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jesuistrestriste · 5 months

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♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

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The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven.” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

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bestcleanever · 2 years

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#Book Cleaning Services Online #professional office cleaning services #Immediate cleaning service in Raleigh NC #cleaning company in your area

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mountainsandmayhem · 16 days

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BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks. CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present.

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things.

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple.

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas.

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.”

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things.

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat.

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.”

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!”

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.”

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.”

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean.

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional.

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.”

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.”

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough.

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles.

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.”

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole.

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror.

But not JM.

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility.

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February.

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home.

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’.

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that.

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'.

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome.

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out.

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?”

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head.

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.”

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck?

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed?

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman.

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone.

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her.

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip.

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass.

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft.

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?”

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you.

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him.

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.”

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.”

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning.

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills.

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sweetfushi · 16 days

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-> SYNOPSIS. jjk men as househusbands. -> TAGS. multiple (pretty much all) jjk men x reader. -> NOTES. there is no mature content in this so all minors are only aged up for the sake of their husband duties!

He wakes up early to get your bento ready, apron tight around his waist as he moves in the kitchen, flipping food and decorating your bento with a small note from him and a heart-shaped sweet. You always thank him with groggy eyes and a kiss, before tugging your shoes on and saying goodbye. — Nanami, Choso, Geto, Junpei, Itadori.

He's annoyed that you keep buying heels that hurt your ankles and the back of your feet. One day, while you're at work, he spends painful amounts of money on a pair of designer heels for you, ensuring that they're professional enough to maintain maturity while also appearing expensive. When he gave them to you, he did so with a huge smile on his face, regardless of the chunk out his bank account. — Toji, Gojo, Nanami, Shiu, Geto.

Whenever he goes grocery shopping, he makes sure to restock the pantry with your favourite snacks, whether you crave them throughout the day or because it's your time of the month. Sometimes, when you're working, he'll bring up a platter consisting of your favourite snacks alongside a freshly brewed coffee/tea. — Itadori, Inumaki, Higuruma, Yuta.

When it's your time of the month, he tries his best to make you a period basket consisting of a blanket, snacks, a plushie, hair accessories and some of your favourite skincare/makeup products. He even tracks your cycle on his phone (if you let him), to check when you're due and when he needs to stock up on sanitary products and be extra careful when taking care of you (he's been subject to your mood swings first hand and you scared him). — Megumi, Gojo, Yuta, Shiu.

His love language is a smidge of physical touch and a sprinkle of acts of service. He tries to act tough despite the cute frilly apron he has on most of the time, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed as he performs his tasks around the house. When he's cleaning your room whilst you're working there, he'll slowly pull you away from your desk by the back of your office chair so he can hoover under your desk. All the while, his heart is fluttering at the sound of your laugh. — Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Higuruma.

When you're working from home and going late into the night, he'll encourage you to take a break. If you don't listen, he'll start to massage your legs and shake his head at you. "There's no point in me taking care of you if you don't take care of yourself too," he huffs. You laugh breathily at his complaints, ruffling his hair and agreeing to finally call it a day. — Sukuna, Toji, Gojo, Choso, Shiu.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

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sadguru-pest-control23 · 2 years

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Office Deep Cleaning Services in Thane – Sadguru Facility

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 2 months

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I asked a few of my favorite hazbin writers this and only one answered and it was ok but I felt like it could have been expanded on so here's my take

Vox, Val, Alastor, and Lucifer react to your love language being baking/cooking

Vox

(Starting with him because he's the one thaf inspired this).

Vox came from the 50s and even though I firmly believe he is past all the ingrained gender roles and homophobia I think he still has some internalized misogyny. He wants to be viewed as the man in the relationship, the breadwinner, the provider. He can cook for himself but it's pretty basic food (except steak. Like every other man since the invention of the grill how to bbq has been hardwired into his brain. If his partner also grills ya'll fight over whose turn to cook out it is)

(Unrelated but as a lesbian who loves to grill, and is the designated grill bro, butch lesbians or cookout lesbians are some of Vox's favorite type of gays to chill with)

I firmly believe that's why even though he's a sub, it's so hard and would take time and trust to get him to let you top and enjoy it. He's so worried people will find out and judge him, that you'll judge him. His ego can be very fragile.

Especially if we go with the Vox used to be a cult leader theory. His power, image, and success are linked to his ability to appear in control. To appear to have all the answers and take responsibility. It's going to take a lot of time and patience to unravel all that and help him seperate his personal and professional image.

That being said, a partner who uses acts of service as a love language is perfect for him. He's a busy man, so he tends to be a gift giver type. The gifts are always well thought out and expensive. He wants it to be something you need, want, can get a lot of enjoyment from, and be worth the money spent, so he puts time and effort into them. Unless he's just showing off by giving you his card and telling you to go nuts.

So you taking time to make his coffee for him the way he likes, ordering lunch from his favorite places and having it sent to his office so he remembers to eat, or just texting him reminders to drink water or eat/take breaks throughout the day makes him giddy.

If you're his assistant or something, (and I believe Vox absolutely would have his partner working for him/with him), then it's even better when you take on extra work to try and help him. Organizing his schedule, sorting emails/mail, and proofreading things. Any small act you do for him, because you want to and care about him, makes his heart rate pick up.

It'll really make him overheat, glitching slightly, literal heart eyes, if he comes home after a shitty day and you're cooking for him.

His internal monologue is absolutely raving about what a good housewife you are for him, a hard working husband.

Bonus points if you cleaned too! Either way, he adores you even more now, letting you fret and coo at him, removing his jacket and tie, pouring him a drink and telling him dinner will be ready soon and you made his favorite. He's so tempted to bend you over the counter right now, but that would ruin dinner. After you guys eat though, he's having you for dessert. Man's gonna make sure you know how much he appreciates this by turning your knees to jello, good luck walking tomorrow, doll.

If you bake treats and bring them to VoxTek he's gonna brag so much. Literally the embodiment of John Mulaney's, "That's my wife!" If you bring them just for him, he's defending his treats like they're the last ones in Hell. He has literally hit Val with a fly swatter for even asking if he could have one.

(Unrelated but like, chubby vox maybe? You're cooking is too good)

Valentino

Val wishes he could cook better. He's some kind of latino, so I feel like the fact he can't cook very well is a sore spot culturally. He can make the salsa and chips and like, help with stuff, he knows how to wrap tortillas and tomales (I picture him as like Mexican or Puerto Rican but that's just cuz the town I grew up had a large Puerto Rican group).

It doesn't help that his eyesight is even more shit in Hell. He can't see what he's doing hald the time. It ruins his art hobby too. He's overall just more easily frustrated with his bad eyesight.

I don't imagine you guys dating per se. Maybe you're his sugar baby, maybe you're someone he hired to help him do stuff like clean and organize and you just sorta start doing other things to help him. (Again I'm not saying it excuses jackshit, but as someone who worked with bipolar people and people with mood disorder I kinda see the fan theory in him, either way I think all the Vees could be sort of trained to be better people, but especially Val. We already saw Vox do it.)

After all, he's usually in a much better mood if you do and that means less outbursts. The first few times you cook him something he teases you about being his housewife, tries to make it sexual. It's not really something he clocks as being an act of love because I don't think you'd realize it yourself at first. I think the more you got to see him when he wasn't stressed, lashing out, being abusive, you'd start catching feelings. ("I can fix him", delulu asses)

He loves to be in the kitchen when you cook once it starts becoming a regular thing. He can't see clearly what you're doing but the way you move around the kitchen and get what you need, even if you're an ADHD mess and do steps out of order or at random, he can tell you know what you're doing. He likes to smell the food too while it's cooking.

He will ask you to try and make some spicier/more traditional foods he grew up with, but he doesn’t remember all of the ingredients, and it just gets him more frustrated he can't tell you. If you look them up and surprise him with it it'll probably be the most genuine, human response you get from him.

