#I’m telling you it’s easy and yet refusing to do it

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗹 | "hot neighbor" (harris maderbach) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | to some, he was hot neighbor, but to you, he was hot coworker-- and you figured he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 7.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only!! minors gtfo), unprotected sex, creampie, oral m receiving, alcohol consumption, lots of dumb workplace flirting, basically porn with very minimal plot

You weren’t used to working in an office like this, even if your position here was incredibly similar to the last one.  All the departments actually talked to each other, had shared events— even went out after work to drink together, from time to time.  And that was how you ended up with something else you weren’t used to: a crush on a coworker.

He was from the realty division, probably the furthest from your own work, and yet he was one of the first people to introduce himself to you.  The whole conversation had seemed just a touch flirty, but you couldn’t tell if that was actually his intention or if he was just charming (or if you just had wishful thinking).

“Always nice to see a new face around,” he’d said to get your attention, making you spin around in your chair and look up at him.  He wore a friendly smile, running his fingers through his hair which you thought might be considered dirty blonde in certain lighting; it’s not that you were checking him out, necessarily, it’s just that you had acquired an eye for color in your years working with fine art.

“Oh— hey, yeah, I’m the newbie,” you awkwardly replied, not sure how to respond to that.  Always nice to see a nice face around seemed too forward.

“Are you new in town?” he asked.  “‘Cause I could show you around if you need—”

“No, actually— I’ve lived in Manhattan for about five years now,” you explained, “Christie’s is in Rockefeller center, just a few miles away…”

He pushed his lips together and nodded, like he took it as a rejection, and you felt a little guilty.  

“But you’re really sweet to offer!” you blurted out.  “I mean, if there’s any good spots for lunch around here, I’m all ears.”

He nodded quickly, but crossed his arms and changed the subject instead.  “So, Christie’s?  What did you do there?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do here— sell art,” you smiled.  “Hopefully.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” he encouraged.

It didn’t really mean anything, coming from a stranger, but somehow it still made you feel better; you thought about it the rest of the day, actually.

From then on, you’d become pretty curious about him.  You asked around, but most people in your department didn’t know much: he was a realtor, after all, so any details past that would require talking to another realtor.  The problem with that plan was that you figured if you asked somebody who worked closely with him for any gossip, it would end up getting back to him— and he’d probably be all cocky about it, from what little you could tell about his personality.

All you’d really put together was that his name was Harris, he was divorced relatively recently, and that he had quite a talent for architecture and interior design.  Everything else you knew about him had been easy to put together: friendly, yet smooth; sexy voice; well-dressed, if more casual than some people in the office.

And everything else you wanted to know, you went to an after-work happy hour to find out.

You were getting worried that he would notice you glancing at him every, I don’t know, ten or so seconds; only once or twice did he meet your gaze, and whenever he did, he would look back at whoever he was talking to with a little knowing smirk.  Bastard— he was taunting you, daring you to come over and talk to him— wasn’t he?

But you refused to give in so easily: you focused on chatting with other members of the art sales department, laughing too hard at their stories and jokes in the hopes that, for once, Harris would look at you first.  If he did, you were too absorbed in conversation most of the time to notice.

Like all work events, though, people trickled out to head home steadily throughout the night.  Probably half of them were gone within an hour; by eight, barely ten people were left.  Rarely, the conversation would merge into one big group, and you would catch Harris’ eyes drifting over you when you added something, but usually people were within their little sub-conversations and you never quite seemed to cross paths with Harris.

Until, finally, he relented— only when you ended up sitting off to the side of one of the tables the secretary had booked; the person you’d been talking to left, and everyone else was wrapped up in what they were discussing, and you found yourself nursing your beer and staring off into space for a little while.  Actually, you didn’t even notice him coming up to you until he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down in it with a sigh.

“How’s Samuel treating you?” he asked, and you gave him a confused look before he motioned to the glass in your hand of, as you’d apparently forgotten, Samuel Adams.

“Oh,” you laughed softly, shaking your head, “he’s alright— inoffensive.  A work thing seems like the wrong place for hard liquor.”

“Is that a diss on my whiskey?” he frowned, swirling the dark liquid in his crystal glass.

“Do they have good whiskey here?” you wondered.

“No,” he snorted.  “I was trying to be sophisticated, but it’s swill.  Serves me right, huh?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, “I can’t blame you for trying.  Everybody here’s pretty uppity.”

“I hope no one’s made you feel out of place or anything,” he offered, putting his hands out slightly in a gesture of concern.  “We wouldn’t want to discriminate against you just for being a poor vagabond from Christie’s.”

You laughed again, harder, and rolled your eyes.  “Oh, really?  I’m some kind of charity case?”

“Yeah, 20 Rock?  That’s basically the inner city,” he joked.  “Hey, did you ever go skating on that big rink?”

“No,” you admitted, “it feels like a waste that I didn’t— I saw people out there every winter.”

“You could still go,” he noticed.

“It would be even weirder now that I don’t work there,” you shrugged, “and besides, it’s just ice skating— expensive ice skating.  I can fall on my ass whenever I want for free.”

He smiled and nodded in agreement.  “I should probably do more ‘New York’ things, you know.  I’ve been here— gosh, over ten years?  I don’t actually do any of the stuff I’m supposed to, except some of the museums.”

“The museums are really excellent,” you agreed.

