He’s probably lost the tie along the way. His hair’s a little ruffled up, as if he had spent a lot of time in high humidity. She wonders if he just came out of a shower and if yes, why did he shower? It shouldn’t bother her that much, so she bottles up her curiosity.

And there it is, the smile on his face, it’s so big and there are a lot of crinkles around his eyes, as if he’s smiling with his eyes, too. 

She can’t hide the effect he has on her, turning beet red as she watches him walk towards the bar. Smiling back at him just because it’s the only thing she’s capable of. 

Dean’s eyes leave hers for a moment and she can see him scan the room. He nods towards Adam who nods back and then backs off, leaving the bar.

“Hi,” He says as he sits down. 

Y/N remembers that she’s still tapping a beer, realizes it when the pint glass overflows and curses. “Shit.”

Dean chuckles.

She drops the glass in the sink before she braces her arms on the counter “Hi, what can I get you?”

He shrugs, his eyes never leaving hers. “I don’t know,”

“Hey Winchester, get in line!” The man on the back shouts out, because that’s the guys beer she’s been pouring before.

Dean looks back at the man and she can’t see the look in Dean's eyes but it must have been scary because the other man shuts up and takes a couple of steps back.

He turns back to her, the smile is back on his face. “A kiss maybe?”

She grins and lowers herself down a little. Her stomach gets warm when their lips meet. She went in for a peck on the lips but Dean’s hand is on her neck, his thumb strokes her cheek and he pulls her closer, kissing her harder. 

“Oh no! Get a fucking room, will ya?” Ash could be heard saying as he walks back into the bar from wherever he was before.

They part and she breathes hard. Dean’s lips were red and slick, she can only imagine that hers are the same. “You smell like chlorine. Did you go swimming?” 

Dean snorts out a laugh. “It was a meeting.”

“Right.” She says, not really believing him but also it’s not her place to ask. She just couldn’t help but wonder who he met and what they talked about.

Y/N takes a tumbler and fills it with whiskey.

“There was this girl,” Dean starts and she stills. “Long, dark hair, round face, dimpled chin?”

She raises an eyebrow, wondering why he tells her that. 

“Unicorn bikini? She also said her name was Unicorn.” Dean only looks at the glass she places in front of him and she’s glad because something clicked in her head and she wouldn’t have wanted him to see her reaction.

“Huh,” She lets out.

“You jealous?” There’s some playfulness in the tone of his voice, amusement in his look.

“So you came here to tell me that you’re breaking up with me because you met a girl named Unicorn in a unicorn bikini?” She says, and starts to tap a beer for the poor guy in the back.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Y/N!”

She ignores him, but it’s just for show, really. It’s cute how easy she can wind him up.

He empties the whiskey in one go, squints at the burn. “Listen to me, alright?” 

When she doesn’t say anything, he starts to talk again. “Right. So, the girl's name is Unicorn, which I think it’s a fake name.”

“Duh,”

“Shush!” He hushes her. “Anyway, she saw a picture of you and said that you looked familiar. Do you by any chance know a girl who’s in the possession of  a unicorn bikini?”

Of course she does, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. She has the strong feeling that it’s Meg. They’re in the same unit, which makes her think that Linda probably got Meg to go undercover too.

Y/N tries to avert the conversation. “Wait, what? A picture of me?”

“Shit,” Dean mutters under his breath and clasps a hand over his face. “I’m busted, ain’t I?”

“You’re in so much trouble.” She’s stern. “What picture Dean?”

He exhales and gets his phone out from his pocket, hands it to her in defeat.

She didn’t even have to unlock it, sees the phone light up with a picture and yeah, it’s her. While she was sleeping in Dean’s bed hungover as fuck.

“You’ve got to delete this.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only picture I have!” He says like he’s defending himself, and adds, “I need another one if I can’t use that one.” He says, makes some chin hands, probably thinks he’s cute. And she hates that he is. “Please?”

“We’ll see about that.”

She signals for the other guy to come get his drink and then turns to Dean again as he pockets his phone back. “Okay,” she says, “But only if I can take one of you.”

Dean smiles at that. “Deal.”

*

Dean helps her close the bar and waits for her to turn the key as she finishes locking up. 

As soon as she turns around to leave, he’s pinned her to the door. His lips on hers, his hands on her waist kneading and squeezing at her flesh. It’s crazy how fast she gets turned on with him. Can’t lie that she loves his big hand kneading her, how she loves that his kisses are rough and demanding.

“Hi,” He says as he breaks from the kiss, his forehead still on hers.

“Hi,” she replies, smiling with her lips between her teeth.

He toys at the hem of her shirt, dibs a finger into the seam of her jean skirt. “A skirt, huh?” 

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed because she’s seen him staring at her thighs and ass as they cleaned the bar. 

“I get more tips when I show some skin.” She grins a cocky grin. The same one he normally gives her when he’s so fucking full of himself.

Dean rolls his eyes visibly. “You ever flashed for tips?”

“Only Adam.” She winks and Dean drops his forehead on her shoulder. “You jealous?” She asks, takes his words and uses them against him.

“Nah, but I think Adam has an expiring date coming up.” He kisses her cheek, takes her hand and pulls her towards his car.

CH16

[hollyhomburg]

Dream a little Dream of Me (KNJ)

Summary: Sometimes being in a long distance relationship isn’t so bad, other days Namjoon wakes up and misses you so bad he almost feels like it will summon into existence (and the one time it actually was) 

Word count: 9.3k

Tags: Long distance relationship au, Fluffy smut, Namjoon makes sweet (and slightly blasphemous) love to the reader, oral (M. + F. receiving), light spanking, mostly vanilla accept for the dirty talk, unprotected sex, cock warming, Namjoon is hung af and he has a bit of a size kink so he likes it. 

Song Rec: BTS – Home 

A/N: this one-shot was inspired heavily by the song Tokyo! I started writing it way back when mono first came out which is why it is set in the past! I hope you guys like it!

Waking up to you is Namjoon’s absolute favorite way to start the day. 

There are a few sublime moments- the skin of your fingers along his lips, the slight brush of conditioned hair, soft at the ends brushing his face and the shifting of a familiar weight across his lap as you sling your legs over his. the weight of your body and he feeling of your soft skin pressed against his that rouse him gently from sleep. He wakes up and groans, but keeps his eyes closed, a hand coming up to rub against your back as he steadies you where you sit across his lap, peppering kisses across his bare chest.

“Good morning sleepyhead, or should I say afternoon,” your lovely lilting voice says against the skin just below his jaw. Maybe today is a Saturday or a Sunday or a Monday, he could have work in an hour or in five minutes but that he is not going to get up from this spot no matter what, not for anything. He hums a hello against your lips. All he wants is to spend the rest of time wrapped up in your arms, eyes closed against the early morning sunlight, idyllic and all too yellow behind his eyelids. 

“Namjoon” you slur, sleepy, fingers running across his collarbones and making him shiver. He’s a little too cold for the warm summer light streaming through that window, his hands tighten on your warm body.  “Namjoon?” your voice strengthens deepening far lower than it should be, and then he’s knocked out of the dream ripped away from you by someone’s hands on his shoulders, larger and rougher, and definitely not his girlfriends. 

“Namjoon you need to wake up,” Seokjin says as Taehyung rips back the covers out of his hands, where he’s been clenching at them, waking up Namjoon with the cold draft of air. Namjoon sleepily opens his eyes, And he takes in not you, not his bedroom or yours on the other side of the world. No sunlight only cold Tokyo in the middle of winter. 

He’s still half asleep, hand still reaching out for someone who’s not even in this country let alone this side of the world. The lingering endorphins from the brief Sleep paralysis makes him feel like he’s still asleep before he crashes down to earth.  “Namjoon- oh my god- get up we have to go.”

“What?” Namjoon mumbles still reeling from sudden wakefulness. His legs and arms feel like pins and needles. Like he left them in the sunny morning with you halfway in-between the dream world and here. The crushing reality of a long distance relationship: that dream is the closest he’s going to get to you this month. 

Taehyung sighs, annoyed. “Wheels up on the jet in 50, we need to leave in ten and you’re still not packed” Namjoon curses and Tae starts piling his things into a suitcase with little regard for any order as Seokjin tosses him a pair of pants and his cosmetic bag that holds the stuff for his morning routine. 

“Why didn’t you try to wake me sooner?” Namjoon asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Jimin did,” Taehyung says helping their leader pack away his laptop, “you just wanted to sleep still” that’s right, he’d been up into the early hours of the morning working on his mixtape and that was the reason why he felt so out of sorts. There wasn’t another reason, the little bit of his chest that had tighten when he’d woken up again and found you not next to him, again, for the nth time this month, of course not. 

He checks his phone half a dozen times for a text message from you in-between the ride to the airport and takeoff, checking and double checking the time where you are. You’re still at work and your current workplace has a strict no phones rule. But his phone still feels heavy in his pocket even as their private jet readies for takeoff. His numbness lingering even as he gets on the plane and watches the ground falls out from underneath him. 

Most days, your long distance relationship was an unintended consequence of both of your busy lives. You both kept in contact as much as possible through your days. But times like this when Namjoon was on tour were extra difficult for both of you when the variance in his schedule made it impossible for you to fall into your usual routine of calls. He’d talked to you late last night of course, as you’d been waking up to go to work. 

Namjoon tried his best he really did, but sometimes, like today, the distance between your two cities got to him. He waits during the long plane flight anxious until he gets the chance to just talk to you again, not even see you. The jumpy feeling of wanting to sleep never quite leaves his bones during the flight. 

He steals himself just as they get off the plane back in Seoul at 11 am when you should be just getting out of work. He calls, and you don’t pick up, and he feels himself crumple further.  Fuck- he just- he really wanted to talk to you after last night, maybe tell you about his dream like he always did.  And he wanted to hear your teasing voice over the phone teasing him about having his head in the clouds, and then his rebuttal (a constant inside joke between you two) ‘good thing your head is up there too.’ 

Namjoon can’t wait to sleep as he watches Seoul creep by in the car, caught in morning traffic, unable to find rest in the constant jostling. Next to him Jimin clicks away on his phone rapidly turned away from Namjoon. Though he does send the elder glances every few minutes. “Are you okay Joon?” Jimin asks, setting his phone protectively in his pocket.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Namjoon won't bother trying to explain to Jimin about missing you. Jimin doesn’t have a girlfriend, only a few long-distance hookups like the rest of the boys (besides Jin whose girl was waiting for him back at the apartment complex, their apartment right next to the dorm). But Jimin gives him a sympathetic glance regardless, ever the empath. All of the boys know how much Namjoon misses you on the daily, have long since stopped teasing him whenever he looks at his phone, smiles at his phone, or insists on calling you the second they get back from a performance to update you on how it went.

“Do you miss her? When I came you’re your room earlier you were saying her name.” 