He's shocked, silent, standing frozen in the penthouse as familiar smells waft around him. You present him a plate nervously, practically shaking hoping it's good enough. The first bite nearly puts him in tears. No one's done anything this nice for him? Why would you? Lowkey thinks you want something from him. It's gonna make him paranoid for a while so don't expect a verbal compliment but he eats it all.

Eventually though, one day when you're in the kitchen cooking, humming softly and swaying your hips, one set of his arms will wrap around your waist, the other reaching around you help with the salsa, or wrap a tamale, and he'll prop his chin on your head and mumble out thanks. Some praise, maybe. Would definitely tell you stories about eating these foods growing up.

It's the first step towards having an actual relationship with him.

Alastor

This man almost always insists on cooking. He isn't much of a sweet tooth either. You tell him one night you want to try cooking for him. Tell him you understand it's an activity he enjoys and relaxes too, (especially if you know it's something that reminds him of his mother), but you want to do something for him and this is one way you show you care.

It's gonna remind him of his Mama so much that if you didn't know why he loved cooking so much before you do now. He compromises. You pick the meal and gather the ingredients and do most of the cooking and he helps prep and does dishes.

He playfully critiques you the entire time about adding some spice too it or a little southern flair. Just smack him with the wooden spoon, gently. It's gonna make him laugh because his Mama used to do that when he wouldn't keep out of the sweets, or tried to add stuff to her cooking.

Once you start it becomes habit to help each other in the kitchen every night, trading off who cooks and who preps and does dishes.

If you do find baked goods he likes that aren't too sweet and send them to him as snacks, especially to Overlord meetings, he's so fucking obnoxious about his sweet little doe (doesn't matter if you are one or not) and how they spoil him. Especially rubs it in Vox's face (not him whining to his partner so they send him with treats too so he can also brag).

Only shares with Charlie, Rosie, Niffty, and sometimes Zestiel. If he's feeling generous, Husk can have a bite.

Low-key also has a thing for his partner behaving domestically even if he isn't exactly invested in traditional marriage.

Favorite activity though is dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz while dinner cooks, holding you close, in his room usually, so he can hear the sounds of the bayou. If he closes his eyes he can pretend this is how his life went and that his Mama is in the corner or sitting in her chair, watching him, happy to see him find someone.

He will literally kiss Vox willingly before admitting that last part though.

Lucifer

It's not that he can't cook, it's just....it's easier to just snap his fingers and make food appear. He's been in a depressed slump for decades man, he's lived off of the 'want food, no cook, only eat' mindset.

When you come into his life it's a complete overhaul. Despite what issues you have yourself you can recognize someone in worse state than you and immediately categorize and prioritize. First thing first, get this man's duck collection/obsession organized, thinned out, and under control.

Second, help him work through his issues with Lillith and Charlie. Encourage therapy, be a mediator between him and Charlie (and trust me she appreciates it. She knows her dad struggles, didn't know how bad, and still feels awkward). Help him socialize more, rebuild his connection with the other sins.

Get this man a work schedule!

Then it's on to personal habits. You help him get out of bed, you're both probably a little helpless in the sleeping on time category though. Help him get a routine again to keep out of his funk. Then you start cooking for him. It just happens naturally. You enjoy cooking, you enjoy showing people you love how much you care by providing good meals.

At first he's gonna resist and tell you he can handle that, you already do so much for him. He can cook or better yet he can just make it appear and you laugh and tell him it tastes better when it's made with love. He brushes it off as a joke too, you're both just being silly and obviously you said that to get him to quit fussing. Except, unholy hell does it actually taste so much better.

Lucifer hadn’t realized how bland and unsatisfying just materializing the food was. Maybe that's because he was so depressed and uninterested in what he ate, maybe not. Either way, your cooking is so much fucking better. He actually looks forward to eating now. If he gets caught up in work or has a bad day, you make sure to always bring him something, leaving it as an offering of sorts. It almost always works and entices him to eat at least once.

You cook, he does dishes, and he will not budge on that rule. He wants to be a fair man. He occasionally boots you out to do dessert, though. Apple pie is his bitch and you've never tasted one as good as his. He also makes good pancakes and some absolutely orgasmic angel's food cake.

Ironicall, devil's food cake is one of your go to recipes. Sometimes you both make a cake and take it to events just to watch people get confused as fuck when it's revealed the literal Devil did not make the devil's food cake.

Everyime you're in the kitchen together it's a disaster, you're both to silly and chaotic. You were making noodles one time and he threw flour at you so you smacked him with the noodle you were holding, leaving a line of flour and a speck of dough against his cheek. From there it escalates. It happens every time. Making cakes together, you're smashing frosting on each other. Making cookies, you're fighting each other to stop eating cookie dough.

Once, after you get fed up with him stealing her spatula to lick the chocolate off of, hovering above you with his wings, you pout and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to please give it back. He swoops down in front of you, booping your nose to smear chocolate on it and leaning in to kiss you, letting you have a taste of the chocolate batter you were mixing for brownies. While his tongue is in your mouth, drunk off the taste of you and chocolate you smash an egg over his head and let out a triumphant cheer, snatching back your spatula.

He's so stunned his wings disappear and he drops the last few inches to the ground while you cackle. His heart is pounding, his ears are ringing, and his chest feels like it's gonna explode. His eyes are literal sparkles. He hasn't felt this much joy, wonder, and love since Charlie was born. It feels like witnessing creation all over again, of the breathlessness he felt when he first saw Lillith.

You're laughter stops when you realize he's just staring at you awestruck and you smile, asking if he's ok.

"For once...yeah..Yes. I'm ok." He responds, genuinely. You kiss his cheek and resume baking. He watches you from the counter now, dreamily, thinking about how he's gonna marry you someday.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #vox x reader #valentino x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader

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a-hermit-pining · 2 months

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Sukuna as a House Husband

Genre: Fluff Pairing: House husband Sukuna x Reader AN: Might be OOC but humor me people. Coming up Geto as househusband 🥰

First few months of Sukuna's career as a househusband are nothing less than accidents that involved smoke alarms and questionable fire extinguisher techniques. The transition from malevolent kitchen to a less lethal one takes quite a minute.

From handing you Lunchables to becoming pinterest core this man takes quite a journey.

Everyday chores that start with ill concealed annoyance and were in the past pointedly pushed on to you are taken over the minute he notices the residues of shared lunch from another in your lunchbox.

How dare you accept someone else's food? The entire evening, Sukuna glared at the takeout pizza with enough intensity to melt the cheese. You swear the pepperoni visibly cowered under his icy gaze.

And the revelation that some random Joe- Shmoe, a pathetic nameless mortal, had lent you his lunch is enough incentive for this man get in action.

This old man has lived his share of luxury as the king of curses. So, the minute he decides to flex his culinary skills your lunches take an immediate promotion.

The obsolete cooking technique no one can replicate...? You bet he's pulling that.

Puts Uraume on the speed dial as the trials of kitchen begin for him. This time, though much to both their disappointment limited to animal meat.

Does not take long before both become grocery shopping buddies for life. Sukuna scowling at unfamiliar vegetables while Uraume patiently explains the difference between shallots and scallions to his Lord.

Weekends take a turn for the… interesting as you become their resident TikTok handler, phone propped precariously on the counter while they attempt to recreate the latest viral trends. Fruit Roll ice cream remains mind blowingly top tier in your household. Getting a reaction even from Uraume.

Sukuna preens under the praise at office potlucks, basking in the envious stares directed at your lunchbox. Every "wow" and "that looks amazing" fuels his ego.

But the real win? Insanely proud when he sees you take pictures of the lunches he makes and even more so when you show him the stories you post on the internet (save his old soul).

Deep into his retirement phase of immortality, Sukuna discovers the joy of aesthetic. This man takes one look at dark academia, gothic Victorian mood boards and not your living room looks like a lair worthy of a final boss villain (which, to be fair, it kind of already was)..

Super into thrifting or picking a random haunted piece of furniture to add character to your living space as he insists, despite your very real concerns about the wailing coming from the armchair at 3 am.

Still a baddie tho. Will get into fights with loud neighbors or bachelor pad finance bros when their trash isn't sorted properly. And it, unfortunately is your responsibility to drag this man back home.