“Of course, you’re the art nerd,” he remembered.  “Sorry— expert.”

You scoffed.  “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Do you own a lot yourself?” he wondered.  “Do you get a good price on stuff, or do you have to save all the best ones for clients?”

“I don’t have a ton, but I have plenty of pieces I’m proud of, yeah,” you answered, “but I focus on new and upcoming artists, I don’t have any masterworks.  Every once in a while I would buy something from an artist we chose not to sign, out of pity.”

Harris laughed, and you let yourself use the moment that his eyes were closed to take a closer look at him.  He really was attractive in the most specific way, and his flirty attitude didn’t help either— but you had no idea how flirty he could really be until the conversation continued.  

“Do you own anything?” you asked.  “You must, with your eye for design.  Unless you’re one of those people who gets those massive, mostly-blank interpretive paintings just to fill a wall.”

“You mean like in hotels?  God, no,” he grimaced.  “I have a few pieces, yes  Actually, I’ve got this one painting at my place that I’ve been meaning to have someone take a look at,” he said after he finished a thoughtful sip of his whiskey.

“For what purpose?” you wondered, though you could already tell he was asking you for a favor.  What kind of favor, though, was still up to interpretation.

He gave you a look of faux confusion.  “It’s a painting— you can’t do much else with it once it’s hung.”  You laughed, and he looked a little proud of himself before giving a real answer.  “I’m sure it’s worth something, but I don’t know how much.”

“Shouldn’t you have gotten your valuation from Sotheby���s upon purchase?” you asked with a smirk.  “We’re always telling people about how great that is.”

“Well,” he started with a mischievous look, leaning in closer to you with his elbows on the table, “don’t tell— but I didn’t get it at Sotheby’s,” he admitted in a whisper, making you laugh and raise your eyebrows.

“Oh!  Naughty naughty,” you scolded playfully, noticing right away the way his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment.  “Where’d you get it, then?”

“If you can believe it— Christie’s,” he laughed, and your eyes got even wider.  

“Fuck off!” you yelped, probably a little too loud.  “No way— I didn’t see you around or anything!”

He shrugged.  “Maybe you did, and just forgot.”

Your heart already raced before you even said it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.  “I would’ve remembered you,” you replied, lowering your voice; you saw his expression change, if subtly, and you bit your lip for just a moment before you caught yourself.

Just when you wondered if he would come any closer, he straightened himself up with a little groan and sigh.  “Actually,” he began, “it was my ex that bought it.  I ended up keeping it in the divorce, not that I specifically wanted it— I think, for her, it was too many memories… or something like that.”

You nodded, not totally sure what to say.  Thankfully, he spoke again before you.

“Say what you will about her, she has good taste,” he chuckled a bit.  “It’s a nice piece, but all the paperwork is long gone.”

“Well, if you bring it to the office and get it insured with us, I can guarantee the best estimate and a formal appraisal,” you explained, “but if you don’t mind just a ballpark…”

“I don’t need specifics,” he agreed, “I mostly just want to know if I’m sitting on something really special and don’t even know it.”

Mostly I just want an excuse for you to come to my place, is what you heard him say— not that it bothered you.  “Well… I’m free tonight,” you told him, trying not to look up at him expectantly, but you couldn’t help it; you were too anxious for his response.  Thankfully, you got a small smirk and a knowing glance.

“No time like the present, eh?”

~

Both of you pretended this was still something it had stopped being before you even left the bar, even if there was a sort of undertone to everything.  Even the coworkers who realized you were leaving together seemed to pick up on something, and you hoped silently that they wouldn’t make too many assumptions.

Even you had to resist the urge to make assumptions.  You weren’t sure what was going to happen, if anything— nor did you have a clue if he was going to consider anything that might or might not happen a path to dating or just hooking up or… something else?  If there are even other options…

After all, the cab ride was only small talk, nothing too forward; maybe the offer of a glass of wine when you got to his house was a little flirty, or maybe it was just polite, you couldn’t be sure.  You accepted the offer regardless, taking a glance around his house while he shuffled off to the kitchen (after hanging up your coat for you).

“It’s a gorgeous place,” you noticed, “and, of course, you’ve decorated it beautifully.”

“Oh, thanks,” he returned, voice raised slightly so you could hear him in the living room.  “Brownstones are so hard to get, you know— but it’s easier when you’re already in real estate.”

“Is this it?” you wondered, approaching a painting he had hung up on one of the walls— something modern, you couldn’t make out the signature, but it looked trendy and interpretive (if not quite as generic as those hotel paintings you’d mocked back at that bar).

“What?  Oh, that one,” he realized as he emerged with a glass of wine in each hand.  “No, my friend actually painted that, it was a gift.”

“Oh!  It’s fun,” you smiled, “you can tell your friend he’s talented.”

“I do,” he agreed as he handed you your glass, “but he doesn’t believe me.  Every six months he swears he’s quitting painting altogether— I can usually convince him to get back into it, but it can take a while.”

“Artists have to face a lot of negativity and rejection,” you hummed.  “I don’t envy them.  Most of the good ones won’t even be appreciated until they’re dead.”

On that morbid note, you paused to take a sip of the wine, which was overall pleasant but nothing too revolutionary.  There were wine experts at Sotheby’s who could probably say more than that, but you were obviously not one of them.  “Don’t tell Anton that,” Harris joked, “he would take it much too literally.”