Namjoon flushes at that but nods, unashamed of his love for you even if it is a little embarrassing. “I miss her every second, and I guess even in my dreams too” he chuckles uncomfortably and scratches at the back of his neck. The words are so true that the dreg up this offal crushing bitterness in his chest. It’s strange, the cloying feeling of homesickness even as he’s just gotten to the city he’s lived in for most of his life. 

“Aren’t you going to go visit her soon? Do you have any trips planned?” Jimin types out a message on his phone after he asks the driver how much longer it will be until they get home. 

Namjoon shakes his head, “no not yet, her current assignment is a little more demanding than her last and she doesn’t finish out her contract until the end of the month.” 

He checks his phone again to see if you’ve gotten out of work, finding nothing, decides that you must have decided to work late again. He sends a quick text reminding you to grab some dinner and take care of yourself and ignores the texts from his family asking him over for dinner tomorrow night. Shoving away the bitter frustration budding in his chest. 

At least he’ll have time to sleep over the next few days, they have the next 2 weeks off, a rare stretch of free time that Namjoon was fully intending on using to relax.  Maybe after the first few days, he could do some more work and finally finish his mixtape. Hopefully, this bad day won’t just be another in a string of them like they are sometimes.

He can hope, but things look bleak as they return to their dorm and Namjoon feels no excitement or joy at being back. They unload the vans of their luggage that's a little dinged from the tour. Dome of the staff stays to help- but there isn’t all that much to unload. 

Namjoon checks his phone again on the way up the steps and inside the apartment, missing the suspicious looks that Jimin and the others cast his way as he gets closer and closer to his room. Jimin hovers in particular, Taehyung almost says something and Hoseok barely stifling an excited anticipatory laugh. Jimin signals to him behind Namjoons back with a murderous look to stay quiet or else. He opens his door still looking at his phone, it not bothering to look up.  

“What are you doing Joon?” you ask

“Just trying to text you” and then he does a double take, not believing his eyes because you’re standing there, wearing a shit-eating grin on your face, definitely not on the other side of the world. His phone slides out of his hands and thuds face down on his bedroom floor as you give a guilty grin and have the Gaul to say, “Surprise?” 

He shouts your name, suddenly more awake than he’s been all month. Stumbling forward into your arms on unsteady legs, he picks you up and spins you around. You yelp at the sudden feeling of weightlessness gripping his shoulders. Your strong boyfriend who doesn’t know his own strength especially when he’s excited,  crushing you to his chest and lifting you like you’re a paperweight.

“Oh my god! How are you here!?“ he says, suddenly overwhelmed as he breathes in a deep breath and gets all of you, the smell of your favorite vanilla and flower perfume and the conflicting scent of your shampoo, the feeling of your body pressed up against his this time real. He sets you down but doesn’t let go, pulling away so that he can kiss you, thankful and happy and smiling wider than he has all week. Feeling your lips slot together with his like two puzzle pieces finding their spot. 

He’s barely aware of the others by the door, disappearing after giving Jimin a high five for pulling off the surprise, shouting hello to you before they disappear and give you your privacy, not that you’re paying attention to anything other than Namjoon. 

And oh, Namjoon almost melts at the taste of you, his arms squeezing you need to reaffirm that you actually are here. That this isn’t just another dream. That he wasn’t going to wake up on the plane and be alone again. It’s so much better than any dream, lucid or otherwise that he could have, suddenly has him feeling all kinds of fragile under your hands. 

He doesn’t realize- until he pulls away from the kiss, keeping your foreheads pressed together, breathing out a light relieved laugh- that he’s actually crying. Happy tears tickle his cheeks and his dimples as your hands run through his hair, smoothing over his shoulders that have relaxed incrementally from the tight frustration he felt earlier. 

Your eyes aren’t dry either “Oh Joonie” you say, the same second he bites his lips, trying to keep the tiny happy sob from welling up, blinking away tears even as he feels them slipping over his cheeks to linger in his dimples. 

“I missed you so much baby,” he says, nuzzling his nose in yours with an Eskimo kiss, “so fucking much-“ the next words running over his tongue in a flash, “when did you get in? How long are you going to stay? If you had told me you’d be here for work then I would have-“ 

Even as he rambles, assuming that you’re here as part of your current assignment all he thinks is please, let it be for a few more days, let it be for a week. Even though he knew that you leaving would be so much harder, having you here always reminded him of what he was missing but he never cared, never minded one bit even as it got harder and harder to part with you. 

“Two weeks,” you say with a smile (not that it’s dropped at all since he walked through his bedroom door). 

He freezes, “you’re kidding!” you’ve never stayed for more than 10 days at a time, you’ve never spent that long in each other's arms and now-now Namjoon is going to have a full uninterrupted fourteen days with you and he won't even have to work! He could glow with how excited and happy he is. 

Jimin leans against the doorway, his facemask pulled down around his neck,  “Glad you got in okay Y/n”  you grin at Jimin, suddenly Namjoon remembers the way he was hiding his phone in the car, “oh you little sneak-“ Namjoon starts to curse, still smiling. 

“I had to have one of them give me the key code” at the same moment Jimin says, ever the bratt “-come on if you’re not going to use these two weeks off to the fullest you’d have a literal meltdown” with a roll of his eyes. 

Jimin is kind enough to close the door on the way out, giving you your privacy, You’ll say hello to the others in a minute, or maybe a few hours, or maybe tomorrow, He closes the door, lumbering over keeping you by his side; his hands come up to cup your cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here” 

He kisses you slowly on either side of your cheeks, then your nose, then finally when you’re practically leaning up on your tippy toes- your lips. His hands squeezing your hips running up and down your sides, pressing kiss after kiss there, even as they shift from thankful and sweet to more heavy. 

You suck his lower lip as he groans into your mouth. His hands find the spot between your ass and your legs, hefting you up to wrap them around his waist before he walks you over to the bed, still kissing you and sets you down. Pressing forward even as you do to kiss you into the sheets until you’re dizzy and panting with it. His hands hungry and searching under your shirt as you pull him closer by his belt buckle. 

When he finally parts from your lips he’s panting, your chest heaving unevenly too, he rests his forehead against your collarbone kissing your sternum as he pulls up your shirt.

 4 months- it’s been 4 months since you’ve been pressed to each other in your most basic forms since you’ve been at your most intimate and since you’ve last made love. And you’re loathed to be denied that another minute now that you’re in each other's arms. Namjoon needs you like he needs air right now, is almost shaking with the way your core is pressed up against his. His hands just can’t get enough of you as he squeezes and strokes and exults in the simple pleasure that your body brings him. 

“I wish I’d had time to book us a hotel and everyone’s here- but fuck, I need you,” He says in between your peppered sweet kisses. Pressing another kiss along his jaw, sucking a little then harder when he urges you with a hand running through your hair. 

It’s not often that you both get to be so sloppy with your loving, usually, you have to be so careful to be gentle not to tempt a single bruise, but now you can bite and mark as much as you want. Any hickeys won't matter and will be healed by the time he has to go in front of a camera.

 Namjoon almost wants to sigh with the release of it.  his neck is sensitive, his shoulders and his chest too as you suck along his collar “I can be quiet,” you murmur looking up at Namjoon with sultry eyes that make lust spark in his gut. 

Pulling away though, half laughing at your words, unable to not grin at them because if they’re one thing you’re not it’s quiet. “Baby that’s a lie- you can never be quiet” he purrs, as if to prove his point, he rolls his hips forward languidly, letting you feel the length of him through his jeans already hard. The action makes you yelp and groan, the feeling so deliciously welcome after so many months apart. 

“Should I gag you like we did that one time in Paris? Or can you be good for me?” he punctuates this with another hard roll of his hips, teasing you even though you’re already worked up enough, he’s so hard in his jeans it’s almost painful. You and Namjoon get up to kinky shit just as often as any other couple, but despite his words, right now he wants to hear and savor you. 

“The shower!” you almost moan gripping onto the front of Namjoon’s shirt like you couldn’t bear to be parted with it, “they might not be able to hear us in the shower,” Namjoon and you scramble off of his bed. He catches glimpses of your smile when you shuck off your shirt making him blush and he feels like a teenager again, about to lose it for the first time. 

He shoves off his shyness and sits on the toilet as you turn the water on, waiting for it to get warm, Namjoon tugs you closer in-between his legs, now that he can see all of you run his hands over your back and your ass, over the swell there and feel that weight in his hands, your body hasn’t changed much over the last few months. 

Every time you leave, Namjoon is worried that you’re going to change a little, and that slowly that change will add up and suddenly one day he won’t love you as much, or more likely, you don't love him anymore. But having you in front of him always makes him realize how stupid it was to think that for a second. It was always going to be like this with you. 

You’re a little unnerved to be so bare before him, struggling against shyness he not cross your arms over your chest as your hair spills around your face, when you finally slip your underwear off to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. the sudden ravenous heat died down and tenderness taking its place. 

Hand hands tease your ass, spanking once twice, just to see you inhale sharply. he imagines the pink peeking under your skin and wants to make you flush red with love for him. 

Namjoon is nearly breathless with how beautiful you look to him, how perfect you are in his bathroom after you both just took flights, and probably look less than your best; he’s aching with it all up and down his chest, the affection growing like flowers carefully nurtured by your love and blossoming further within him.

“God, I love you,” he says between the kisses he peppers kissing down your stomach stopping to reach the top of your mound, “there isn’t an inch of you I don’t love.” 

“Good to know you view me as a god, love you too” your smirk is cocky, and god, it makes Namjoon want to wreck you. You add as an afterthought even though it’s anything but. Even if it’s playfulness the words are heavy, and Namjoon would never stop for a moment to wonder if you meant it. he knows you love him, feels it in every fiber of his being. 

Namjoon makes you swallow that teasing retort by standing gripping you under your thighs and surging upwards to set you on the bathroom counter next to the sink, he pulls you forward roughly, manhandling your legs and squeezing your calves with his hands. 

As a firm atheist Namjoon has always found eating you out to be a religious experience. You’re his love after all, and your body- your being is the only thing that’s ever captivated him like this. 

He takes to you like a sinner would to prayer, and gets on his knees to worship you.

The glistening stain of your arousal turns the tops of your things sticky, he runs his thumbs through it and drags them to his mouth, keeping eye contact with you even as you shiver when he makes a contented hungry noise in the back of his throat at the taste of you.

Namjoon finds himself lapping up every little bit of it too eager to be quite as gentle and as careful as he usually is with you sucking roughly on your clit. The taste of you is ingrained in his memory and makes him slowly lose all composure as he half growls-half groans against your core. Fuck, he forgot quite how good it was, how the heady sweetness of your sex made him ravenous, he holds down your hips to the edge of the sink, looking up to see your lips parted and bitten, eyes glassy in the way that you get when you get drunk on pleasure.  