Cleaning is where he draws the line. You will not spot Sukuna with a duster. Ever. So, hiring a cleaning service seemed like a brilliant solution. Except, Sukuna couldn't resist micromanaging their every move. The poor cleaning staff — a battle-hardened group of professionals — withered under his endless critiques on porcelain dusting techniques. Needless to say, generous tips were the only reason they continued to show up.

The King of Curses, a being who once feasted in halls of obsidian and dined on delicacies fit for gods. Yet, the peace and ownership of your little townhouse is sweeter than any other possession of past. His dirty little heart is endeared to his home with you.

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #fluff #househusband au #ryomen sukuna

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allprocarpetsteamers · 3 months

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reblog-house · 1 month

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The Mail Service Mess

Written for Hermit-a-day-May, day 11: Pearlypop!

Wc: 1013

Ao3: Here!

Pearl looked in pride at the board displaying the names of hermits. Yet again one more hermit with a new mailbox. Soon, the whole server would have one! The board was already starting to look bright.

With a smile on her face, she adjusted her messenger bag and turned around.

Chaos.

The post office was littered with shulker boxes in item form. Across the floor, her desk, everywhere. They kept pouring down in a stream like a leaky tap.

She stood in shock for a moment, mouth agape, before her cleaning lady instincts kicked in.

She’d already been subject to something like this before.

Without even thinking about it, she started picking the boxes. They quickly filled her inventory and she started stuffing them into her bag, but it somehow wasn’t enough. Just how many shulkers were there? When she thought she’d gotten everything and nothing would despawn, a new set poured in.

“Come on, come on,” she said as she looked for an empty chest to use. “There we go!”

Her heart was racing and her body shook with adrenaline as the fear of items despawning set in.

The worst part was, she wouldn’t be able to tell if anything despawned, or if they had already started despawning before she turned around. Just how long ago did the mess start for it to get that bad? What were these people even sending?

She felt the temptation to peak into at least one of the shulkers, to know what started this mess, but no. She contained herself. It wouldn’t be professional of her, and she had to deal with this mess, anyway.

Soon, the shulkers stopped raining. Finally. She sighed, but it wasn’t over yet. It wouldn’t be until all the boxes were well taken care of.

The second double chest filled up and she scrambled for wood for a new one.

Two and a half.

Two double chests of mail and a half.

She really wasn’t looking forward to sorting all of these and resending those with clear addressees. No one had warned her this could happen. Not Etho nor Tango. Now she wished there was a way to put the stamps directly on the shulkers and still have the system functional. It would make… all of this much easier.

What were even the normal procedures for events like this? Should she send a message telling the hermits to reclaim all their lost packages — both those they expected to receive and those they’d sent? How would she know they weren’t lying?

No, she trusted her hermits. It would be fine. And if she caught anyone stepping out of line, they’d receive a big talking to. Her team would back her up if needed, but she could stand her ground.

But first things first, they had a bug to fix before it got worse.

She pulled out her comms and sent Etho a message. He was online.

<PearlescentMoon> Hey Etho!

<PearlescentMoon> I really need your help at the Post Office

<PearlescentMoon> I don’t know what happened

<PearlescentMoon> Please hurry

She pocketed it and set to work.

As she waited for a reply, she prepared two extra double chests for sorting purposes, and took out from the system a first shulker box. Better start sorting: those with clear recipients, those with clear senders, and those with neither.

Despite feeling uneasy, the only way to check for that was by opening the packages.

The first box only had two items: a flower, and a sheet of paper. She tried not to read the contents of the letter, focused instead on checking for a signature, even if it was just an initial.

It was hard not to read the words sprawling all over the page.

‘you make my day x’

She awed and then closed the shulker box. There was nothing that indicated to whom it was addressed or the owner, so she sadly had to place it in the ‘unknown’ chest.

She went on to the second package.

Again, a flower and another sheet of paper.

‘always in my mind x’

Okay, another one of those.

She tentatively reached for the next shulker, feeling trepidation in her gut.

This one had a signed book and a Cleo stamp. Okay, she knew exactly what this was about. She should probably not be returning to Cleo their own mass-produced spam mail, but… might as well.

The next one, a single Mumbo stamp with text written on it.

Definitely from Grian. She didn’t have to check.

Cub’s Horn of the Month Club…

A chestful of valuable items with a signed book, addressing the recipient…

For a moment, Pearl wished it was addressed to her.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Pearl jumped.

“Etho! Don’t do that!”

He shrugged. “You were the one who asked me to come. I was just following your orders.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

He tilted his body and stepped back, hands in the air. “Woah, Postmaster Pearl… looking through someone’s mail? I never would’ve thought that of you.”

Pearl rolled her eyes light-heartedly.

“Look into those chests and you’ll understand the problem,” she said, depositing the package in its proper place.

He stayed dead quiet until she shut the chest.

“Pearl…?”

“Yes, Etho?” she asked sweetly.

“What is this?”

“Oh, the machine broke, is all.” She kept up her light tone. “Shulkers went flying everywhere. These aren’t even meant for us!”

Clear panic colored Etho’s face. His eyes drifted to the collection of chests.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head expectantly.

“That’s… That’s not supposed to happen.”

“So go and get it, then!” She shooed him.

He scrambled, and Pearl slumped. Oh, she was not looking forward to this.

The next shulker she opened had another sheet of paper and a rose.

The little x at the end, the useless mail spam with no way of knowing who sent it, Iskall buying a stack of Joel stamps and probably more since she last checked the stock…

Oh, Iskall…

She closed the box and opened her comms.

<PearlescentMoon> Iskall

<PearlescentMoon> A word

#hermitaday #hermitcraft #hermitfic #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft season 10 #hc s10 #postmaster pearl #ethoslab #my writing

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cleanercarpetslondon · 4 months

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undermine-the-instinct · 1 year

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Imagine being a personal maid for hire. Maybe you work at some business or organization that services maids or cleaning help. And let's say that youve been requested. You have a good track record and you do your work well.

But these people!!

Okay, imagine being called to clean the residence of the cavalry captain. He says he's hardly there so it's so dusty, and he never has the time for personal cleaning. Alright, whatever. But when you get there, the place…it's literally covered in dust. There are spare bottles of wine and clothes strewn everywhere. Oddly enough the bed is made and the bathroom is clean too but everything else? Horrible.

When he does decide to sleep in his bed rather than the office, he hires you in the mornings to cook some breakfast and perhaps a lunch, and clean up whatever he leaves behind. Easy. If he would shut his mouth. Always with a grin and some cute catchphrase. One time you come in early, with the spare key he had given you, and you arrive in time to see him at the mirror, putting on his eyepatch, hair in disarray and half dressed. You flush, but you're a professional, at least until he smiles, and you know a flirty quip is sharp on his tongue.

You flee with your red face to the little kitchen. Horribly enough, he follows you, half dressed and all, still sleepy eyed and voice low. He mangescto trap you between his body and one of the counters, and you try to glare at him and not look too flustered by his gaze and the open plane of his chest. You ask if hes enjoying himself. And low voiced he says yes, he is. He now knows your weakness and exploits it. This is an ongoing thing.

_____________________

You get called to the Favonius Headquarters to clean there too, since your company is often hired for this place. You try to avoid the cavalry captain. You usually succeed. You end up in the office of the acting headmaster, and you want to wince at the coffee mugs everywhere, the pens and papers. She smiles so wearily, pale gold in the Monstadt sun and you think she should be brighter.

She's too young to look so tired, you tell her. She laughs and says you're too pretty in that outfit, that she'll get distracted at this rate. But then she flushes and tells you to forget what she said. Jean says that everything is an organized mess, she knows where everything is but could you please get rid if these mugs? And pass her that pen please? If you don't mind please hand her that paper and deliver this document to miss Lisa? Well, the bags under her eyes are so heavy, and she seems so stressed so–wait, no, you do mind! But it's already too late, you're already at the library.

_____________________

Thankfully, Miss Lisa isn't too messy. There are a few stacks of books everywhere though, leading you to trip and fall into her forever open arms. Or ample bosom.