“Dramatic artistic type, huh?” you assumed, seeing him tilt his head in reluctant agreement.  “I’m familiar— they can be fun, but exhausting, too.  And self-destructive.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he noticed, “let me guess: dumbass ex-boyfriend?”

“More than one, but yes,” you smiled snarkily.

“The painting I wanted to show you is in the dining room,” he finally informed you, gesturing for you to walk with him down the short hallway.

At first glance, you just noticed how well the color scheme of the painting blended with the decor of the dining room— there was a pale green, teal-ish accent to the whole place, but where the chairs and table were modern and minimalist, the painting was of a classic, Romantic style— Impressionistic, even.  You recognized first that it was beautiful, before even worrying about the potential value.

Approaching it, you let yourself get closer than most casual viewers do— looking for any damage or aging— as Harris waited behind you.

“It’s in great condition,” you noticed, “it’s not very old, is it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he agreed.  “Have you heard of the artist?”

“Ilyayev,” you read the signature.  “Yes, it rings a bell.  He’s not usually so subdued.”

“This is subdued?” he realized.  “I always thought it was a little loud.”

“It fits well in the room, though,” you decided, trailing off slightly as you tilted your head to examine it.  “And this is an original?”

“To my understanding.”

You nodded, using your free hand to hold a fist under your chin, as if that would help you discern anything.

“So?  What’s it worth?” he asked, but when you turned around to face him, he was standing a little closer than you realized— not too close, but… close.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” you noticed.  “Your kid could do a finger painting, and it could be priceless; a half-finished sketch is worthless until someone can prove it’s a Rembrandt.  So— what’s it worth to you?”

He pondered that as he finished his glass and set it down on the table, taking a step towards you.  “A lot less than it used to be,” he decided.

“If you’re desperate, I can probably get you five or ten for it— maybe a touch more if I’m willing to call some old contacts at Christie’s and pull your original valuation.”

“I’m not desperate,” he replied, something a little too suave about his tone.

A moment passed, in which something in you— potentially the red wine— told you to stop pretending this was a normal stop by someone’s house to roughly estimate the value of their painting: if the way he’d looked at you when he said what he just said was anything to go by, he was on the verge of acknowledging what this really was.

And if he was going to, then so would you.  You set your glass down on the table.

“You ever heard the saying, don’t shit where you eat?” you asked, making him laugh a little and tilt his head in a sort of relenting expression.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that before,” he replied.

“I try to live by that,” you explained— and even though his reaction indicated that he knew what it meant, he played dumb with a raise of one brow.

“What do you think it means?” he pressed, speaking softly and slowly.  “In this context.”

You took a moment to respond, mostly because you realized he was moving closer to you, his glass set down next to yours on his way.  “Well, I think it means that… if you keep things separate…” you began, lowering your voice as he stepped up to you, “then you can avoid—”

“Contracting e. coli?” he finished for you, making you smile and glance to the side— mostly because, if you didn’t, you’d have to either stare straight forward at his chest, or look up to meet his gaze. 

“I was going to say complications,” you finished instead.

“Right,” he nodded slowly in agreement.  “And you like to keep things simple, don’t you?”

“When I can,” you agreed, but your breath caught a little when his hand rested gently on your hip, fingers tracing gentle and lazy shapes through the fabric of your dress.

Then, finally, you dared to look up at him through your lashes; his gaze was low and watching where his hand was touching you, but it darted up to your own eyes— then your lips.  Fuck.  You weren’t strong enough to think clearly, even if you knew you should reach up and gently push him back; tell him that you were flattered, but that this wasn’t a good idea.

“Well, I think this is pretty simple,” he decided.  

“Oh?” you pressed, smirking slightly.

“Yeah,” he breathed.  “I find you… very attractive,” he said simply, making you swallow a bit, “and I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

You raised an eyebrow.  “Is that all?”

He smiled a little, shaking his head.  “I was trying to be polite.”

But his hand pressed flat against you and snaked around to your lower back, keeping you close; what was the point of mincing his words if he was going to be so forward with his movements?

“But no, that’s not all I want from you,” he added— his eyes were a little darker and you felt paralyzed by them, though you also didn’t really mind it.

You’d been wondering if you could get him to say it; but he did you one better, his free hand cradling the back of your head so he could kiss you.  It wasn’t too hasty or rushed, but hardly a peck either; only a moment after he’d pressed his lips to yours, you felt his tongue gently guide your mouth to open for him.

He leaned over you even more, pressed against you even more, forced your head to tilt back even more— and you hummed against him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck.

It was mostly pretty relaxed at first— no rush to go further, just a chance to enjoy this moment— and you felt like it had been far too long since somebody kissed you like this.  (Or at all, but that was another issue.)  But something definitely changed, if subtly, when you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

You didn’t mean anything by it, specifically, you just kinda thought he had nice hair from the start and you finally had an appropriate time to get away with it; he responded with a low groan and a tighter grip on your waist.  It all got a little more intense after that— your head tilted more and he reached down to get a handful of your ass through the dress which, yes, was a bit unclassy but you were not complaining.  In fact, you just gasped against him and rocked your hips forward against his thigh.

And then, just to be a little shit, he bit your lip: not, you know, too hard or anything, but it startled you.  You tugged on his hair, mostly out of instinct, and then all pretense and patience was out the window.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, and you whimpered as his hand slid up your back, tracing the zipper of your dress— he wasn’t really about to take it off now, right?  Not that you would stop him.