Your moans are strangled behind a hand in an effort to be somewhat quiet but Namjoon doesn't care anymore let them hear. He reaches up pin it back to the counter and laces it with his own, squeezing softly.

Namjoon feels your entrance flutter around his lips as you whimper, and he rocks his hips searching for friction as you thread your other hand through his hair instead of gripping the edge of the marble counter for support, like you need to anchor yourself against the onslaught of Namjoon’s tongue and sumptuous mouth at your core. 

After so many months of missing his touch, you’re so sensitive, your legs shaking as he licks broad strokes up and down your core, suckling teasingly on your lips and your clit alternating to really get you shaking. Your entrance flutters around his fingers when he slips just the tips in, teasing around your more sensitive opening rather than dip inside just yet. 

Despite the fact that he wants you so bad he might just cum in his pants (and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d cum while eating you out) he feels the need to savor you, to drink you down slowly and carefully orchestrate your breaking as slowly and as lovingly as possible. He feels your entrance trembling to be filled and as if in answer his hard cock jumps, dripping precum onto the tile floor. 

But you tug on his hair when he teases too long, whining into the open air, “please Namjoon- please” he leans back for a second, looking up at how wrecked you are already.  Your chest heaving now nipples pink in the steamy air and inviting him to suck at them, your leg trembling in the wake of your oncoming orgasm. 

“Anything for you baby,” Namjoon lays his palms over your stomach, grabbing onto your hand that’s on the counter and lacing his fingers with yours as he begins to lick in nice even patterns, broad strokes all the way with a firm pressure just how you like to fall apart, never does he take his eyes off of you. Maintaining eye contact to see your lips fall open in a ragged moan.  

When you cum, your entrance clenches so hard that it lets little drips out that Namjoon licks up greedily, even as your hips kick up to get away from the overstimulation. And you plead by use of his name over and over again, though even you’re not sure if you’re asking for more or for him to stop at this point. 

Namjoon grins and sucks a slight hickey into the top of your thighs letting your chest heave and you cool down, “fuck Namjoon- fuck” you say breathless as leaving his mark on you before he stands, knees a little weak from kneeling for so long, and tugs you off of the counter though you stumble into his arms for an entirely different reason. Namjoon feels pride at making you able to fall apart like this, to the point where you can’t even stand without his arms around you, legs turned to jelly in the wake of the pleasure he and only he can give you. 

And suddenly the shower seems like a bad idea, a very potentially hospital visit inducing idea. Neither of you are very coordinated as is, both of you seem to reach the same conclusion at the same time 

“Shit should we-“ he says the same moment you prompt “bath?” and he laughs because of course, you would be on the same page- and it’s not like Namjoon’s corner bath isn’t comfortable and large enough for two or even three people. and deep with jets to massage out muscles (one of the perks of living in an expensive apartment was that all of the amenities were heavenly). 

You kiss lazily as the bath fills with water, the fire in your gut cooled, while Namjoon’s is still burning- even then, he almost enjoys kissing you enough that he’ll ignore the weight of his erection between the two of you pressed to your soft thigh. His generous length that you’ve surely missed along with the rest of him. Your hand soothes up and over his thigh from where he sits on the edge of his tub, brushing over the tip of his cock with teasing fingers making his hips jump as you tighten your grip and pump him slowly. 

Relaxing back onto your knees between his legs, kissing his thighs And leaving hickeys there as you pump him. You might have a thing for his thighs, for their thickness the same way he has a thing for your ass.  he smiles as you stroke him and pepper kisses up to his length, teasing him because he likes to be teased just as much if not more than you do.

He tries not to feel a little bit prideful of how small your mouth looks compared to his length, how it looks like he shouldn’t be able to fit in your mouth and how he knows you can. He remembers the first time you’d seen it, uttering out a ‘that’s going to break me’ and immediately setting out to see if it would with a determination that had made Namjoon cum hard. You might be a tiny bit of a size queen and it might make Namjoon a little bit smug. 

“I missed you so much Joonie” you repeat against his skin, looking up at him with the little glowing smile, “Did you think about me getting on my knees for you when you where in all of those hotel rooms? Was that how you got yourself off thinking of my mouth?” you whisper the words against his head, lips brushing his slit and wetting with precum before you lick your lips, humming at the taste then leaving your tongue his length teasingly making his thighs twitch and shake just like he made yours. 

“You know I did” god you’re- you’re his everything, no one can make him come undone like this, so delicately- so teasingly, as you stare up at him, knowing he has a thing for eye contact when you’re blowing him as you take him as far as you can lips stretched around his widest part. And Namjoon can’t look away, at the same moment, he feels the warm water tickling at his hand and realizes the tub is filled. 

He groans pulling you off of him by your hair no matter how much it kills him. “we’ll have time for that later- I need to be in you right now so bad baby girl” you smile positively feline as you see how broken down he was by just a taste of what you can give him. He holds your hand for support as you step into the tub and sink into the water, Polite and gentlemanly even as he aches to wreck you again. 

You and Namjoon are like that, the push and pull equal, tenderness and passion in equal measure too. But now he wants all control and you let him take it as he manhandles you into position.  The water around you is warm and calming even as Namjoon turns you around and presses you close to one of the jets, the water thumbing a delicious pressure right along your oversensitive clit, your hips jerk but Namjoon’s hands are there on your hips holding you. 

“Stay just there for me love, no moving” you’re panting even as Namjoon pushes on the small of your back to lowers you onto your elbows on the edge of the tub. Pressing soothing kisses down your spine as his generous length prods at your entrance. He presses a kiss along your shoulder before he begins to slide in. The stretch making you shout a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. Inch after inch stretching you out deliciously until you feel so full with him you're shaking with sensitivity.

He thrusts completely in, slowly exulting in the delicious heat of you the feeling of rightness and completeness settling all over him. The tightness after so many months of having nothing inside of you makes you crazy and hazy and numb to Everything but Namjoon. His head hitting the spot inside you that makes wetness flood around him, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulders, his hands cupping your breasts and rolling your nipples gently with his fingers. 

Your insides spasm around him as the water jet wreaks havoc on your front, he gives you as long as you need to adjust before you’re reaching back and tugging on his hips, hands shaking along with the rest of you as you moan out “please Namjoon- please move I need- need you” you’re hiccupping with how worked up you are, and of course, Namjoon is never one to deny his baby what she needs when she asks so nicely. 

He sets a brutal pace each one of his thrusts sending you further and further towards the edge, “fuck you were made for me baby” he groans out as he keeps the pace, thank god for his stamina honestly because he could fuck you like this for hours, has fucked you for hours. 

His hands dig into your hips to the point where he knows you’ll have bruises afterward as he leans forward and lavishes kisses all up and down your neck. You cum like that, him roughly thrusting in and out of you, your clit almost numb from the pleasure assaulting you. 

He gives you no respite, even as you shake with overstimulation, whining and groaning and moaning, all thoughts of being quiet for the others completely forgotten. If anything your moans just seem to spur Namjoon on more, and the wet sound of your arousal joins the sound of your moans echoing off the bathroom walls. He gives your ass a slap, watching it jiggle in the water, watching his length sink inside of you. 

It’s been so long, now that he finally has you on him he knows he won’t last long, he slows, trying to savor you before he pulls you up, sitting back, he kisses you even as it kills him to pull out of your twitching heat, turning your blissed out and ropey body around to have access lips hungry and sloppy against yours. You look up at him, cheeks flushed, more love in your gaze than words could say. 

You’re both so fucked out already, Namjoon’s dick almost hurts from how much he wants to cum, hard and purple and twitching with want against your stomach. But he wants to do it differently than that, wants to see you face when he cums. He sits back on his heels, “come on baby, sit on top of me,” he tugs your hips around him, supporting your shaking muscles with your hands on his shoulders to lower yourself over him, hissing a little at the lingering sensitivity and what will surely be soreness tomorrow.

He kisses at your neck as he starts to fuck up into you his hands around your waist to guide the movement of your hips. In this position he can touch you and kiss at your chest, thumbing along your nipple and groan into your chest to try and soften the noise when he finally cums. Signing your name in a hapless stream as his hips stutter while he rides out his orgasm, painting your walls with his cum. The glide suddenly wetter, your core tightening around him as the satisfaction fills you.  

And just like that his kisses turn lazy and loving instead of hungry, lips drunkenly moving against yours as he holds you in the warm bubly water, blood rushing in his ears, love tugging at his chest, as the slightly wet tips of your hair tickle his skin and your run your fingers through his hair.

You’re still connected, he barely softens inside of you still hard and aching for more. But instead of pulling you off of him he just rests there for a second, and you’re comfortable too to feel his length stretching you open for a few minutes longer. The intimacies of the action as you’re both as physically as close as you can be without being one and lingering in that closeness after so many months of distance. Your warm wetness tight around him makes him relax further. 

“I missed you my love” he utters against your skin, eyes fluttering, suddenly sleepy even though honestly he could go another round, looking up at you with this doe-eyed happy expression undisturbed by doubt. 

You cup his cheeks, running your thumbs over his dimples. Leaning forward to kiss them, making him chuckle, “I did too Joonie,” you murmur pulling away a little, “lets shower and get into bed yeah? You must still be tired” 

He is tired enough that he lets you wash his hair sleepily closes his eyes as you run a soapy cloth over his back. He leans into the affection, resigned to the fact that you’re determined to take care of him even though he would have settled for just a rinse under the shower. 

He stumbles when you lead him back into his bedroom, neither of you bothering to put clothes on as you sink underneath the covers and hold each other close, chest to chest. he rubs shapes into your back with his thumbs, and quietly, reverently, just watches as you fall asleep until he joins you, content and feeling suddenly at home in your arms.  

When he wakes, he’s not surprised to find it dark outside- the time change and your nap probably fucked up both of your sleep schedules to the point where you’re both going to be sleeping weird hours for a little while. Your warmth next to him makes the bed at just the right temperature as the cold from outside presses in with hungry fingers. 

He looks down at you nestled in the side of his chest his arm around you. Your eyes closed cheek squished against his skin looking absolutely adorable. He tilts his head to press a kiss against your forehead sleepily, running his hand up and down your back. He’s unable to stop looking at you, seeing you like this, always reminds him of the first time he ever saw you:

To say that Namjoon stayed late at the studio often back then would have been a gracious understatement. It was a rare day if he left before 2 am, even rarer if he didn’t just straight up decide to sleep on the couch in the corner of his studio and wake up when he’d gotten the bare minimum.  It wasn’t like it was uncomfortable; just easier than going all the way back to the dorm to sleep. The others were equally as bad, Yoongi and Hoseok especially. But to Namjoon, the reliance on work was different. If he spends all of his time working then he had less time to confront the empty side of his bed, how his body itched with wanting at the thought of warm arms around him. 

In short, Kim Namjoon was very very lonely. 