She lets you go with a squeeze or a wink, and tells you you should be wearing something cuter than the droll work clothes you usually wear. You don't comment. She corners you in dark corners and presses unto you when she's reaching around you, or above in a higher shelf for a book. She smells so nice, like books and dried flowers and something richer underneath.

She helps rety your apron in the back, smoothes down your stray hairs. If she catches your eyes from across the room she smiles, pouts a little. You try to focus. Miss Lisa is a flirt, and the quips she throws or the pecks she gives you on your forehead or cheek is….sweet, but unprofessional! You're not here to dilly dally! You go back to dusting, and the cloud that emerges is the only thing that keeps her away.

_____________________

You were called as extra staff for the Angel's Share once too. Apparently the partying had gone on so long and was so rambunctious that some extra help was needed, since there weren't enough workers and the off duty ones wouldn't make it in time or at all. Luckily your company is prepared to work at any moment. You actually didn't really wanna go so late, but a hefty tip was surely reserved for you. You cleaned quickly, and efficiently, and you jolted when the young Lord Ragnvindr came up behind you and paid a compliment. You had bumped into him earlier, bussing tables, and he had simply righted you with a quick arm around you, steadying you. His hand was so big and warm, like a brand against your belly, you blush just thinking about it. He made a jest that he should hire you for his manor instead, and you chuckled good naturedly. He offers you a drink, on the house, but its much too late for a drink now, you say. Besides, you don't really like to drink on the job or otherwise, it clouds your judgment and then how will you get home? He chuckles and says you have a point. You dont think you imagine the flare in his eyes. The pleasant, idle conversation between you two is obliterated when a green clad bard falls onto the table between you two.

_____________________

He is young, and he reeked of wine, clothes wrinkled and skewed. He still drunkenly sang, off tune but still beautiful, slurring about if he saw a God before him. He rose back up and teetered, and you gasped when he fell atop you, his mouth a hairsbreath from yours. You caught him and the open wine in his hand split, staining your white apron. He just giggled against your cheek while you both glared down at him, slurring out half hearted apologies. Weeks later he was still apologizing to you and still trying to get you to let him buy you a drink, if he could pay that is. "How about you buy me a new apron!" You had called out. Two days later, at your company, a brand new, frilly white apron was waiting for you, crisp and cute. A single dandelion came with the gift.

_____________________

Why the hell were you here? When your company said they'd extend their services anywhere, at any time, you didn't think they'd send you to Dragonspine!! You had to set some boundaries! It didn't matter whether cute librarians or cavalry captains flirted at you, or acting grandmasters smiled at you over coffee. Or even if young bachelor Lords smiled at you and gave you free drinks in the house, boundaries!! No matter how good the pay was, or how cute your frilly new apron— Okay, but this guy was actually pretty cute. What was with the people you were sent to? They were all attractive!!!

Okay, so he had a chemical reaction that's safe to clean but he needs the mess cleaned up before the knights check in and realize he wasn't doing any work. Okay. Got it. It's easy enough to come off, and you're not at risk of loosing your fingers, and you ask questions about what project he's doing now.

He answers your questions easily, and you almost feel bad for bothering him, but then you remember you're dealing with hazardous chemicals. Consider it part of the pay. A few weeks of cleaning and conversations later, you arrive early and catch an open notebook on his desk.

It's your face and form that graces the pages. Pages and pages. You in your winter work outfit and silly frills. Your duster and sprays. Cleaning, talking, laughing. Most embarrassingly perhaps is just a simple front view sketch. But the way he drew your eyes, your cheek and the curve of your mouth…

You blush, not having noticed his gaze, or how he walks in at that moment. He speaks and you jolt, as he explains how he couldn't just let such a lovely specimen go unnoticed. He smiles, really smiles for the first time, soft and a little bashful.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next day you head over to your boss, because you just cant take this anymore! You're a maid for hire, not a hostess or drawing model or barmaid or whatever! Your heart can't take this! You need to be transferred!

Luckily, your company is opening up a few new branches, and as their best worker. They'd like to send you to represent them! Alas, the pay is great but the travel is very far.

Liyue, Inazuma, or Sumeru. One of the three. Your choice, dear. Your boss doesn't even give you time to leave or think it over, because they need an answer now. Your choice dear.

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emeraldspiral · 3 months

Text

Episode where Zim is out in his kid disguise instead of one of his adult/old man disguises and someone takes notice of him trying to go somewhere he shouldn't. They come up and ask him "Young man, you know you're not supposed to be here without adult supervision. Where are you parents?" Frustrated that someone would dare disrupt his evil plans, Zim forgets his cover story and blurts out "I don't have parents!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How long ago did you lose them?"

"Fool! I have never had parents."

"You mean you've been an orphan all your life? That's terrible!"

"It is not terrible! It's great! I have no need for guardianship or supervision."

"So there's no one looking after you?"

"Zim needs no one! Now rescind your pity human!"

"Oh no! It's so much worse than I thought. You poor brave boy. Don't worry, you won't have to be alone for much longer!"

And then the interloper calls child services, who forcibly place Zim in an orphanage. He can't take back anything he said about being an orphan before because neither he nor the Roboparents have social security numbers and their address and phone number aren't registered anywhere.

A couple quickly comes looking to adopt and they decide they want to take on the challenge of a "problem child" who's not likely to get adopted by anyone else. So they take Zim home with them for a trial adoption. Initially it seems like it's going to turn into something like Orphan where the nice family is oblivious to the danger Zim presents as he plans to make them into his latest test subjects. But just as Zim's about to implant some questionable device into one of the family members, something happens that freaks Zim out so much he loses his nerve.

He becomes increasingly anxious as the family members never give him a moment alone, following him from room to room constantly pestering him to ask if he's okay.

"Do you like this show? We could switch to a different channel."

"Is it too cold for you? We could turn the thermostat up."

"Would you like some hot cocoa? Some warm milk, perhaps? Soda?"

"Hey, we were thinking of Mac & Cheese for dinner tonight. But do you have any dietary concerns? Are you lactose intolerant? Gluten-free? Vegan? Diabetic?"

"Are you okay with the volume everyone is speaking at? We could speak softer if you want."

"OR LOUDER IF YOU'RE HAVING TROUBLE HEARING US!"

"Do you need a blanket?"

"We bought you some pajamas. But we can take them back if you don't like them."

"Do you want to talk about your feelings?"

"You know this is a safe place, right?"

"Don't be afraid to speak up if there's anything you need."

"Or if there's anything you want to talk about."

"We're always here to lend an ear."

Zim gets majorly creeped out and is convinced they're really human spies trying to get him to reveal himself and give away Irken military secrets.

He tries to get some privacy, but the only place where he can be alone is the bathroom. There's only one, and there are so many family members they have a schedule for who can use it when. But not to worry, they've already rearranged it to give him Thursdays at 3:30 and every other Saturday at 2:00am.

They send him to a new skool, which is much better than the one he went to before. It's clean, well funded with facilities in good repair, and best of all, there's no Dib around to harass him. But the staff at the new skool are far more professional than at the old skool and Zim's new teacher doesn't tolerate classroom disruptions, shocking Zim when he sends him to the principal's office within his first minute of class. At first Zim thinks it's a blessing in disguise because it means time away from his extremely clingy new foster siblings, but the one he shares a class with ends up getting sent to the office on purpose so he could stay by Zim's side. Zim does not appreciate the gesture of solidarity.

Zim comes home and his new foster parents tell him the principal called, but it's okay. They're not mad, they know it's going to take time for him to adjust. They also remind him that it's 3:30 and today is Thursday, which means it's finally his turn to use the bathroom.

He only has fifteen minutes, but he plans on escaping out the window. But it turns out the family have installed a state of the art security system to keep him from escaping. They aren't mad when he trips it though. They understand. Moving into a new home with a bunch of strangers can be scary, and he might think he wants to go back to the life he knew before because the familiarity of it is comforting, but they promise if he just gives them a chance they're sure they can make him happy.