“I want you,” you blurted out, not really even capable of filtering the pathway from your brain to your mouth anymore, and you just felt him nod as he started to guide you backward.

See, the whole push you against the wall idea was great in theory— it really was hot, like something out of a steamy movie scene— but it was just a little too hard.  You were fine with it, actually, but as soon as your back collided with the wall while he pressed himself against you, that damn painting broke off its hook and clattered to the ground.

You both turned to look at it, startled by the loud noise, and watched as it balanced on its side for just a moment before falling face down onto the dining room floor.  Apparently you had some instincts that could override the one that had been running the show just now: you tried to go for it, your inner art preservation expert couldn’t stand to see something flat on the ground like that— you needed to at least check that the frame wasn’t damaged—

But as you reached for it, he smiled and gently guided you back towards him.  “It’s fine,” he promised.

“But—”

“It’s fine,” he said again, a little darker, pinning you back by your shoulders— gently, but the message was clear.  You looked at him shyly, feeling slightly more self-conscious about all this than you had just a moment ago.  It was different without that haziness in your brain; but god, it was almost better when he kissed you again, neither of you quite as drunk on the moment.  You had to admit to yourself, again, how badly you wanted this even knowing it was misguided at best.

And then his lips moved to your neck, making you whine a little and grab onto his shoulders.  “F-fuck,” you gasped, feeling his lips and teeth tease all along your pulse.

“You’re sensitive here,�� he noticed with a small laugh.  “Are you trying to rub yourself on my thigh?”

You hadn’t even noticed— but yes, your hips were rocking forward in search of some friction all of their own accord.  And the gentle condescension of his voice only made you more desperate, honestly.

Irritated by how composed he seemed to be while you were totally losing your mind, you impulsively reached forward and rubbed your hand over his pants— and it wasn’t too hard, no pun intended, to find what you were looking for.

You smirked to yourself when his own hips jerked towards you just a bit, a small sigh falling from his lips; not quite so cocky now, hm?

But you weren’t doing much better, not when you felt how thick he was, not when you could see the outline of him in the slacks.  “Fuckin’ big,” you mumbled without really questioning it, hardly even noticing you said it out loud, and he grinned with a breathless laugh.

“You think so?” he encouraged, not exactly pulling off the humble act.

“Yeah, fuck,” you sighed, instantly getting to work on his belt.

“Shit, okay,” he laughed, “I guess we’re really gonna— oh, fuck.”

You’d managed to open his fly enough to reach inside and wrap your fingers around him, feeling him get harder in your grip.  

He purred and kissed you again, hungry but slow.  You couldn’t really stroke him at this angle, but you ran your fingertips along the shape of him and smiled when you felt him shiver.  “C’mon, not here,” he decided as he pulled back slightly.  “Let’s go to the bedroom.” 

Taking your hand out of his trousers, you let him guide you there.  As he stepped into the room with you just behind, he flipped on a lamp in the corner that lit the room with a dim golden glow— the curtains were drawn so only a few slivers of reflected city lights could peek in.  You were thankful for the darkness, actually, as you would’ve found this a bit awkward in harsh, direct lighting.  The room had a sensualness to it that matched him perfectly; you kicked off your flats quickly as you stepped in.

He sat on the corner of the bed, taking your hand and gently pulling you towards him, looking at you with a kind but expectant smile.  “C’mere,” he mumbled under his breath, reaching up to trace your silhouette lightly.  He had a delicateness and carefulness to everything he did, but you weren’t feeling quite so patient.

You quickly went to your knees in front of him, thankful for the plush carpet as you started to tug his pants down.

He laughed a little.  “You really wanna—?”

“Yeah,” you answered quickly, licking your lips as his cock bounced free and curved up to his stomach.  You weren’t sure why but you just needed to do this to him— you already decided it, didn’t feel like being polite and, you know, asking.  Thankfully, the way he ran his hands over his hair was obviously encouraging, it seemed like he was more than happy to let you go ahead.

As soon as you had the chance to get your hands around it again, your mouth was around the head, and he groaned lowly above you.  “Fuck,” he breathed, and you hummed as you swirled your tongue around him.

Maybe it was hasty, but you started to bob your head and move your hand along with it, finding the pace that made his hand tighten to a fist in your hair and doing your best to stay steady there.  The size of him was a bit of a challenge, you couldn’t go that far down yet and your jaw was already a little sore from being open so wide, but that didn’t faze you in the slightest.  If anything it just gave you a challenge to work towards, patiently taking just a little more with each stroke, tasting whatever your tongue could reach in the meantime.

When you gagged as the tip brushed against your throat, he purred a bit; it was obvious his ego got a boost from that, which was a little concerning since he was already plenty cocky enough.

Maybe you were trying to humble him a bit by stopping, pulling your mouth off and moving your hand out of the way so you could give him one long lick: starting all the way at one of his tightened balls and going up to the very tip, tickling the opening there for a second.  He shuddered, his cock flexing up as if trying to get back into your mouth, and then he started to laugh breathlessly.

“Fuck, you’re…” he began, then shook his head.  “I’m really glad you came over tonight.”

You laughed a little, too, because that seemed like a weird thing to say at a time like this— but, you also agreed with him.