The night he meets you, Yoongi comes to his door nearing 4 am.  Leaning in the doorway until Namjoon pushes back from his desk and decides that yes, he’s had enough of work today. “Did you finish the collab track?” he asks hushed as he gathers his things. Yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat. No then. Namjoon could understand his frustration. Today the lyrics just weren’t coming out right; the right wording somehow escaping him even though he could taste it on his tongue and just a hair out of reach. 

Namjoon pulls on his jacket when he’s ready and not his new knit cardigan, they won’t be outside for long anyway, and Yoongi will probably turn the heat up in the car to the point Namjoon sweats, Yoongi likes it warm. 

The agency building is nearly empty at this hour save for the janitors, they hush thank you’s and bow as they pass, the glass rooms are all dark save for one that they have to pass through, and empty, except for one person leaning over a desk slumped with exhaustion completely asleep and still accept for her measured breathing. 

Namjoon and Yoongi both watch as they pass to see if the stranger is awake, neither of them recognizes the foreign woman slumped over the pile of papers.

Namjoon pauses at the door, “who’s she?” he asks, because he’s certain he’s never seen her around before or he would have introduced himself. She’s pretty, with simple features but thick lashes, striking even if she has a little drool on her pillowed cheek, which will probably stick to the paper when she finally wakes. 

“I’m not sure, though one of the managers said something about a consultant arriving this week from overseas that they’re hiring to deal with HR and the new American staff, this must be her.” 

Namjoon nods, it makes sense why you would be here, and why you would be sleeping here- he’s been a victim of jetlag enough times to know you get whatever sleep you can get when you can get it. His heart swells with sympathy, and he pauses even while his companion keeps walking. 

Yoongi turns back to raise an eyebrow. “Joon?” he prods. Namjoon steals himself when he sees you shiver to toss his spare cardigan over your shoulders and shutting off the desk light before he joins Yoongi. Satisfied when he glances back to see you relax further into the desk in the warmth of the thick cardigan in the chilly office. 

“I’ll get it back at one point.” He says in response to Yoongi’s knowing smirk. Namjoon is too tired to blush. 

You don’t see each other again until a few days later in a meeting you smile when you see him and Namjoon trips over the doorway as his manager introduces you to the boys. The conversation is mostly banal, save for your surprising fluency in Korean, which earns you compliments from more than one of them. Yoongi shoots Namjoon a devious smile and prompts, “now Namjoon will finally have someone to practice English with.” 

Namjoon blushes and hits Yoongi on the arm. Later, you find Namjoon’s office, shy in the doorway as he rubs the back of his neck, “Mister min told me that this was yours after he saw it folded over my desk, thank you for leaving It for me the other night.” 

Namjoon takes it from you, he can tell you washed it- he has the urge to lift it to his nose and breath in deep, probably get a sense of what you smell like. He hopes you don’t notice his blush. “It gets pretty cold here sometimes they forget to turn off the ac in the winter” he justifies, fingering it in his hands before he gives it back to you, “you can keep it for the office in case you get cold again.” 

“Namjoon-ssi Its designer I really can’t,” 

“Consider it a welcome present then,” his dimpled smile puts you at ease. You start to practice English with Namjoon most afternoons that he’s there, slipping into Korean effortlessly and explaining to him why what he said was a little off. 

Conversations over work turn into hours spent over coffee or food when the only time he can spare for a conversation is over dinner, which becomes a habit and- are these dates if you barely talk about work? if he feels like himself when he’s around you to the point where it recharges him instead of drains?

 You always protest when Namjoon pays- and he reassures you with a hand on yours- anything Namjoon can do to repay your kindness and your hard work he says, though at this point he’ll make any excuse to get more minutes with you. 

He even offers you the cot in his studio when you want it at one point- working late. To which you tease, “maybe I’ll sleep there just so you offer me your sweaters, I could have a whole collection by the end of the month” your wink makes him blush harder than he ever has and stumble over his words. You’re the only one who can make him so disarmed like this, fumbling in Korean or English, no matter the language Namjoon feels like he can never find the right words to quite flirting how he wants.  

He can’t even imagine how terrible his concentration would be if you wore his sweaters even more often than you already do, you look so small drowned in it, having to fold the sleeves over a few times to stick out your hands. the others notice his fixation- teasing him about it by stopping by his studio and warning, “better not try to get any work done today Joon” with a wink or a teasing “off to another English lesson?” 

But of course it had to end somehow, your contract was only for 4 months after all. 

Namjoon knew that this was your livelihood- switching cities every few months and switching companies to help them rearticulate after overseas expansion. Namjoon has asked you more than a few questions about your mobile lifestyle in the past after he’d learned that the most you’d ever stayed in one place after college was 6 months.

“I’ve never liked a city enough to make me stay,” you said the first time he asked you why you moved around so much- even when the companies would offer you permanent positions.

And in the last week before you leave to head to your next job- you express the opposite when you end up walking back from an early morning coffee with Namjoon. Your hands brushing between the two of you as you walk. Pausing in the street to watch the light fade, a thick scarf wound around his neck. “It’s going to be hard to leave Seoul,” you said, eyes flickering to Namjoon. 

In a moment of braveness, he takes your hand and squeezes, brings it up to his face to set the back against his cheek. and feeling like he’s almost going to cry, says “it’s going to be hard to watch you go.” barely tempting the words into the morning light for the fear of the damage and hurt they would cause both of you.  

The last time Namjoon sees you he can’t swallow down the lump in his throat. You try to give him back the sweater that he gave you the first time he saw you. But he pushes it back into your hands, smiling even as he’s barely able not to cry. because even with all this pain- he’s better for having known you.  “please, just take it to remember me by, I’d love it if you wore it and thought of me when you’re in New York.” 

He’d tried to forget you when you’d left knowing it would be better for him if he did. Less heartbreak even if the weight of all of the almost he had with you drag on his shoulders as he hops from city to city on tour. He tries to concentrate on work instead of your social media feed, tries not to text you and fails on the daily. 

And then a reprieve, they’re invited to do an award show in New York and Namjoon is quick to text you and tell you their plans and ask if you’d like to grab dinner afterward even if it will be 1 am by the time they get out, and you agree. 

after all these months, you’ve never expressed your feelings beyond an ‘i miss you’ but when you see each other again those feelings boil over into actions. 

He meets you on the street corner in new york city after it’s rained, the light hanging all hazy and bleeding into you, you look the same as you do. He shouldn’t be surprised to find that you’ve kept his cardigan or to find you wrapped in it looking small and delicate under your red umbrella. smiling up at him. 

And he’d been uncaring about who might be watching, pulled down his facemask and kissed you, shocked for a second before the umbrella was discarded so that both your hands could fist in his baggy sweatshirt, and you’d kissed him back like you missed his lips ravenously no matter that it was your first kiss. 

You’d never made it to the restaurant that he’d planned on taking you to the reservation unused. instead, you’d gone back to your apartment, and the rest had been history. 

He remembers that night, the first night he’d gotten to see you like this, curled up next to him hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat, he remembers feeling just as lucky as he feels in this instant. He remembered that he’d hoped beyond hope that your whispered confession of love against his lips earlier were true. That this love would last and that you’d both be able to handle the distance. 

It had, and though it had been hard there was nothing more satisfying or rewarding than waking up to you like this. 

You start to stir gently in his arms and he kisses you on your shoulders, trailing his lips up your neck, by the time he gets to your cheek your eyelashes are fluttering. You make a happy noise in your throat, blinking away sleep and smiling when he’s the first thing you see. 

God, Namjoon wouldn’t trade this for anything. He can barely believe you’re actually here. Was it just yesterday morning when he’d woken up after dreaming of you? Well this, the real thing- was so much better than any dream. it’s too early to really be awake, but you’ve both been asleep for more than 12 hours at this point. 

“Wanna make coffee and watch the sunrise?” he asks you, sleepily you nod against him, and he separates himself to go put the coffee pot on. At first, he’s planning on bringing it to you in bed,  but then you appear wearing one of his large grey shirts and the comforter cover around your shoulders. Your hair dried funny after the shower you shared last night, curling on one side and straight on the other, endearingly imperfect as only you can be. 

You exchange sleepy gentle kisses against the counter while you wait for the coffee to finish. The coffee pot beeps somewhere in between when you start deepening the kiss and he keeps Running his hands up and down your back, tempted to go for another round. 

And then it’s out to the balcony carrying the blanket that Namjoon tosses over you after you crawl up the lawn chair, it’s not exactly comfortable or warm.  As the sky gradually starts to lighten you curl up around Namjoon, running your fingers through his hair and commenting on the new color, careful to be quiet and hushed when you know the other’s rooms are on either side of you.  

Namjoon’s glad you made the choice to come out instead of going back to bed in search of more carnal pleasures. The steam rising from the coffee cup clutched in your hands, sharing sips- because of course, you’re the couple to share one cup of coffee in the morning. 

“God you have a good view,” you say after a sip and hand the mug back to him from this position you can see every inch of Seoul slowly turning from steel grey to honey gold. 

“Any view with you in it is a good view” you make a dismayed noise, slapping his arm lightly.  

“Don’t be cheesy,” but you mollify him with a kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the little bit of stubble there rough against your lips.

“Can’t help it, you make me like this” he grins. Holding you a little tighter, thumbing the curve of your elbow, “I wish it could be like this all of the time” You’re quiet, silent, and Namjoon tries to catch your eye over the lid of the coffee cup. 

You bite your lip, and he’s sure something’s wrong, how many times had he said something like this and you’d replied, ‘I do too Joonie’ but now, you’re uncharacteristically quiet and a little stiff in his lap. After a pregnant moment, your eyes flicker up to meet his. 

“What if it was?” 

He straightens, suddenly awake, “what do you mean?” your next words come out in a rush turning to look at him as they spill from your mouth, holding his hand firmly in yours. 

“I didn’t want to tell you- not until I knew it was actually happening- because I didn’t want to get your hopes up but, you’re not the only reason why I came to Seoul.” Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, his hand busies its self with rubbing at the skin against your back. Waiting, expectant and hopeful, he urges you to continue with a nod of his head, eyes wide.    

“I got a job offer,” you breath out “for a company here in Seoul- a permanent position” Namjoon pulls back abruptly. Staring up at you incredulously. “You’re joking!” he says in disbelief. But if the quirk of your lips as you try not to smile too widely has anything to say- you’re not lying. 

Which means… which means you don’t have to be in a long distance relationship anymore. 

Which means Namjoon can wake up to you in the morning many more days of the year that he had previously. And he can have all of the domestic fantasies that you’d confessed over the phone. Getting to ride bikes along the river together. Having coffee in the morning every day. Fuck he’d even settle for something as mundane as folding fucking laundry because with you everything was amazing.  

Namjoon hops up from the chair and hops up and down when he realizes it, wrapping you to his chest after a moment, nearly tackling you into the lawn chair and pulling you back into his lap.  “Oh my god- this is the best surprise, like ever- I can’t believe you hid this- you’re so, you’re so ugh” Namjoon punctuates the last frustrated words of excitement with a kiss to your mouth that shocks a giggle out of you. 