Zim has no choice but to endure the two week trial adoption period. Initially, he figures if he acts like a little shit they won't want to adopt him and he'll get sent back to the orphanage from which he can make an escape. Halfway through however, he has a change of heart. He starts to enjoy regular kid activities like playing video games, family board game night, and riding bikes around the neighborhood, going to skool and learning actually useful and interesting things and not being bullied, having someone come and pick him up when he falls and scrapes his knee and give him an Adhesive Medical Strip and a kiss to make it all better, and the unconditional love and endless patience and forgiveness he's afforded.

He starts to think maybe there's an advantage to the arrangement. He can learn so much more about humans from actually living like one, and surely that would be beneficial to his mission, wouldn't it?

At the end of the two week period, Zim is interviewed and asked if he would like to be permanently adopted. He says "yes", only to be told "That's too bad. It looks like they've decided not to move forward with the adoption." Zim is shocked and dismayed.

"How could they not want Zim?!"

The only answer he gets is that the family "didn't feel like it was the right fit", which leaves Zim perplexed, ruminating over whatever he did wrong to make them not love him.

The episode then ends with the Roboparents coming to the adoption agency to look for a new son. Zim tries to get their attention, but they pass him over for a different prospective child and jet off without him.

#invader zim #zim #roboparents #this is almost too cynical even for this show #all hurt #no comfort #just ripping open zim's deepest wound #and letting it bleed out

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sugaurora · 6 months

Text

éffleurer | 03

There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them.

Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: CFO!Jin AU; Smut

Word Count: 4,900+

Tags: Sexually explicit content, profanity, Dom/sub relationship, light pain kink, references to stripping, heavy petting

🎶Music: Alina Baraz - Fantasy

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi

Crossposted on AO3

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— Y/N—

Seokjin greeted you at his door with a signature one-sided smile. He stepped aside just enough to let you pass, but left so little room that your body brushed against his chest, the heady scent of his cologne caressing your senses. It was subtle, but you had spent years learning the non-verbal cues of others, deciphering when someone’s body gave a message, even when their mouth couldn’t. Though it wouldn’t do to get your hopes up this early, so you tucked the interaction away for now.

“I didn't know if you’d come,” he said in a quiet voice after closing the door. You turned to face him in the entryway.

“I'm a professional, you requested me, and I can’t say I mind performing this service for you. So here I am,” you said, lifting your shoulders in a shrug you hoped looked nonchalant. Seokjin dragged a hand through his dark hair and nodded, seemingly amused, if not surprised. Did he really think you wouldn’t come?

You gave him a quick once-over. He was dressed more casually than you’d ever seen him: a cream-colored sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and dark, fitted jeans that you immediately decided you preferred to his usual tailored slacks.

He seemed to notice your appraisal, his smile spreading across the rest of his plump lips. He held out a hand, offering to take your coat just as he had the last time. You smiled back and tugged the belt open, pulling apart the buttons and sliding the coat from your shoulders.

You had stacked your confidence in the end, planning to wear your lingerie as armor. If Seokjin only called you over in an attempt to talk you out of your moonlighting, you hoped the sight of you in this outfit would have him changing his tune quickly. How could he think about convincing you to quit when all the blood was rushing to his pants? And if he instead wanted to play the dangerous game of doing anything more, you had decided it was a game two could play.

His nostrils flared, the muscles in his long neck tensing, both barely noticeable. But it was enough to calm your nerves, knowing you’d had the desired effect. You turned on your heel and sauntered into his main room with your head held high, setting your alarm again at his fireplace mantle while he hung your coat.

One hour. This would be easy.

“The place is pretty clean already, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I dusted a damn thing in here.” He stood at the mouth of the entryway hall, eyes on you as he spoke. “Do all the surfaces, the tv, decor. Pretty much everything dust can cling to.”

He looked away after a moment, nodding towards a small duster and a few microfiber cloths sitting on an end table.

“Yes, sir,” you said, glancing around the room to decide on your plan of action before picking up your tools. You performed your task dutifully as he looked on from his seat on the couch, drinkless this time. He seemed content to just watch you again. Quiet music was already drifting from the speakers, but no conversation followed from him after he’d given you his request.

As you lifted another small figurine to wipe down, you decided you’d rather get him talking. There was at least one thing you’d been dying to know.

“You never answered my question, sir,” you said, not bothering to turn to him in the hopes of coming off casually.

When you received no answer, you glanced back at him curiously. Seokjin was still sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions with one foot crossed over his knee, hands draped over his thighs. His eyes had gone dark and were clearly focused on you, or rather, your body. And that pesky erection had very apparently made its way back to his lap. There was a long moment where your eyes met his before you watched them refocus and acknowledge your face.

“Did you say something?” he asked. You laughed to yourself and set his figurine back down.

“I said, you never answered my question,” you repeated, coyly folding your hands behind your back.

Seokjin took a deep breath and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly. “What question was that?”

You walked towards him slowly and his eyes never left you, tracking your every move until you stood at the edge of the couch. It felt good to have his attention like this and it stoked a fire in you, knowing the effect you had on him by just being in the room.

“Whether I have permission touch you,” you asked.

His eyes drifted away from you, tongue pressing between his teeth, clearly contemplating his options. You looked on expectantly, wondering if it was a question he’d hoped to forget. Maybe he truly only wanted to watch you, to have you dangled in front of him like so much forbidden fruit. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for that to be enough for someone. After all, that was what this whole job was about. Though you wanted to prod further, you decided it would be better to leave the ball in his court. If the extent of Seokjin’s desires ended with looking, you wanted to respect that, no matter how much you wished he wanted to explore more.

“Only while you dance,” he responded at last, his decision sounding final enough, though there was a hesitation in his words that gave you doubt. It wasn’t the response you were expecting, you thought to yourself. But it did open up a few possibilities.

You shifted forward, pressing your fingers into the arm of the couch, noting what was the softest leather you’d ever felt. “So...are you asking me to dance?”

He nodded, leaning back into his seat again. There was a tenseness in his broad shoulders that left you still unsure of what he really wanted, but with nothing to go on except his requests, you set your resolve to just do your best with what he asked. And, you hoped, you could loosen him up in time.

Pulling a stool from the minibar, you made a show of swaying your body around it to the music. Again, he hadn’t asked you to remove any clothing and though the urge was strong, you only tugged teasingly at the straps of your clothing, holding his eyes as much as you could, but giving him a fair view of your behind as well.

Once you pushed your prop aside and made it to the floor, spreading your legs as you moved, you remembered he was getting a full view of your very, very sheer undergarments. It set you wondering if you were saving yourself any modesty after all by not just stripping anyway. But Seokjin said nothing and whenever your eyes met his, you found a man only focused on your movements.

You crawled closer and again rested your hands on him as you rolled your body forward towards him. This time he made no comment as you touched his thighs. But you had to admit, something specific was drawing your attention now that you were this close.

“Y/N, your eyes seem a bit preoccupied.” His voice shook you from your concentration and you looked up at him instead, then smiled with no shame when you realized where your attention had been. He returned your smile and it encouraged you to voice your thoughts.

“You just seem like you have a big problem. Isn’t that frustrating for you?”

“I’m pretty sure I read the fine print of our contract correctly and solving certain problems for me is strictly prohibited,” Seokjin responded, the tease in his voice clear. Was it a tease? A challenge maybe? But his expression remained playful. You sat back onto your knees, sliding forward and positioning yourself between his legs.

“It's not a heavily enforced contract,” you said, all promises of behaving yourself out the window. If Seokjin wasn’t going to draw the line between you clearly, you would have to make him draw it. Because right now your line was long forgotten and nothing sounded better in the moment than separating him from his pants. And he didn’t exactly make any complaints as he stared down at you on your knees before him.

“And you're saying you would offer that to me?” He hesitated a moment. “Do you always..?”

You shook your head. “I never have before. I'm saying I wouldn't be opposed to helping you ,” you emphasized. “You're kind of a special client, after all.”

“Oh, special?” he considered, stroking a hand across his chin in mock contemplation. “And what makes you think you know what I need?”

“I don’t, but I could learn,” you purred, scratching your nails lightly along the fabric of his jeans. “You could teach me.”