The hand on your head moved back and brushed over the back of your neck as he found the zipper of your dress; he leaned over you to lower it slowly, opening it all the way to the bottom.  “Stand up,” he requested softly, and as you did, his hands grabbed the hem and pulled it to the floor, letting the garment circle your feet.  He hummed a bit as he admired you in your bra and underwear— you would’ve picked nicer ones if you’d known this was happening tonight, but if you’d known this was happening tonight, you would’ve missed out on all this sexy spontaneous energy.  At least your panties had a bit of lace around the hips and were free of old period stains… that was a win in your book.

Regardless of if they weren’t your fanciest, Harrison seemed perfectly happy with the sight of you like this.  His hands rubbed your thighs gently, and he leaned forward to plant a few soft kisses to your hip and lower stomach.  He looked up at you, and his expression was inherently pleading and pathetic from this angle, but it was obvious that he was still totally in control.

“Fuck,” he whispered yet again, his breath tickling your skin, “so pretty.”

He carefully pulled the panties down, and never broke his eyes away from you as he did it; you felt slightly nervous from being so exposed like that, but his reverent sigh kept you from feeling insecure.

“God, you’re perfect,” he decided.

“N-no, definitely not,” you chuckled awkwardly, stepping out of the underwear and adding them to the pile with your dress.

“You are,” he insisted, “come here.”

He guided you to straddle his lap, still looking up at you but from much closer now.  For some reason you were expecting him to say something else, so it was a bit of a shock— in a good way— when he guided your hips and lowered you down onto his cock.  You gasped from the suddenness and the stretch, then whimpered as his lips found your neck.

“Oh my god,” he breathed before he’d even finished filling you, “you’re so fucking wet…”

When you were completely seated on his thighs, a shiver ran up your back: it was deep, a little deeper than you bargained for, and you had to take a shaky breath to try to adjust to it.  One hand stayed at your side but another moved down to pet your thigh soothingly— he must’ve been able to tell you were struggling a little.

“Take your time,” he encouraged sweetly, “I’ve got you.”

Both of you exhaled deeply when you lifted yourself up slightly just to drop down again; he pulled you down to bury himself as deep in you as he could go, and a quiet yelp jumped from your throat.

He wasn’t holding you tight enough to keep you from moving, but he kept a strong grip on you as you started to carefully set your pace.  You whimpered when the motion made your clit rub against him.  “Feels good?” he asked, sweet with a hint of smugness.

“Yeah,” you breathed, dropping your head onto his shoulder.  “Fuck, yeah, feels good…”

He started to unbutton his shirt, and you tried to help him, but your shaky fingers weren’t going to do much; you could at least help him get the undershirt off, which you pulled almost too eagerly off his head before kissing him again.

He hummed proudly as you rocked your hips a bit further— not faster, yet.  The stretch was still making your toes curl, he could probably see that when you broke the kiss.  But the slight sting only served to increase the pleasure, and the pleasure helped your body relax to take him more easily.  Soon, you felt that energy building within you, that ache for something more: you rocked your hips faster, chasing after your mounting pleasure.

You moaned louder, tangling some fingers into his hair.  

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing against your clavicle and hands running up your back encouragingly.  “Fuck, that’s so good— baby—”

You whimpered and held tighter to his shoulders, gasping into the crook of his neck, increasing the speed of your motions yet again.  Those hands on your back started to work on your bra’s clasp— you had barely noticed you were still wearing it, clearly you’d been sidetracked— and helped you slip it off your shoulders.  Of course you expected him to grab your chest after that, maybe carefully pinch a nipple between his finger and thumb, but the way he instantly latched his lips onto you caught you off guard in the best way.  “Oh!” you gasped, tossing your head back suddenly.  “Oh, fuck, Harris—”

He hummed proudly, his tongue flicking your bud inside the wet warmth of his mouth.  He broke away and kissed a path to the other: once, he bit you lightly, and you tensed up inside.

His grin was just diabolical then, and one of his hands gave your ass a smack to make you moan and flex again.  But then he got back to work, spoiling your other breast with licks and kisses and playful brushes of his teeth.  Your grip on his hair tightened, and you began to bounce more eagerly on his lap than ever.  

The friction of your clit against his skin was good, but it wasn’t quite enough— maybe he read your mind or something, because he looked up at you as he slipped one hand between your bodies and held his hand against your lower stomach.  He just pressed down at first, gently, but enough to feel his cock moving within you.  Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he lowered his thumb down to your clit and gave it some attention too.

“Ah, god,” you groaned deeply, shivering as his thumb drew circles on the bud.  He kept watching you intently, studying your face which surely revealed how wrecked you were already.  It didn’t take much of that to push you right to the edge— he didn’t have to be fast or hard about it, just consistent, to make you fall apart.  “I-I’m close,” you admitted with a gasp.

“Wanna see it,” he purred.  “Wanna see you come.  C’mon, baby, show me.”

You clenched your teeth together hard, summoning the physical strength to move as fast as you needed to, desperate to come for your own sake but happy to appease him as well.  His eyes on you were so overwhelming, his hand on you was too, but you loved it; it all came to him so naturally, like he already knew your body as well as his own.  It made you feel a little predictable, a little… silly, for lack of a better word.  Weirdly enough, you kinda liked that too.

As you finally reached your climax, all the energy in your body seeming to tighten up and center at one point, you worried your moans were loud enough to be heard in the adjoining houses.  But he was happier than ever, smiling widely at you as you were overcome with ecstatic sensations.