“That’s amazing news- I can’t wait until you can live here and we’ll be able to see each other every day.” 

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you at all or assume anything. This doesn’t mean that we have to like- get an apartment together or anything but-“ 

“Wait,” Namjoon says, leaning out of your arms for a second, “do you not want to live with me? Do you not want to move in?” 

“No of course not- I just didn’t know if you would want me too, I didn’t know if we were there yet is all and-“  but Namjoon’s already tugging you back inside, giddy like a kid on Christmas. Instead of explaining he knows exactly what will put your mind at ease. 

“I wanna show you something,” he murmurs, knowing that it will be enough of an explanation.  Because for all your secrets and scheming and surprises, Namjoon is just as good at planning as you are. 

Dimples peaking out as he leads you through the dark apartment loud in his excitement. he leads you back into his bedroom, still, a whirlwind from yesterday. his suitcase is pried Open like a clam with clothes sticking out of it. Yours are too, everything is scattered nothing organized in true Namjoon fashion. 

He gets the small bag out of the pocket where it’s lived for the past month, handing it over to you trying not to look too nervous. his hand hovers on yours the bag in between both of your hands “don’t- don’t open it when you see it, i mean- obviously look in the bag but-” you quirk your eyebrow at his stuttering and he makes a frustrated noise before he hands it over. But his hands still shake; before you open it you reach up to smooth out the wrinkle between his eyebrows. A loving action. You’re puzzled at what it could be- it’s surprisingly heavy in your hands. 

You tear out the black wrapping paper to get at the small heavy thing in the bottom “You didn’t need to get me anything- you know you already sent me like an entire wardrobe from France right? And chocolate from Belgium that I ate in like half a second.” 

“It’s not-” Namjoon just laughs, nudging your shoulder with his nose “just open it already before I die of anticipation” Namjoon sits on the edge of his bed and ignores the urge to get down on one knee- because this isn’t that- not yet anyway. His leg jumping in anxiety a little, Instead of pulling you closer by your hips to sit pressed against his. resting his chin on your shoulder to watch your expression dawn from confusion to shocked surprise. 

“Kim Namjoon!” you shout when you pull out the heart-shaped velvet box- you won’t open it, not yet, because if this is what you think it is then you understand what Namjoon meant about not opening it yet. “you did not buy me a goddamn ring!” 

“I might have” he winks, “I picked it out from an antique shop, I really wanted to do this with more intention-but” Namjoon hums as he runs a finger along your chin tilting your face up to meet his. “I’m serious about you, I’m serious about this, living together- everything. Now you know- even if I’m not going to ask you just yet,” his smile shifts into the teasing air you often have in your relationship. “not until I can surprise you with it of course” you look at him, cup his cheek and gulp before you hand him the velvet box back with a shaking hand, not even asking to see inside even if curiosity is blooming in your- curiosity and incredulity and joy- and Namjoon hasn’t even officially proposed yet and you're already bouncing “You sure you don’t want to look at it at least?” 

You look at him wide-eyed, “some surprises are best saved for last,” Namjoon laughs at that, standing up to put the velvet box on top of his dresser in a place where you can see it. A sight that will tease you until one day you walk in and find it missing, and later will find it on your finger. After all- he never doubted that you would say yes. 

He pulls you up to your feet kissing you, your lips sweet and soft against his, “as much as I love seeing you in just my shirt you should probably get dressed, We have a busy day ahead of us,” he murmurs against your lips.

You raise an eyebrow in response, pulling away from the kiss to search his face “What do you have planned?”

Namjoon grins. “How do you feel about apartment hunting?”

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[loveislattes]

Patience Is Key (Darkiplier/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt:  Reader only knows that sex is pain, so Dark shows her otherwise...?

Caution! This story does contain mentions of past borderline-abusive relationship and there is one scene that slightly delves into the situation, but it never goes further than pushing and forced kissing.

This chapter is SFW other than some cursing. The next chapter will be the oh so lovely smutty bit. ^^ Chapter 2 will be out next week! 

“Ah, damn it!” 

The curse left my lips the second I finally registered that I had dropped the extremely large box of pots and pans on my toe, and not on the flat floor as intended. Jerking back, I fell into the rickety wooden chair behind me and pulled my injured foot up into my lap with a wince.

“Why am I such a fucking klutz?!” I wheezed through the pulses of pain. 

It took a few minutes of babying my poor toe but eventually, I managed to soothe away the pain and get back onto my feet. Why was it that toe injuries always felt so much worse than other injuries? As I debated that question, as well as the existential existence of pain at all, I got moving about the sparse kitchen once more. The boxes weren’t going to empty themselves after all and I only had the two days until I started my new job to get it all done. 

“Lord knows if I had to take one more extra day off, it’d be the end of the world,” I muttered under my breath.

Working retail had to be one of the worst career choices in the world. Sadly, it was all I could find for the time being and this new house mortgage, low as it was, wouldn’t pay itself; Not to mention that my savings were meager at best and wouldn’t last long if I had to rely on them, thanks to my problematic ex. 

This house was a blessing in disguise and I definitely couldn’t afford to lose it. A beautiful victorian-style two-story home at only four hundred fifty a month, with no real damage other than cosmetic updates needed? Yeah. It was practically impossible. My first thought was that it had a sordid past, whether drug crime or murder related, but that didn’t seem to be the case thankfully. The owners had inherited it and we’re willing to sell it for a steal just to get rid of it so they didn’t have to pay taxes and insurance. Their loss, my gain, apparently. 

I had gotten so lost in my thoughts about work and the house that I was done moving the last of the boxes before too long. Score one for daydreaming! 

I set about organizing my cabinets next, emptying the boxes one by one until they were all barren and tossed to the back of the room.

“That’s a problem for future-me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair with a huff, “I guess dinner is next on the list. Never a better time to find out what take out they have around here!”

I meandered into the living room and plopped down on the worn couch, pulling my laptop into my lap. While waiting for the screen to wake up, I grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and turned it on as well, needing the background noise with how silent the old home was. I’d definitely have to keep an eye on that or else I’d find myself creeped out even without anything happening. A random cartoon filled the large screen and jaunty music spilled from the speakers as the characters conversed. Shrugging, I tossed the remote back down on the table and returned to my laptop.

After logging in, a quick google search led me to a page full of restaurants both familiar and new to me. Moving to a big city definitely had its perks! 

“Now the question is which one,” I sighed. 

It took a few minutes of debating but I finally settled on ordering from a highly rated Chinese restaurant across town. I was promised my food in about twenty-five minutes and a delivery tracker popped up on the screen right after.

“That’s nifty!”

Setting the laptop back onto the table with the dimmed screen facing my direction, I let myself be pulled into the ridiculous antics of the cartoon characters on TV until a commercial came on. My eyes instinctively drifted over to the laptop to check on the tracker. The red line was about halfway across, indicating they would be leaving the store soon. Nice! Unfortunately, I also caught my reflection on the screen and couldn’t help but take a moment to fix my hair out of reflex. As I adjusted my top to look less wrinkled, I suddenly noticed a black shape in the background, near what would be the corner of the room behind the couch. I froze, heart pounding in my throat as my eyes widened.

“No way,” I whispered. 

Leaning in closer, I focused on the shadow. Too afraid to actually turn around and look, I hoped I could debunk it from this angle alone. I was just about convinced it was actually a part of the LCD going out in that one spot- when suddenly it moved!

“FUCK!”

An uncontrollable screech left my lips as I leaped up from the couch. Spinning to face the shadow, I reflexively snagged up the throw pillow on the couch and tossed it full force in that direction while trying to move away. Unfortunately, I forgot exactly where I was standing in the new layout and the fact that the table was behind me. I was reminded painfully of that fact as my calf muscle slammed hard into the solid wood and I went careening backward. I frantically tried to catch myself but only succeeded in slamming my elbow into the edge of the table and whacking my fingers against the floor in a way that made me see stars.  

Tears pricked behind my eyelids as I hissed through the urge to cry. I was about to lie in a puddle of agonizing defeat until I remembered the whole reason I fell. With a curse, I rolled over to my hands and knees, panting as I looked toward the offending part of the room. There was nothing there. No shadow and no reason I should have ever seen one there; no coat rack, no bookshelf, nothing. Just a bare wall. 

“What the hell was that?!” I groaned.

Now that there was no impending, visible, threat, I spent a good few minutes taking all my injuries into account. Sore calf, elbow, and fingers. Bruises were likely in each spot, unfortunately. Thankfully it didn’t get any worse than that. With my luck, I was surprised I didn’t crack my head open on the floor instead. It was with a heavy, defeated sigh, that I succumbed to the need to lay flat on the floor and catch my breath. 

“I’m losing it. That has to be it. All the stress of the move and being alone just got to me,” I assured myself quietly. 

I wasn’t sure how long I wallowed there in self-pity, but it couldn’t have been as long as it felt because I was soon roused by the sound of someone knocking at the door.

“Foooood!” 

Collecting my fallen pride and battle wounds, I scrambled up off the floor and rushed to the front door, snagging my wallet from my purse on the way. The delivery driver was nice enough and we made small talk as we exchanged food and money. I thanked him after he mentioned their loyalty program then shut the door before hesitantly making my way back into the living room. As I scanned the rather empty space, I was relieved to find it just as it was before; no shadows in sight. 

“I’m probably gonna have nightmares from that shit too,” I muttered, plopping onto the couch and popping open the box.

With a little shake of my head to clear my thoughts, I returned to the show and let the thoughts from the day slowly melt away with every mouth full of delicious food. 

…

It took two months of living in the new house to finally feel more at home. Most everything was put away and decorations filled the walls, warming up the once empty and creepy place. I no longer felt like an uncomfortably unwelcome stranger. The thought of that shadow did, unfortunately, still linger in the back of my mind every night though. I’d be fine all day until it was nighttime and dark in the house. Once the sun was down, it was like my gorgeous home was a totally different place. I didn’t see that moving shadow anymore, but I swore I saw things out of the corner of my eye and it constantly felt like I wasn’t alone. 

One particularly rough night left me searching the entire house for hidden cameras and trapped doors because I could have sworn I was being watched. Of course, I found nothing of the sort, but it didn’t lessen the fear by much. I even started making myself go to bed earlier than usual just to avoid being alone with my paranoid thoughts. Something had to give before I went crazy! 

I was even to the point of considering making new friends; Something to break up the monotony and constant feeling of being alone. Maybe inviting another person into the house would make the eerie feeling go away? One could hope! I wasn’t in the habit of bringing home people, due to my ex, but it was getting to the point where it might be necessary. A person could only take so much alone time!

A rapid knocking on my door tore me out of my lonely thoughts and back to reality with a jolt.

“Who could that be?” I muttered under my breath.