You watched his jaw tense, dark eyebrows raising slightly. Calculating.

“I-,” he said, the word fading at the end. You gave another stroke of your nails while he thought. “I’m not sure you want to learn that.”

“Are you saying you aren’t interested?” you asked flatly.

Seokjin swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

The dance around your desire was taking its toll on you both, your patience wearing a little thin. Not that you minded a bit of coy banter, but what was the point if he truly wasn’t interested?

You could see the wheels in his mind turning as he considered your words, likely trying to account for the consequences of taking you up on them. But in your mind, you were both adults who wanted something similar. You had made your decision by walking through his door tonight. Though you hadn’t yet worked out how it would affect your position at work if you slept with the boss, but that was an issue for tomorrow.

“What are you willing to do for me, Y/N?” he asked. You pulled yourself up from the floor, slipping your legs on either side of him and sinking into the leather of the couch until you were straddling his thighs. It was a bold move, but at this point you needed him to clearly understand what you wanted.

“Whatever you need, sir. I came here to serve you after all. You called and I came and I did what you asked.”

Seokjin remained quiet, hands resting at his sides, and you continued speaking, hoping to urge him forward.

“And I think you’d very much like if I did something to satisfy the rise in your pants you've pretty much had since I walked through that door.” You were starting to feel a little desperate, like he was making you push him the whole way, and a spark of fear crossed your mind. Would he be cruel enough to reduce you to almost begging before rejecting you in the end? It was a struggle to figure out his angle.

“If you would be open to it,” he breathed, voice almost inaudible, dispelling your sudden worries.

You slid yourself forward, sitting back onto his thighs, leaning your face close to his own.

“I would be, sir.” Your lips curved around the last word, hoping to make sure he felt the full effect of his desired title, something the shudder in his body told you he enjoyed very much.

But there it was again, the same hesitation dangling in his eyes. He was holding back and it made you unsure. You wanted this, caution be damned. Wanted to finally close in on what your dreams had promised all those months ago. You realized then that you had wanted it all along, suppressed lust for him now bubbling to the surface. But you really didn’t want to push him if he wasn’t interested. And his strained silence seemed to give you that message.

“But if that’s not what you want-” you started, pressing your hands against the couch to push yourself off his lap, accepting the rejection.

Seokjin exhaled a heavy breath from his nose and immediately his hands were on your waist, pulling your body to his. As he took up your lips, you released the moan of satisfaction that had been building in your chest.

“Did you have to make me work so fucking hard for it?” you whined into his mouth and he laughed and pulled your body closer, nipping your lip before showering you in more hungry, wet kisses. His lips set off a chain reaction and you felt the pull, felt his fervor as he pressed your bodies ever closer. Your hands draped across his shoulders, fingers sliding into his hair just at the base of his neck.

As his lips trailed kisses down your jaw, each one leaving you shuddering against him, you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs and your longing to feel more of him flew straight to your center.

“Y/N, I have to warn you first,” he started to speak, his warm breath sending tingles across your neck as he spoke.

And then you felt his teeth, pressing into your earlobe, the rush of pain and pleasure wrapping around each other and you wanted it, more of it, right now. A moan escaped your lips and you scratched your fingers along his scalp. His lips pressed a soft kiss against the bite.

“I'm interested in something specific.” His voice was quiet, rolling in your ear and pulling your attention. “If we’re going to do this, you have to want what I want.”

His sincerity gave you pause. There was so much of the Seokjin you had come to know in his tone. Considerate and kind, he was more of the same man you had known for months, the leader you had come to respect. You pushed aside your hormones, ready to hear his request, but knowing you would say yes to almost anything he asked.

“What do you want, sir?”

“I want a submissive partner. I want full submission from you when you’re inside my home. I want to control you and punish you when you disobey me.” His teeth grazed along the tender skin of your neck. “And reward you when you're a good girl for me.”

You smiled to yourself. You knew it, knew that all along he had been holding back his desire to control you, most likely only putting up with your attempts at steering the situation out of respect for your office positions and his own reservations on what going down this path could mean. But this was his real desire and every part of you wanted to submit, wanted to please Seokjin exactly how he wanted.

“I'll do whatever you say, sir,” you said, closing your eyes, lost to the feeling of his teeth as they pressed into your skin again. “I'll let you control me. Teach me.”

His lips stopped with your words and you opened your eyes to find them meeting his own. Focused and serious, he held your gaze for a moment, making sure he had your attention.

“I don’t have any experience in this,” he admitted, voice a little meek. You found the honesty refreshing, the way his eyes softened endearing. His gaze trailed away from yours and you could tell he was a little embarrassed at the confession. “I’ve never been in control of someone else.” A pause. “I've never had the right partner for it.”

And then his eyes were back on yours. “But you, Y/N...”

“I'm not experienced, but I want to try,” you said sincerely. “We can learn together.”

You thought as you spoke the words. What did it even mean to be a submissive? With your mostly vanilla sex life lending no personal experience in the realm of power play, the obvious answer seemed like being controlled and used by someone else. But Jieun had always talked about the delicacies of relationships like this. A more than experienced female dominant, she liked to educate you over a drink about her escapades, and in this field she had always emphasized the trust and care involved in making a connection like this successful.

You cared about Seokjin from the moment you met him, from the moment he had been friendly and kind to you. He treated you with respect and dignity and never was at a loss for words of encouragement or guidance. And the longer you'd known him, the more your care had deepened.

And as for trust...

“I trust you,” you said, hoping it would reassure him.

Seokjin pressed his lips to yours, this time not hungry, but tender and gentle and you felt something new and unknown blooming in your chest. There was a promise in his kiss, a statement letting you know he understood what he was asking of you and what he was offering.

“I trust you,” he broke away for a moment to murmur, before his lips were on yours again, fervor renewed.

The conversation hadn’t been the type of dirty, pillow talk you expected in the moment, but the intimacy of the words was more sensual, more personal. You had formed a bond here with Seokjin, an agreement to trust each other on a deep, sexual level. An unmistakable excitement followed the idea of stepping into new roles and exploring new sides of each other together. The taboo of your office positions might have lent a little to the excitement as well, but you weren’t interested in thinking about that at the moment.

Seokjin’s hands slid past your hips and down to your backside, fingers dipping beneath the soft material of your undergarments and pressing into the flesh. He was tugging you forward, urging a meeting between the hardness in his lap and the soft barrier of your panties.

As you pressed your heat against the stiffness in his jeans, he groaned into your mouth, fingers digging harder into the plump of your ass.

“Fuck,” he breathed out and a surge of heat flew up your spine, mingling with the warmth of his body so close to yours. And then you felt yourself moving. In one smooth movement, Seokjin had lifted you up and turned your body away from his. His thumbs hooked into the straps of your bodice, slipping it down until your chest was exposed.

“Your body is so beautiful, Y/N. I could stare at you all fucking day,” he panted into your ear as his hands went to your breasts, cupping them in his hands. He caressed the soft flesh there, rough squeezes followed by rolling and tugging your nipples between his fingertips. The sudden, intense stimulation caused you to cry out, half-moaning from the pleasure, half-whining from the pain.

Alright, so maybe you were wrong about him being an ass man.

Changing to the opposite side of your neck, his teeth followed, leaving imprints sure to be future sore spots as he toyed with the flesh there.

One hand left to caress your breast, Seokjin’s other hand slowly crept down between your legs, rubbing circles into the skin of your thighs hesitantly, asking silent permission to move forward. As if it wasn’t alright with you. As if you weren’t already dying to feel his hands on you everywhere.

It wasn’t until his fingers made contact with your thin panties that you realized how badly you had already soaked through them, the evidence of your wet arousal immediately audible.

“Already this wet for me? My dirty girl.” His voice was a low hum in the background of your consciousness, drowned out only by his movements. His thumb made gentle strokes at first, which turned into full finger caresses against your wet mound. You whimpered against him, rolling your hips at his attention, still feeling the hardness in his pants now pressing against your backside.

“Moan nice and loud for me, angel, so I can learn what your body craves.”