You wanted to stay in it forever, and it really felt like that as long as you kept moving it could just keep going and going and going… but sadly, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.  Your legs quivered and your hips faltered, and you were forced to slow to a stop as soreness and exhaustion caught up with you.  Damn, I need to get back in the gym, you thought to yourself for a second, before you blinked and found him still staring proudly at you. Or maybe I can just keep doing this for my workouts…

“You sound so pretty when you come,” he praised.  “Can you do it again?”

“Y-yeah, probably, but not… not like this,” you sighed, “too tired.”

“S’okay, honey,” he assured sweetly, holding you close and turning to quickly drop you on the bed.  You giggled a little as he hovered over you, but when he moved again, it all felt so different: he hit different places inside you, especially when he held your legs and pressed them forward to all but fold you in half.  

Your eyes rolled back when he gave his first thrust into you like that.  “Fuck,” you growled, hardly believing how your own voice sounded at that moment.  He chuckled proudly and did it again, really savoring the feeling and rolling his hips teasingly.

Turns out, your thigh and hip muscles might’ve been done for the night, your inner muscles were as happy as ever to flex and pulse with every drag of his cock against them.  “Fuckin’ tight,” he praised roughly.  “God, you feel so good.”

You whimpered a little, gripping the sheets under you.  He turned his face to kiss along your calf, beside your knee, basically anywhere on your leg he could reach— and you weren’t sure you’d ever felt so worshipped.  You whined properly then, and his fingers gripped tighter onto your thighs; him holding and positioning the body just how he wanted was so erotic and dominating, yet he used his power not to satisfy himself but to give you exactly what he knew you needed.  Clearly he was the generous type…

Truth be told, you weren’t a good judge of how much time passed during all that: the pleasure seemed endless, and you constantly lost yourself in the feeling until he shifted himself above you and sharply brought you back to reality with a punch of his hips.  “Oh, that’s it,” he praised, before even you had realized you were getting closer again.  “That’s it, baby, I can feel it—”

“Oh god,” you whined, fluttering your eyes shut.  “Yes!”

He growled through his teeth, moving your legs out of the way so he could press himself against you; you felt surrounded by him, filled by him…completely helpless to him, and it was wonderful.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on as tight as you could as he pounded into you.  “I’m coming!” you shouted, and it came out all whiny and wimpy but you couldn’t do anything about that now: pleasure was crashing over you so hard you struggled to even breathe.  You definitely stopped breathing, for at least a few seconds, and your vision had little dots that flashed and twirled around like glitter or something.

Only when you let out the air you were holding did reality seem to catch up with you.  You felt yourself go a bit limp, you suddenly became aware again of the bed under you and the man above you and the pins and needles in your fingers and toes.  “So good,” he praised in your ringing ears, his pace having slowed down a bit to not overwhelm you, “you’re so good for me, huh?”

“Me? You’re good,” you returned with a thin laugh.  “You’re so— fuck, that was incredible.”

“Yeah?  Looked incredible,” he agreed, “felt incredible.  Feelin’ your little pussy squeeze me like that…”

You shivered at the lovely filthiness of his words.  

“Fuck, should I pull out?” he groaned roughly.  You shook your head quickly.  “Inside?”

You nodded, and you felt a small laugh fan against your neck.

“Really?  God, that’s so hot…”

As he trailed off, his thrusts became faster and more aggressive, forcing your back to arch up off the bed even when your body was totally spent.  He chanted curses with every breath, mumbled something about how good you felt— and then he shuddered and let out the loveliest shaky groan you could imagine.  

His grip on your thighs loosened, and you felt a new heat and wetness between your legs compared to before.  Slowly, he started to catch his breath, and you felt like the two of you were in the same half-dream together, soaking in the same afterglow.

When both of you were a bit more conscious, he sat up a bit; as sexy as getting filled with come, or filling with someone with come, can be… the after part can be a little unsexy.  But then again, maybe that’s true of all sex.

“Hold on, I, uh— I have some… tissues…” he mumbled with a rough voice, reaching over you to his nightstand and pulling some Kleenex from a box.

“Convenient,” you noticed, and you hadn’t meant it as an accusation, but he smiled with a hint of nervousness. 

“They’re, uh, not normally for this,” he assured as he brought the handful of tissues back with him, sitting up more instead of leaning over you.  “I really don’t do this kind of thing very often—”

“O-oh, I wasn’t—” you interrupted.  “I mean, it’s fine if you do.  Wait, do you mean you don’t have hook-ups often?  Or you don’t, uh, have to clean up creampies often?”

He laughed, dropping his head above you like he couldn’t believe you, but he seemed endeared by it anyway.  “Uh, neither,” he explained.  “So, this is a hook-up then?”

Now that you were on the other end of the personal questions, you felt a bit more awkward about it.  “Um, well…” you trailed off.

“‘Cause I was kinda hoping I could take you out to dinner sometime.”

“Right, yeah— I mean, you can,” you agreed.

“Maybe I should ask you again after I’ve cleaned you up a bit,” he noticed.  “You’ll be more impartial.”

“Sure,” you agreed with a little chuckle, and he leaned back to get a better look at where your bodies were still joined, as if assessing the damage.  