I hadn’t ordered any food and I was pretty sure I hadn’t ordered anything off Amazon recently. Uncurling from my nest of blankets, I hastened to the front door when the visitor knocked again. Impatient buggers weren’t they?

“I’m coming!”

Without thinking to check the peephole first, I pulled the door open and instantly recognized the horrible mistake I had made. I tried slamming the door shut before he could enter but already I was too weak with fear; simply seeing his menacing face leaving me powerless. He was easily able to catch the wood and shove his way in as if I weren’t even there. 

“Heeeey baby.”

I wasn’t even given a breath’s moment to respond. Instantly his hands were on my shoulders and I was slammed into the wall. Pain exploded through my skull and my knees weakened dangerously as I struggled through frustration and fear. 

“You thought ya could just move away and I wouldn’t find ya, baby? Ya outta know better’n that.”

The familiar sensation of bile rose in my throat when his lips smacked against mine. It took all of my resolves to hold it down. It would only add insult to my injury because he wouldn't give a damn and I’d be left worse for wear.

“Aw, come on. Play nice with me, won’t cha? It’s been far too long since I’ve seen ya.”

All I could manage was a timid shake of my head.

Fuck, it was like this any time he was around! Just being in his presence made the littlest of movements hard, like my body just instinctively gave up to avoid more trouble even though my heart told me to fight. If I could fight back, he’d probably back off after a while but I just couldn’t. Flashes of the times he tried to force himself on me, drunk and belligerent, held me back from it. Giving in was just easier, safer, in the long run.

I felt the numbing sensation of acceptance slide through my muscles when his mouth pressed on mine again. Disgust and hatred bubbled in my gut; not only for him but also for myself. So weak, pathetic.

Out of nowhere, the deafening sound of doors slamming rang through the air, causing us both to jump apart. With a Yelp, I clapped my hands over my ears to block out the painful noise as I looked around in shock for the source. To my utter disbelief, I found the cause to my cabinet doors, opening and shutting at breakneck speed. It only lasted for about half a minute before suddenly they stopped, just as abruptly as they had started. My astonishment was cut short by a cry from across the room. 

Having abandoned his pursuit, my ex now stood frozen near the door, ashen white and shaking. Upon closer inspection, I thought I could see a faint shadow around his throat but my line of vision was disrupted when he turned and rocketed out the door. Once the entryway was clear, the door shut calmly behind him. 

It was deadly quiet in the aftermath of whatever the hell happened. The sounds of my heavy breath were the only noises in the air. Scared, but thankful, I hesitantly surveyed the kitchen and the living room for any sign of what had caused the disruption. There was nothing, of course. Not even a hint of the shadow I had spotted months ago. 

Letting out a nervous sigh, I ran a hand through my hair and said, “Thank you… whoever you are."

I didn’t wait for a response before high tailing it to my room and diving under my fluffy comforter, torn between calling my mom or crying until I fell asleep. My body made the decision for me before I could contemplate it for long, shutting down and passing out quicker than anticipated. 

When I woke, it was dark in the room. The radio clock beside my bed read an irritating one thirty am. Despite having slept for six hours, I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink; nightmares resounding in my head like sirens the entire time. 

Rather than trying to force myself back to sleep, I slipped out of the bed, determined to get some hot tea or cocoa to help soothe my inner demons. Unfortunately, I spotted my reflection in my vanity mirror on the way by and I felt compelled to stop. My usually glowing skin looked pallor and lifeless and the bags under my eyes gave the same sentiment.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, pulling at my bedhead locks in frustration, “I’m not gonna recover from this.”

My outside reflection was only a sliver of the mess that was inside my mind though. And I knew I would get over it in the long run but it always felt so impossible at the start. I just had to turn the sadness into anger. My thoughts were derailed by the sudden feeling of eyes on my back; That familiar itching sensation of being watched sending shivers down my spine. I didn’t see anything in the room around me but when I finally turned back to the mirror I spotted it; an eerily familiar shadow. It was only moments before there was a man suddenly standing behind me in the reflection. 

Although my mouth moved, trying to scream or make any sort of sound, nothing would come out. Scads of questions bombarded my already frazzled sense of sanity as I tried to scream until eventually a worrying sense of calm washed over me in place of the stilted panic.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured me as if reading my mind.

The low timbre of his voice made the rational part of my brain melt but the way it reverberated around the room sent my hairs standing on end. My body instinctively went stiff and still as his arms reached around my sides. Cool fingers rested on my forearms and slowly rubbed the goosebumps away in a soothing manner while he stepped closer. I could hardly meet his eyes in the reflection without feeling as if I were staring a predator head-on.

“How did you get in here?” I finally managed to ask. 

An absolutely devastatingly handsome smirk curled up his lips before he flashed large, sharp, pearly whites down at me. 

Oooh fuck, those were some pointy fangs. 

“I’ve been here the entire time, darling. You’re the one who barged in rather abruptly when you decided to move in.”

I began to question my sanity once more as his form slowly lost color and brightness in the mirror, becoming a barely distinguishable shadow behind me. Though his touch on my skin never diminished, to the eye he was nearly invisible. Just as gradually, he filtered back into view. 

His reasoning was lost to me as I tried to figure out just what was going on until eventually, it clicked.

“You’re the mother fucking shadow that has been driving me insane, aren’t you?!” I shouted, jerking out of his reach and spinning to face him, “Just how in the hell did you do that? Why have you been scaring me? What-”

His hand came up swiftly and I froze immediately, only able to watch as he cupped my jaw. A whimper reflexively slipped out as his thumb pressed against my lips. 

“To answer your questions in order: Yes, I am. Shifting is just one of my many abilities. I have not meant to scare you, well, not these last few weeks anyhow. I’ve become- let’s call it- fascinated. Most would have left by now and yet here you stand, heels dug in like a stubborn mule. You’re intriguing.”

The moment he released his hold, I found myself asking, “What are you?”

“What do you think I am?” he retorted, stepping back and slipping his hands into his pockets.

I simply shrugged. How should I know? Before now, I didn’t believe in anything supernatural, but now I was questioning that stance.  

“A demon? A ghost?” I replied.

He hummed momentarily before cocking his head to the side, eyes narrowing as they burned into mine. 

“Does that scare you?”

So many freaking questions! I scrubbed a hand over my face wearily before slapping my palms against my thighs and mentally admitting defeat.

“Unless you’re going to kill me, no. You were terrifying in that shadow form but now that I’ve seen you face to face, I’m not so scared. Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for you but it’s also comforting to see that you’re not some decayed-looking ghost who is going to warp my face by looking me in the eyes,” I hesitated as another realization hit me hard then carefully added, “Not to mention, I’m pretty sure you’re what saved my ass earlier… right?”

There was a flurry of emotions across his face as his brows knitted together before he seemed to relax some and amusement showed at last. 

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

I shrugged in response before finally slipping past him to sit on the bed, the shakiness of my legs becoming too much to bear. I could put on a brave face but my body could give way any second. I had been through too much in the last twenty-four hours. Once seated and more comfortable, I met his gaze again. 

“Am I right? Were you the one that scared him away?”

He hummed and tilted his head once in a positive indication before adding, “Luckily for him, he’s as cowardly and self-concerned as most of you humans. Had that not have worked, I would have been forced to take further measures.”

The way his echo deepened and his fangs flashed in an animalistic snarl sent more goosebumps up my arms and neck. Fucking hell. My emotions were having a hard time keeping up through it all; enamored by his good looks, terrified by his powerful aura, curious about his existence. He was, simply put, overwhelming. 

If it wasn’t for his discoloration, echoing voice, and the fangs, he’d seem like any ordinary human. A very attractive human at that… I had to stop that train of thought right there! I’d be just like me and my horrible taste in men to get a crush on the ghost- demon- thing.

“So, um, you said you were here before me. Are you stuck here, like a ghost or something?” I managed to ask while rubbing my goosebumps away. 

“No. This is merely a residence of convenience. Your closet holds a portal to my realm and it’s the simplest way in and out for me. I choose to stay here when I must remain in the human world for any amount of time. You’re the first person to live here in decades.”

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest in bewilderment when he suddenly moved towards the bed at an inhuman speed. A reflexive flinch had me jerking away when he reached out for me but he was quicker, hand snagging my chin to keep my gaze solely on him.

“Your turn to answer a question for me,” he stated without giving any room for argument, “Who was that man from before, and what is his concern with you?”

Eyeing him warily, I chewed on my lip then answered honestly, “My ex. I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily concerned about me. More so he’s concerned about losing his control over me. He was borderline obsessive and abusive.”

“Do you foresee him being a problem in the future?”

That was a hell of a question. Would he be back? I didn’t even really consider that after how fast he’d run away before but it was always a possibility.

“I honestly don’t know. I guess I should invest in some ADT or something, huh?” I half-assed joked, forcing on a weak smile.

The flat line of his lips told me that he didn’t find my statement as funny as I did. However he did, at last, relinquish his hold on me. 

“I will not stand for a brain dead ape damaging my property. If he comes back, he will be taken care of once and for all.”

Some little devious part of my mind dared to question if he was actually talking about the house, or if he was subtly making a claim over me. The domineering air around him made it seem like a slight possibility. I felt the heat flare over my cheeks before I could stop it and quickly wrapped my arms around my chest defensively before sinking back further onto the bed.

As if a private moment were suddenly disrupted, he cleared his throat loudly and stepped back while adjusting his suit jacket.

“I need to be going. It was nice to officially meet you. If it sits well with you, I will be more prominent around the house since I no longer need to avoid you.”

I nodded and awkwardly replied, “Yeah, er, that’s fine. I mean, it’s more your home than mine anyway, right?”

He made a noise of agreement then turned toward the closet, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. There was an indescribable expression on his face when he turned back; the whites of his eyes darker than before. 

A smirk that could only be read as cruel crossed his lips and he said, “You may call me Dark. If he comes back when I’m not here, simply ask for me and I’ll be here.”

[heweightlossjourney]

Introductions

**PRO ANA, PRO MIA, AND THINSPO ACCOUNTS DO NOT INTERACT**

Hello to anyone reading this. I’m H and I’ve started this sideblog to document my weight loss and keep myself accountable. Let me start with a little backstory:

I have been overweight for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been super active, though I was on a couple sports teams at various points throughout my school life. I always overate as a kid and I still do it now. Eating has been a coping mechanism for me my entire life, and I would say that I am addicted to food. 

I have generally been okay being heavy, but bullying is a bitch and I know that other people’s perception of me affected me and made me a nasty bitch in middle school and high school. I wasn’t in a place to understand why I acted out until I was able to distance myself from my long term abusive boyfriend and my dad stopped drinking and got out of his abusive/toxic situation. Now, I understand the effects that the trauma in my life has had on me and I’m calmer and more level-headed, so I am in a good place to start working on my physical health in conjunction with my mental health. 