You nodded, unable to press any words past your lips, lust pooling as he built up the fire between your legs, fingers rolling against the wet mess of the thin material of your panties. You spread your legs a little more to give him access and permission and he took it immediately, giving your clit a soft pinch. You let out another pained moan, letting your hands land on his thighs, gripping them in desperate need of something to hold onto.

“Good girl,” he murmured and the praise was almost as good as his touch.

His teeth were back on your neck and you felt yourself swimming through the agony of his denial as his fingers rubbed your clit in slow, methodic circles, keeping you dripping for him, but providing far too little stimulation for you to get anywhere. Was this the torture Jieun talked about? If he decided to spend all night teasing you like this, your muddled brain wasn’t sure you would be able to make it.

His fingers dipped lightly against your entrance, threading shapes against the fabric there, firing the sensitive nerves already dripping with your juices.

“Seokjin!” The name escaped you, curled in a tight whine as his teeth left yet another sore spot on your overstimulated neck. He paused for a moment and your breathing escalated, nervous and excited at this new level of the unknown. A long-fingered hand slipped across your bare breasts, down to the exposed skin of your inner thigh, then raised up and landed a sharp smack on the sensitive flesh. The pain shocked you and you cried out again.

“Don't start with me again,” he said, his voice colored dark with authority.

“S-sir…” you corrected yourself, the stinging pain only sending more heat to your core.

“Don't forget it, angel. You said you would be good for me.”

“I will, sir,” you cooed desperately. “I promise.”

His mouth went back to your neck, back to the sore skin as his hand floated back between your legs, squeezing the meat of your thighs, dancing across your heat, but still agonizingly never passing your clothing. After an age, he refocused on your aching clit and your moans joined his movements, desperate noises you hoped were letting him know you wanted more.

“That's right, angel, let me hear you. Tell me what you want.” His lips were pressed against your ear now, his voice alone enough to have you shaking.

“I want to feel your fingers inside of me, please,” you begged. Surely he had teased you long enough. Instead, his fingers stopped and you held your breath.

“Oh?” he said and you could hear the smile on his lips. “Is this frustrating you? Do you want me to stop petting you?”

“No!” you protested, placing a pleading hand over his. “Please don't stop. I just want your fingers inside me so bad, sir, please.”

He flicked your hand aside roughly and returned to his agonizingly slow strokes still blocked by cloth. “I’ll decide when you've earned my fingers rubbing your pussy, raw and bare. Right now I prefer this, making you drip through these panties for me.”

You were at a loss, desperate for his touch, but losing your mind at the slow build in satisfaction. Exactly what kind of treatment had you signed up for?

“Open your mouth,” he whispered, bringing his wet fingers to your lips, before jamming them into your mouth. The taste your own slick coated your tongue, unsurprising since you had fully soaked through your lingerie. How had he gotten you so close to the edge without even touching you bare? At this point, you were ready to sign over everything you owned, everything you were if he would just rip the stupid things off.

Instead, you suckled his fingers while his other hand continued its work and returned you to a whimpering mess, soaking through the flimsy barrier and leaving dark stains on the fabric of his jeans.

He tugged your panties away from your wetness, the sound sloppy and lewd and you heard him chuckle into your ear.

“You're making such a mess, angel,” he purred into your ear, tongue tracing along the shell and making your body shudder against his. Finally, you exhaled internally, more than eager to feel the warm flesh of his hand against you and within.

A familiar chime sounded from the fireplace mantle, signaling the end of his session. But you couldn’t move. Your legs felt like jello and your heart was racing a million miles a minute.

At no point had you imagined that you would both be clothed by now. Before tonight, you knew that if he was truly interested in you, you’d sleep with him and deal with the consequences later.

Yet here you lay, mystified against his broad chest, legs still spread wide, the wetness Seokjin had coaxed from you soaking into the denim beneath you. His toying had brought you to the brink, and yet neither of you wore less clothing than when you'd walked through the door. Well, besides your now exposed breasts.

“You’d better get that,” he said quietly and you shook yourself from your stupor, pulling yourself up from his lap and hurrying to your phone on shaky legs to shut the damn thing off.

Seokjin stood with you, and when you turned back to face him he was smiling down at his pants, brushing his fingers along the stains you had left him.

“I'm sorry about that,” you said because it seemed like the right thing to say.

“I'm not,” he laughed and began walking towards you. You stared at him, frozen like a deer in headlights, still yet unsure what you expected from him, but he only took your hand in his and continued walking. Unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction. Instead of towards where you assumed there were bedrooms, he was leading you back towards the entrance of the apartment.

His hand fell from yours when he reached the hall closet, quickly turning away from you and tugging down your coat. He reached out to hand it over and only spoke when you didn’t move to take it.

“We’re done tonight, angel. It’s time for you to go,” he said, the words taking a moment to soak through your haze. You gaped up at him.

“B-but-” What was he saying? You hadn't even done anything. He had just started, riling you up, toying with your body and twisting the coil inside of you. And if the clear rise still pressing against his jeans meant anything, you still had much more to do tonight. It was nowhere near time for you to go yet.

“Y/N,” he said in a sigh at your inaction, pressing your coat into your arms, pressing further still until you felt the wall behind you against your back. The same wall where he had you pinned before.

“Don’t be impatient,” Seokjin’s voice cooed. The words did little to soothe you, your head still hazy, thoughts still spinning from everything that had happened in the last hour. The shock of being so unceremoniously told to leave was too much to handle.

“Please don’t leave me hanging like this,” you breathed, begging him with your eyes. You were ready to be whatever he wanted, to be at the mercy of those hands all night. You had told him as much. But being brought so far to the edge only to be left dangling like was too much. Much more than a newly christened submissive could take.

He cursed under his breath, eyes taking in your disappointed face while his hands traced the soft lines of your lingerie before settling on your hips.

“You make this so difficult when you look at me like that,” he said softly before his lips were on yours again.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as he kissed you, begging for entrance with your tongue. He parted his lips slightly, teasing your tongue with the tip of his own, only to pull back, his hands sliding up, tugging up your bodice and covering your breasts.

His forehead was pressed against yours, cheeks flushed, pupils giving up his truth. He wanted you in this moment as much as you wanted him, those wide, darkened lenses unable to lie as well as his mouth.

“Go,” he said, taking a steadying breath before leaning back. He seemed to rein in his feelings, swallowing them down. “Think about this, Y/N, if you really want to do this with me. And if you want to continue, come when you're scheduled again.” A gentle smile, the smile you had gotten to know so well these past six months. “If you don’t, we’ll just pretend like it never happened.”

“That’s a little unfair to say to me after what we’ve done tonight,” you complained.

“I’m a humble man. I may be infinitely handsome, but you may not really want what I have to offer once you have a clear head. Or rather, what I want to explore.” He gave your hips another squeeze before leaning away from you. “Go. Give it some thought.”

You nodded reluctantly, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

“And none of this affects work, ok? At work, I'm still just Seokjin and you're just Y/N, ok? I'm trusting you.”

“I know. We agreed to trust each other,” you said.

One last wet kiss and he had you out the door, all but stumbling to your car in a blue-ovaried daze.

The ache between your thighs was unbearable, but it was minuscule next to the fire tearing through your body at that moment, burning a path for the new feelings that were growing in its wake: A new, carnal longing for your boss, Kim Seokjin.

#bts fic #kim seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #bts fanfic #jin smut #seokjin fic #bts smut #jin fanfic #Éffleurer #writing

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yokohamapound · 2 years

Text

Um...yeah. This was funny to me so I wrote it. <3

Characters: Dazai Osamu

Contents: afab!reader, oral, workplace sex, Dazai being a whore...

Dazai Osamu

There's no clause covering this exact scenario in your contract, but you're pretty sure what you're doing violates some kind of professional conduct policy. Or maybe health and safety. Unfortunately, you don't have the mental bandwidth to worry about the terms of your employment right now.

"You'e so wet already," Dazai hums from underneath your desk. A chuckle. "And at work, too? Naughty."