“Let’s see if I can…” he trailed off, mostly talking to himself as he tried to find the best angle to get the tissues under you before he pulled out and inevitably let the mess flow out of you.

“It’s kinda like Indiana Jones,” you blurted out, and he gave you a quizzical look.  “You know, like, with the golden idol and the sand bag… you gotta get the dick out and then catch everything with the tissues…”

After a short silence, he laughed and shook his head a bit.  “Indiana Jones,” he repeated.  “You’re a trip.  I love it.”

He seemed to get more serious again for a second as he did it— pulling back and quickly using the tissues to gently wipe up the trail of come that leaked from your opening— but then he started to laugh softly again.  

“I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head,” he announced.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he soothed.  “I mean, I guess being compared to Indiana Jones in bed is pretty much always a good thing.”

You laughed a little, too, and his eyes widened as he pressed the tissues up to you again; apparently your laugh had pushed a little more out.

“Okay, I think that’s as good as that’s gonna get for now,” he decided as he laid down beside you on the bed, turned onto his side to look at you with a smile.  He laid his hand on your waist, stroking your flushed skin with his thumb.  “You are… really incredible.”

You wanted to refute the compliment, but you knew he wouldn’t let you; “Thanks,” you mumbled nervously.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Do you even need to ask?” you scoffed.  “I haven’t come that hard in… I don’t even know.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he smirked.  “Can I get you some water?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you agreed with a nod, and he sat up to slip off the bed— not too fast, you noticed, indicating he was feeling some of that tiredness you were.

Finding his boxers discarded near the bed, he slipped them back on and crossed the room, smiling at you one more time before disappearing out of the doorway.

You took the moment alone to process all that had just happened, as best you could at least.  You sort of knew what you were getting yourself into by coming over to Harris’ place, but you couldn’t have predicted this: how forward and aggressive yet sensual he was, how amazing he would make you feel.  And then that it wouldn’t just be one night but, apparently, something he wanted to continue… you were smiling to yourself, without even realizing.  Of course you shouldn’t be hooking up with— or dating— or whatever— somebody from your work… but aren’t all the most fun decisions also the riskiest ones?

When he came back with a bottle of Evian, your eyes widened.  “Woah, woah, I thought you were just gonna use the tap,” you chuckled, “this is too much.”

“Oh, it’s the least you deserve,” he grinned, sitting next to you on the bed and handing it to you as you sat up a bit.

“So is the quality of the water proportionally to the quality of the sex?” you asked before taking your first sip.

“Totally,” he joked.  “Dasani for the truly mediocre encounters.”

You snorted before drinking more from the bottle and setting it aside on the nightstand.  “Sorry about your painting, by the way,” you mumbled.  “It’s… probably worth less now that it fell on its face.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.  “I think I’ve got something more valuable in front of me now.”

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Watching Harmony Forest instead of writing my last two college essays…but it’s okay because looking at Intak will make me motivated to drink water finish my finals assignments so I can look at Intak even MORE and with less stress!!!

But seriously you want me to write eight pages on communication and character when I could instead watch brunette Intak in a cap win at dodgeball?? One of those is clearly the better option

[falesten-iw]

When I first joined Tumblr, I had no idea what I was walking into. There’s no manual for navigating this wild, untamed corner of the internet. My first moment here? I was greeted by an image completely naked, no warning, no explanation. It was just there, bold and unapologetic. That’s when I realized: Tumblr is a place where anything can happen.

But for all its chaos, Tumblr has become something far greater than I ever expected. For us Palestinians, this platform isn’t just a space to scroll through memes or vent about life. It’s a lifeline, a place where we’ve taken the raw, messy energy of this site and turned it into a battleground for survival. Here, we tell our stories, raise funds, and fight for our lives.

I’ve seen campaigns soar past their goals, bringing hope to families barely holding on. But I’ve also seen campaigns like mine, ones that fight tooth and nail for every single dollar, every reblog, every addition, and every ounce of hope. My family’s lives depend on this.

It hasn’t been easy. Zionists flood all Palestinian words with hate, twisting truths and spreading lies. They aim to discredit us, to make people doubt us. It’s exhausting. Some nights, I sit with my phone in my hands, wondering if this fight is too big for me. But then something beautiful happens: a donation comes through, a kind message appears, or someone I’ve never met reblogs my story with words that feel like a warm embrace.

And through it all, people are starting to see the truth. The hate doesn’t drown us; it sharpens our voices. Every day, more people step forward to stand with us, to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I’m with you.” It’s those moments that keep me going.

To everyone who has already helped, whether through verification, donating, wrting post , reblogging, or simply sharing a kind word: thank you. You’ve done more for my family than I could ever put into words. But the reality is, we’re not there yet. My family is still waiting for a chance to breathe, to live without fear, to fill their empty stomachs with warm food, and to wrap themselves in clothes thick enough to keep out the bitter cold. They’re hungry, they’re freezing, and I can’t do this alone.

This fight is hard, but it’s not hopeless. Strangers have become friends, and friends have become family. Some of you have shown up in ways I never imagined, treating my family’s survival as if it were your own. That kind of solidarity? It’s powerful.

Tumblr might be chaotic, unpredictable, and sometimes downright bizarre, but it’s also the place where we’ve built something extraordinary: a community that refuses to look away from injustice. With your help, we can take this fight all the way. My family’s lives are within reach, and together, I know we’ll get there.