I know that my self-image right now isn’t healthy, and I am aiming to love my body. I am trying hard not to think of the things I might want after this, like skin removal surgery and breast reshaping, but it is hard not to imagine myself with a little sprucing up. While I don’t want to scrutinize over every flaw I have, I think the best way I can motivate myself to keep it up is taking note of my body and how I perceive certain areas, so I will update this with my reflection on how my body looks every so often. 

Over the time I have been not working because of COVID-19, I have gained weight, but I have also started keeping up with infamous obese youtubers like Amberlynn Reid and Foodie Beauty, and watching channels like Charlie Gold and Petty Kitten react to them. I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t a kick in the ass to not become as big as them, but also a motivator knowing that I will never be like that, I won’t allow myself to be like them, and that I am a better person than they are. I know that thinking like that is mean and cruel, but I am here to lose weight, not monetize my addiction and appeal to feeders while maintaining an attitude of entitlement and oblivion.

While we are at it, let me just name a few of my rock bottom moments:

- my abusive ex boyfriend calling me “Whaley”

- being too heavy to ride horses

- being too big for a ride at the fair and having to get off it in front of a ton of people in public

- my brother swiping the back of m head like a debit machine

- my ability to polish of a lot of food in one go

- my lack of stamina standing, walking, exercising, being on top during sex

- crushing my boyfriend when I lay on him

- being too big to fit into 3x clothing on websites like dollskill that actually sell some interesting clothing for bigger ladies

Without too much more delay, let’s get into the facts:

Age: 18

Height: 5′11

Starting Weight: 333 pounds

Current Weight: 329 pounds

Total Loss: 4 pounds

BMI: 45.9

BMI Goal: 25

Current Goal: 300 pounds by day 30

Day: 4

Health Concerns: Morbid Obesity, PCOS and Insulin Resistance, Lactose Intolerance, Depression, Anxiety, Food Addiction.

Diet Plan: OMAD (one meal a day) and intermittent fasting. 

The diet I have chosen to follow, OMAD, is one of many different diets I have tried over the course of my life. I have tried keto, I have tried vegetarianism, I have tried slimfast. The reason I have chosen this particular diet this time is because of the freedom to eat pretty much anything within the hour I set aside for myself to eat each day. It’s hard to fuck yourself up too much in an hour. After having done the diet for a few days, here is what I have noticed about it:

- I get hangry

- I am somewhat nocturnal and often sleep from 6am - 2pm, and it makes it so much easier

- The boost in energy after my feels like I am on top of the world, and the naps while digesting fuckin rock, sleepy is a good feeling when you have time set aside for it

- It is a lot of mental will power to look at my favourite foods and say no

- It is a lot of mental will power not to cram 3 meals into an hour

- It is hard to pick what I want for dinner

- Cravings hit hard

- Black Coffee is nasty

- It is easier not to consume dairy with OMAD, and not have diarrhea everyday is nice.

There are some things I have noted as well, like eating dairy at all is a big mistake. It is unpleasant to only feel full for a short period of time before violently emptying the contents of my digestive tract. The effects of lactose has on my body go so much quicker when it is the only thing I have in my body at the time. Lactaid is very hit and miss for me, and by the way the chewable tablets are actually the devil incarnate and I hate them. I have tasted vanilla in my life and that isn’t it. 

I chose this diet because my boyfriend does fasting as his preferred diet method, and while I wish I could fast all day, my job requires me to have energy and I am not a happy hungry lady. I intend to do OMAD long term, but may change it up slightly if I start to struggle when I get back to work. 

It should also be noted that I seriously do not recommend this diet to anyone who struggles with disordered eating (me), depression (me), anxiety (me), obesity (me), anyone who has an affliction that would make it safer for them to consume more than one meal a day (me), and people who have medications they need to take with food (me). This diet is not recommended by doctors for long term weight loss, my endocrinologist was frankly a bit shocked when I told her, and it can cause a host of problems included but not limited to:

- triggering of eating disorders

- lack of protein 

- excess of carbs

- diarrhea (thanks, really needed more of that)

- nausea

- dizziness

- weakness

- extreme fatigue

So let me go ahead here and describe a little bit about my health issues, namely my PCOS, or polycystic ovarian syndrome. PCOS is a hormonal disorder. It can cause increased levels of androgen in the body, increased hair, insulin resistance, excessive hair growth, male pattern baldness, weight gain, irregular periods, fertility problems, increase risk of developing type 2 diabetes, increase risk of high blood pressure and high cholesterol, acne and oily skin, depression, and sleep apnea, as well as increase the risk for endometrial cancers, and obviously, cause ovarian cysts. This disorder can be passed from mother to daughter, and I got it from my mom. I have been suffering with this for years.

The biggest effects on my body have been my weight, my depression, irregular periods and cysts. I currently have an IUD in place to help with the symptoms, but my periods are not even close to regular and are often brown in colour. Before hormonal birth control, I would have 2-3 periods per year that lasted about a month at a time. These periods were heavy and excruciatingly painful, and the clots I birthed were like jellyfish. I often lost enough blood to become anemic. 

It should be noted that my PCOS has caused me to be resistant to insulin, and that can make it hard to lose weight and also cause some brown discolouration on the skin, which I have had on my chest and neck. I remember my mom used to scrub at my neck thinking it was dirty when my neck first started becoming discoloured. 

I had my IUD placed in December of 2018, and the follow up ultrasound revealed a cyst on my right ovary that was 21cm x 21cm which required surgery. Due to that, a traumatic situation and my vegetarianism, I lost 30 pounds by March of 2019. 

I have also struggled most of my life with depression and anxiety and used food to cope. I am currently on medication for that. I also take Metformin to help with the effects of the PCOS.

Here I will give a short description on the areas of my body that bother me and what I would like to see improve. I will try to be objective about what I don’t like and I will be honest about the reasons I would like to improve. I will say now that many of these reasons are cosmetic and not necessarily health related.

Inner thighs: While my legs are one of my favourite parts of my body and are in general strong and shapely, my inner thighs have a pocket of fat near my pubic mound, and I can see it when I stand up or I can see it in the mirror from behind when I bend over. I am self conscious about this because I don’t like the way it looks/hangs, and it makes it hard to be present and immersed when I am having sex or see myself as attractive if I take a picture for my boyfriend. The goal for this area is to have less hang so I can feel more relaxed during sex and any time I bend over. I also don’t particularly enjoy the thigh holes in my jeans, or that I have trouble with any sort of thigh high sock rolling.

Pubic mound: I’m not even gonna bullshit here: I just want a normal looking vulva. That’s it. I want it to be easier to access my clit, I don’t want such a prominent camel toe when I wear pants, I’d like it to be easier for my boyfriend to go down on me. I have a nice inner vulva and I want the exterior to match. I also find it hard to shave the areas between my mound and my thigh, as holding it open is not easy. That groin area is also prone to skin yeast infections and pimples and blackheads, and while I admit that they are fun to pop, it would be nice if I did not have to deal with it. 

My stomach: My stomach hangs. Underneath of it is prone to those same pimples and skin yeast infections (canesten is really helpful for tinea cruris, by the way. Yeast infections are yeast infections.) and while I get some sick pops for r/popping, it isn’t attractive. My stomach is hairy and while that isn’t really totally weight related, it also isn’t cute. My belly button is often very hidden, and it would be nice to get down to a size that I could get it pierced like my mom has. The rolls of my stomach get pimples and the red marks from sitting all day are not cute and can get painful. I have the muffin top when I wear jeans, and while the look of my stomach in jeans is less than sexy, it actually doesn’t bother me all that much.I have trouble keeping up panties that are both too tight or too loose, and tights are always rolling down. If it doesn’t hit just above my waist while still being slightly tight, it isn’t even worth trying to wear at all. All my jeans and leggings are high-waisted, and a lot of them roll when I sit or bend over. As a nanny, that is a really big inconvenience, and I would like to be able to exist for an hour without having to pull up my goddamn pants/leggings/underwear/tights. God forbid I put on a garter belt. Clothes that are flattering are hard for find for obese women. I just want to wear pretty clothes and feel like a person. When I sit with my knees up, my stomach is Very Present, and I can feel it against my thighs and trying to press through the gap in the middle. It would be nice to not feel that way, and I hope that I can achieve a stomach that does not hang.

Rolls under breasts: These are real sons of bitches. Hot, hairy, red, pimply. The heat rash is real. About half to 3/4 the size of my actual breasts. They make finding a comfortable bra difficult, and I would be really happy if they got even half the size they are now. 

Breasts: I don’t necessarily have a weight issue with my tibblies, but they are underdeveloped underneath and I don’t really like the shape of them so much. I am on the waiting list to see a plastic surgeon about my options. There are certain things about my chest that I don’t like that are the fault of obesity however, like the dark marks on my chest because of resistance to insulin, but I will get more into that in a bit. I also don’t love boobne, but hey, acne, amirite ladies? 

My chin/neck situation: My ‘waddle’, as I so hatefully refer to it, is my least favourite part of my body. This makes me so upset. I think this is the only part of my body that I truly genuinely hate. If I could duct tape it back so I could look normal, I would. I often look at plus size and fat and obese women and think why do they have chins and necks that are ‘normal’ but not me? (spoilers: the answer is morbid obesity.) I would like to be able to wear a choker comfortably and without it being hidden by my neck. It is very hard to pop waddle pimples. I do have the insulin marks on my neck, and a dowager’s hump, which makes me feel weird if I look at it too long. I don’t like when it sticks out of my clothing, and it feels odd to look at it with a necklace on, or a choker or collar or anything like that.

My back rolls: You hate to see it, and it makes finding a bra in my size a pain. It is hard to hide them, and anything that is fitted to the boobs and then flares can exaggerate the look of them. I don’t look at them too often so it doesn’t always bother me, but they can be a pain with certain clothes. It also makes some clothes tight and restricting in a way they normally wouldn’t, like dresses or shirts that zip. Highly unpleasant, and I would like to have smoother back for cosmetic reasons. 

The back of my head: I shave the underneath of my head. I’ve had my entire head shaven before, I’ve had just the sides shaven. It would be nice to get to a place where there wasn’t a roll at the back of my head. It would also be nice if my brother hadn’t swiped a card through it, but only one of those things is achievable. 

My arms: I have pretty strong arms, my job requires lifting and I’ve never shied away from taking all the groceries in one trip. My arms are large but not huge. I would be happy with a little reduction in the ‘wing’ area and I would like to see my upper arms a little more streamlined when fully extended. I genuinely do have big bones, but it would be nice to be able to wear my bracelets more comfortably. 

My hands: For the longest time I have been upset about the idea of ‘fat people hands’. I don’t have huge fingers, but it would be nice to fit rings on a little easier. I have large hands, because I am a tall woman, but not really fat or chubby hands like one might think of when thinking of fat people hands. My knuckles are fairly well defined, though they have dimples when my hands are flat, and have had since I was little. I think they are cute to be honest. I do not have discolouration on my fingers or knuckles.