It all started when Kunikida announced that he had a dental appointment during his lunch, followed by a stern lecture to Atsushi and Kyoka about the important of flossing. The two orphans had a spotty history of dental care, since surviving took precedence over gum disease. Incensed, Kunikida dragged the pair of them with him for a check-up.

That was the first domino. Next up, Yosano decided she was going to go shopping, and roped Kenji in as her pack-mule, a role he was only too happy to fulfil, while telling her stories of Minty, his actual pack-mule back in his home village…

Then one by one, the rest of the Armed Detective Agency left on lunchtime errands of their own. The lively chatter of the office faded to nothing more than the clatter of your keyboard as you finished your report, and Dazai's soft snoring from the couch.

You'd resigned yourself to working through lunch. Maybe you could grab an onigiri from the konbini across the road and some iced tea.

A yawn pulled your eyes away from the screen. Dazai stood at the corner of your desk, rubbing at the back of his head. He blinked sleepily at you, smiled, then glanced around the office.

"I didn't nap for that long," he said. "Something big happen?"

"Nope." A shrug. "Everyone just decided to go out for lunch. Well, Kunikida's at the dentist."

"I'm sure that must be very exciting for him," Dazai drawled. "Were you waiting for me, bella? Shall we go out for a little lunch date, hm?"

You rolled your eyes, smiling faintly. "No can do. I've got way too much to do and your idea of a lunch date would stretch out all afternoon. I don't need Kunikida on my back about this report. It's already late."

"Tsk, tsk, paperwork is very important."

"Which is why you dump it all on Atsushi?"

"Exactly!"

Dazai sighed, perching himself on the edge of your desk. He amused himself for a couple of minutes by leaning over and pushing all of Kunikida's pens slightly out of alignment, but quickly grew bored of that. Things were quiet around here lately, and he found himself uninspired by the tedious requests that were coming in. Some people seemed to think the Armed Detective Agency were a cleaning service or private detectives who would catch their spouse cheating. Dazai had argued that they could do a honeypot sting for those, but was shot down viciously by Kunikida. Spoilsport.

His gaze slanted toward you. "Are you sure you don't want to go out?"

You shook your head. "I'll grab a snack over the road. I don't have time to eat out."

Dazai's lips curled into a smirk. "No? I do~"

You shrugged. He was a big boy. He could go to a cafe by himself if he really wanted to.

"Don't let me stop you."

You turned your attention back to your report, fingers flying over the keys. Dazai disappeared from your peripheral vision, so you assumed he had sloped off to find something else to amuse himself with. Well, you were half right. And that, dear reader, brings you to your current predicament.

Something brushes against your knee. You bounce your leg, assuming it's just one of the folds of your skirt, and it goes away. But then, something tickles your other knee. Annoyed, you reach down and pull your skirt away from your legs.

Another soft touch—a kiss—lands on your inner thigh.

"Wha—"

Leaning back, you peer down below the desk. Dazai's handsome face smiles up at you from between your thighs, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. You stare at him.

"What…what are you doing down there?"

Dazai leans his cheek against your thigh, his wavy brown hair tickling your skin. His eyes are dark, hooded. "Exactly what I said I was going to do, sweetheart. Go back to your little report."

"We're in the office!" you splutter. "And how am I supposed to concentrate when you're doing that?"

"Not my problem."

Hands grasp you by the hips, and he pulls you to the edge of your seat, spreading your thighs wider apart. Warm breath washes over your inner thighs, followed by a playful lick at the quickly-dampening fabric of your underwear. You shouldn't respond so easily; it makes you feel so weak, but your body reponds to the promise of Dazai's mouth like Pavlov's dog to a bell.

He continues to tease you through the soft, damp cloth, drawing slow lines along your slit with the tip of his tongue. Dazai's thumbs stroke slow, tingling circles into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your muscles twitch in response.

Closing your eyes, you let your head rest against the back of your chair, and reach underneath the desk. Dazai's breath hitches as you root your fingers tight in his hair, curling them until pain prickles across his scalp. Oh, he likes it when you do that. His cock stiffens, a low groan working its way up out of his throat.

"Do you have something to say, bella?" he purrs. "Going to stop me?"

"We don't have long before Kunikida gets back," you say, pleased to find that your voice is still mostly steady. "Now's not the time to be playing with your food."

His eyes glitter in the darkness underneath your desk, his smile wicked.

"Scared of getting caught?"

"Scared Kunikida will wring your scrawny neck," you retort, letting go of his hair. Sliding your hand down the back of his neck, you pressed him closer to where you wanted him. "No teasing."

"So demanding today."

Dazai hooks a long finger into the crotch of your underwear and tugs it to the side, peeling it away from your damp flesh. He leans in. His mouth presses against you, full and hungry, like he's devouring a ripe peach. No slow, taunting licks. No working you up to it. You wanted him to get on with it? Dazai doesn't need telling twice.

His tongue slides between your folds, slick and hot and dragging upward. The tip curls, flicking against your clit at the top.

"Fuck." Soft. Emphatic. You grab the edge of your desk for support, the report wavering in front of your eyes. "Dazai…"

A soft snicker is the only answer he gives. Dazai nuzzles deeper between your thighs, slurping and sucking all the sweet flesh that's on offer for him. Your flavour coats his tongue; his mouth is watering, swallowing your taste down like honey.

"Mm~"

His deep, pleased hum vibrates into you, and he squeezes your soft thighs when you squirm, crushing them against the sides of his face. He'd suffocate himself down there if you let him.

Dazai laps at you, working his tongue across your clit with the same precision a master calligrapher uses a brush. He could be writing your name down there, or his, you'll never know.

"Goddamn it..."

You writhe in place, rolling your hips to try and grind against his tongue. You want, need, more pressure on your clit. You want his tongue, his fingers inside you. You want him bending you over the desk—

Dazai does something that makes white spots speckle your vision—he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning around it, pulsing it with his tongue.

No cussing this time—just a sharp, wordless moan. Heat blooms in your core, up your neck, across your face. Sweat gathers at your temples. Your hands slip off the desk, grabbing at the arms of your chair.

"Keep it down, bella." His voice is dark, heavy, hot breath washing over your slick skin. "Someone might hear you~"

"Bastard..."

He dives back in, devouring you like you're like his last meal. Damn that man's mouth—it's always getting you into trouble in one way or another. You shudder as he sucks on that little pearl of hypersensitive flesh, letting it pop free of his lips, only to pull on it again. Your clenching thighs almost push him away, so he hikes it over his shoulder, keeping you nice and spread for him.

"Dazai..."

His tongue circles you, each little flick making you shudder. "Daz—Damn it, Osamu."

"Mmm?"

"I-I'm nearly—"

The door to the office swings open. Kunikida strides in, a newspaper and his notebook tucked under his arm. He approaches his desk, stops, frowns.

You stare at him in horror, flushed. Your stupid clit still in Dazai's stupid mouth.

"Are you all right? You look...ill," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose to get a better look at you. "My check-up found no issues, but Atsushi has four cavities that need to be filled. You'd think his weretiger abilities would prevent that, surely?"

"Oh...I'm...a little flu-ish?"

Kunikida glances around, frowning.

"Where's that idiot, Dazai?"

Where, indeed.

"He's...um...eating out?"

Something thumps against the underside of your desk, making the pencil pot jump. That was in fact the back of Dazai's skull. He presses his face into your thigh, biting down.

You feel his shoulders shake with silent howls of laughter.

Bastard.

Kunikida glances from you, to your desk, and back. Slowly, his eyes narrow.

"Um, I mean, he went out to lunch?" you say weakly. "He won't be back for a while."

Kunikida carefully picks up his newspaper and his notebook, and tucks them back under his arm.

"I'm going to go and check on Atsushi," he says crisply. "To make sure he doesn't transform and bite the dentist under the anaesthetic."

Kunikida glances back down at your desk.

"Sanitise the desk before you leave," he says. "I don't want anyone else to get...sick."

#Bungou Stray Dogs #bsd #bsd headcanons #bsd scenario #bsd smut #Dazai x Reader #Dazai Osamu x Reader #Dazai Osamu #I'm sorry

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