My face: I don’t have a ton of fat on my cheeks actually. I do have a round face, but I have dimple-like indentations under my cheekbones that clearly define them. It would be nice to be a slightly slimmer face and defined jawline - any attempt at a contour is just awful. I would like to have a less prominent chin and cheeks. 

So let’s talk for a bit about long term goals. I am trying to set goals for myself in chunks. I know that aiming to lose 100 pounds the first go around is highly unlikely to get me any sort of success and I know that breaking it up into smaller bits is less overwhelming and more motivating. I am seriously trying to be careful about rewarding myself with any kind of food. 

Realistically, I would like to see myself get into the ‘normal’ BMI range by this time next year. I also know that to do that, I would need to lose around 170 pounds. With OMAD, you can expect to lose between half a pound and one pound a day. I do not see myself losing 170 pounds in 170 days. I do not think it is healthy to lose that much in under 6 months, and I don’t think my skin would appreciate it either, nor do I think OMAD is sustainable for that long. The idea is to try and hold out with OMAD for about 3 and a half months, and in that time, with upkeep, exercise and discipline, I could lose around 100 pounds, but I think the responsible thing would be to hope for closer to 75 pounds. 

I would like to outline my goals here:

Current Goal: 300 pounds - 33 pounds lost - 41.8 BMI

Second Goal: 270 pounds - 63 pounds lost - 37.7 BMI

Third Goal: 240 - 93 pounds lost - 33.5 BMI

Fourth Goal: 210 - 123 pounds lost - 29.3 BMI

Fifth Goal: 180 - 153 pounds lost - 25.1 BMI

Final Goal: 160 - 173 pounds lost - 22.3 BMI

Knowing how much one can lose in x amount of time with OMAD, and assuming I kept with it for a year, it could take anywhere from 173 days to 346 days to reach my final goal. I know that I won’t lose the same amount every day, and I know that it will be hard to keep it off once I reach my goal. 

I also know that I will need to take vitamins and supplements to make sure I don’t lose anything during this time. 

I am trying not to set deadlines for when I would like to reach my goals, though ideally I would be losing about 20 pounds a month. There are some important dates that I am hoping to have lost a certain amount for, however, and based on how much I might expect to lose and some basic math, I have deemed it pretty feasible to do.

I return to work around July 6th. It is currently May 30th. In 37 days I am hoping to have reached my first goal of 33 pounds lost. I lost 4 pounds in 3 days, and I hope to keep up that pace. 

The other date that I am hoping to have lost weight for is my birthday, which is August 31st. In 93 days I am hoping to have met my second goal of 63 pounds lost. I am turning 19 and very excited to celebrate.

For a little in-depth at what I am doing as far as my meal, I am eating a normal supper for me, a snack and a dessert. I am not counting calories. I’ll give some examples of what I have eaten at this time.

Day 1: Gnocchi bake with chicken, gummies, a chocolate bar, a little bit of bread and an iced tea. I made the bake with a package of sundried tomato gnocchi, one chicken breast, an olivieri package of rose sauce, like 2-3 tablespoons of herb and garlic cream cheese and onion. It was so good.

Day 2: I had the 4 bites of leftovers and some cheese bread, an iced tea, chicken strips, fries, a bite of fish, and some coleslaw. This day I felt sort of weak in the evening and so I had a fried egg sandwich with a cheese slice, mustard and mayo.

Day 3: I GUZZLED water all day long, like 4-5 bottles of water. I had crackers, the middle of a cinnamon bun, chicken strips and fries again, coleslaw and then some cake (I was celebrating a family birthday). My pee has never been so clear, let me just tell you.

One of the good things about this diet is being able to have whatever I would like as my meal for the day. I am an excellent cook (friend, family, teacher, boyfriend’s family and boyfriend approved, being fat has helped me master the kitchen) and I love doing it, so I can really get creative with my meal.

I come from a diet family, and so I am definitely supported on this diet, and my boyfriend is doing it with me, because misery loves company. Overall, I do feel hungry, but I feel satisfied with what I am doing and I have a lot more will power than I thought I did before, so I am proud of myself in that regard.

During my fasts, I try to only consume water and black coffee, which I take iced so it doesn’t nerf me with the flavour. Chewing gum is also quite helpful. My eating period is between 7p-8p, or 7p-8:30p, but that may change overtime as my sleep and activity schedule changes in the coming months.

I do not make promises on diets as a rule, but because of the nature of this diet I have made myself a promise that I will listen to my body. If I need a meal, I will eat one. If what is best for me is splitting my eating hour into two 30 minute eating periods a day for energy, especially while I work, then that is what I will do. 

Like I said, the goal is to check in every day with what I ate, my general feelings and if I am changing anything, and then I will try to do a weigh in weekly, and every couple of weeks update any changes I notice in the areas I mentioned earlier that bother me as a fat person. 

‘Til next time,

H

[overthestars-and-offtoneverland]

Adventures in Becoming Esme Gigi Genevieve Squalor

For Halloween this year, I have convinced my beautiful friend J or @jebug29 (who you all may or may not remember from the original “Count Olaf is a power bottom” post) to accompany me as the Count Olaf to my Esme. While finding his costume has been relatively simple (we found a good portion of this costume at the local thrift store because Olaf isn’t incredibly hard to dress and will mainly be a challenge with prosthetic facial hair), mine has displayed some difficulties.

I’ve decided to record them, along with my thoughts and feelings on the matter, and will release this post after all is said and done.

-

Chapter 1

After getting J’s clothes all for under 5 dollars, I also found a GIGANTIC martini glass to use as a prop. I love it. I didn’t buy a second one for J, but he can use my wine glass. 

Olaf’s more a wine guy anyway.

We also did technically find a pinstripe blazer I could use, but unfortunately I had too copious amount of titty for it, so no go.

-

Chapter 2

J has fallen in love with the Gunther disguise.

Hate to let the guy down, but ya girl doesn’t have Gunther disguise money (I’m the only one funding this little venture because to be fair I pestered poor J into this), so he’ll have to settle for regular Count Olaf despite the fact the Gunther is technically more thematically appropriate.

-

Chapter 3

Checking Amazon just in case we continue to have poor luck at the thrift store.

It has come to my attention that J and I may need to contemplate actually stealing a fortune.

Esme is an expensive bitch.

The first pinstripe suit came up at $119!

1-800-fuck-that.

So, we’re gonna compromise and try to just buy a pinstripe blazer and pair it with a plain skirt I already have (plus the accessories and make-up I already had prepared)

I mean, I still gotta buy a blonde wig and J’s cosmetics, after all.

-

Chapter 4

Amazon: Oh! We have a pinstripe blazer in your price range!

Me: Really?!

Amazon: Sure! ...For anyone with a significantly smaller bust size than you :)

Me:...

Me: *singing* There are no happy endings. Not here and not now~ This tale’s full of sorrows and woes~

-

Chapter 5

I FOUND THE PERFECT THING ON AMAZON AT A REASONABLE PRICE! A WHITE PINSTRIPE SUIT WITH BODYCON DRESS THAT LOOKS ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE THE ONE ESME WORE ON THE SHOW!

But then I tried to put in in my cart and those motherfuckers told me it wouldn’t show up until DECEMBER. So, back the square one.

FUCK!

-

Chapter 6

I’m screaming. This shit’s expensive and it may not even get here in time.

At least I found a nice wig?

-

Chapter 7

Did you guys know that when you ask for a costume unibrow every online shopping thing thinks you want a Rick Sanchez costume?

Because I do now

-

Chapter 8

You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if the original Series of Unfortunate Events movie didn’t suck an entire ass and got the same fame that Harry Potter managed.

Everybody just take a moment to imagine that timeline.

-

Chapter 9

Ok, here’s the haps, peeps.

Still no luck on the blazer. I found one, but it wouldn’t actually arrive until the 30th, so no.

However, I did manage to get myself a blonde wig and stuff to make J’s facial hair Olaf-approved!

I’m gonna make the unibrow out of costume mustaches and spirit gum (you know, that stuff cosplayers use to stick the side pieces of their wigs to their heads so it looks more real) and I bought a goatee set that should work well too.

In this house, we improvise!

-

Chapter 10

I also got myself some new matches to use as a prop and also for personal use.

(I find striking matches calming)

-

Chapter 11

Me: Oh look! I found another blazer!

Me:...

Me: What the fuck do you mean you don’t deliver to P.O. Boxes?

-

Chapter 12

My matches are here

Also the stuff for J’s eyebrow and facial hair

and my absolutely beautiful wig 

Hot damn!

-

Chapter 13

I FINALLY FOUND IT!

NOT ONLY DID I FIND A BEAUTIFUL PINSTRIPE BLAZER, I FOUND AN ENTIRE PINSTRIPE SUIT IN MY SIZE!

We just needed a bigger thrift store!

We also got J some new suit pants so both of our costumes are finally complete! 

Hopefully my next update will be the reveal!

-

Chapter 14

I know I said the next update would be the reveal, but this exchange was too funny:

J: *trying on the jacket for my pinstripe suit for some reason*

J: *struggling* The buttons are on the wrong side.

Me: Yeah, it’s a women’s jacket.

J: Oh.

J: *horrified realization that we bought a women’s blazer for his Count Olaf costume*

-

Chapter 15

J has been growing his hair out so it’ll be easier for me to style his hair into Olaf’s devil horns. 

Ya know, these little things:

(Tbh, I do that to his hair at every chance because I find it hilarious and it makes me happy, along with his Count Olaf voice.)

He didn’t really need to do that, but God I love my friends.

-

Chapter 16

8 hours before the Halloween party:

I have not started getting dressed yet.

J decided to try on his costume and has realized his shirt is also a women’s shirt.

I had to tie his ascot for him.

Then he tried to go eat sushi dressed as Count Olaf. 

I proceeded to tell him to not do that and put his costume on later after we’ve all eaten dinner and won’t be sitting around waiting for hours.

- Chapter 17: The Reveal!

(Please don’t judge too harshly)

After preparing for months (and spending more money than I’d like to admit) I finally had a proper Esme Gigi Genevieve Squalor!

Cute necklace right?

Full-body picture taken by J, who is a hilarious photographer.

Finally a costume where I can incorporate my tattoo! (Though I filled in the iris and pupil)

And, of course I had my Count Olaf: @jebug29

Ya’ll, I’m actually hella proud of the job I did on his fail hair. Hot damn!

A selfie he took with my phone

Why does he look so sad???

His “tattoo”. To be fair, I had less space to work with than what I thought.

And some pictures of the two of us together:

A toast to murder and arson

Idk why J’s back is to the camera, but I look cute.

And finally us posing with the picture J drew of us as Olaf and Esme

And to those of you wondering: Yes, I won that bet with my roommate.