This campaign isn’t just about me. It supports 26 people, including two orphaned children and an injured family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. Surgery is desperately needed to replace the infected and failing plates. The needs are urgent, and the future of 26 lives depends on your support.

The video showing the injured family member is shared before in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

-

“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance. 

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight Series’)

For the first time in a long time, Simon feels as if he’s walking on eggshells

He’s 6’4”, easily over 200 pounds of bulking muscle, strikes fear into the heart of each and every enemy he comes across (should they live to tell the tale that is), and yet he feels as though he’s tiptoeing, practically dancing around the issue he refuses to address

Yet you make him feel this way

It’s been months now, of this dance you still haven’t realized you’re apart of, shining on centre stage under the constant spotlight of Simon Riley’s attention, rather than one of the background performers as you seem to believe

He feels as though he’s done everything he can to get the point across to you, other than literally getting down on one knee and asking you those four special words he can’t seem to get himself to speak out loud

As easy as it is to pretend you two truly are husband and wife ‘til death do you part, he’s instead having to watch you leave base in exchange for your lonely flat each night, reminded of the fact that he’s not ballsy enough to just come out and say it to you

You make the Lieutenant nervous for fucks sake, something he hasn’t truly felt in so long he’s grasping for straws, searching for a life raft in these uncharted waters to help him stay afloat

That’s part of why he’s so confused when Gaz finally joins him and Soap in the gun range, landing a friendly smack across the taller man’s broad shoulders, saying something about how he’s ‘really happy for you LT, finally properly asked her, aye?’

“What are you goin’ on about?” Ghost practically grunts out, readjusting the weapon against his shoulder as he glances through the scope of his gun, only partly interested in what the Sergeants answer is, that is until he hears him mention your name

“Just saw her at her desk, talkin’ about how she has a wedding this weekend-” Gaz has barely finished his sentence before Ghost is whipping his skull clad head around, shoving his weapon into Soap’s arms, and beelining out of the armoury towards you, leaving a pair of chuckling Sergeants behind him

They’ve never seen their Lieutenant so whipped before. And the fact that you don’t even know you have this beast of a man wrapped around your dainty little finger makes it all the more entertaining for them

They totally haven’t taken bets on how long it takes for him to break and finally confess his feelings, and Price definitely didn’t put money down on it either

Ghost may as well float into the room on a cloud he’s feeling so overjoyed at the idea of finding you sat at your desk all pretty, chit chatting away with colleagues about the wedding you’ve finally realized he intends to give you, taking all the pressure off of him

Instead, he rounds the corner and overhears the last tidbits of your conversation, pretending as though his stomach doesn’t drop out of him and onto the floor when he realizes you’re telling your desk mate about your sisters wedding this weekend

He should’ve know better, it wouldn’t be that easy

“-not that I’m embarrassed to go without someone. That I don’t care so much about.” He hears you explain, failing to have noticed him behind you quite yet. “God knows it’s been ages since I’ve gone on an actual date anyways. But this is the first time I’m a bridesmaid, and my sister keeps saying I’m apparently the only bridesmaid without a date-”

“Well aren’t you going to bring your husband?” Your colleague asks, cutting you off. Just like everyone else on base, she knows thinks you are in fact Mrs Riley, for all intents and purposes. You open your mouth to correct her and tell her you don’t have a husband, when a deep voice comes up behind you and speaks first.

“‘Course she is.” Ghost replies for you, coming to stand behind you in your chair, sneaking a gloved hand onto your shoulder to offer a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. You lean your head back to glance up at him, offering a soft smile that melts his heart more and more each time he’s lucky enough to see it, to be the reason for it. Sensing she’s now the odd one out, your coworker quietly excuses herself and goes to find someone else to talk water cooler gossip with.

“Oh Ghost! Hi!” You say, reaching your own hand up to squeeze his in return, smile widening when you notice the crinkles next to his eyes that you hope mean he’s smiling as well under the mask. “Oh, you really don’t have to. I mean- I wouldn’t want you to waste a day off just to sit through a stranger’s wedding for who knows how many hours. I barely want to go.”

You try to joke about it, but this really has been causing you unnecessary stress. Your sister apparently doesn’t have enough wedding planning on her plate as it is, seeing as she has enough time to constantly pester you about whether you’ve secured a date yet or not, despite your answer always being no. She knows it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone seriously, and that finding a date will be more of a chore than showing up without one and enduring your relative comments and questions.

Each time you told her no though, your mind wandered to the tall, dark, muscular man who liked to call himself your husband, imagining the looks on your family’s face if you were to show up with Ghost on your arm. But you never bothered to ask him, not wanting to force him into extending his kindness and charade of a happily married couple outside of work hours.

“I’d be with you for those ‘who knows how many hours?’” Ghost asks, quoting you, watching as you offer him a simple nod in return. “Then that’s the farthest thing from a waste o’ time in my books, love.”

As simple as that, the plan was set. Ghost would be your date to the wedding that weekend.

Now, Ghost was used to not having very much to look forward to in life. He could look forward to a hot shower occasionally, look forward to good pub food instead of mess hall dinners, look forward to a chance to sleep in a little later, simpler things of the sort.

But when you came into his life, he was suddenly looking forward to equally simple, but different things. He looked forward to reading your cute replies to his good morning and good night texts (he still never misses a single one, all these months later), looked forward to seeing your sweet smile greeting him when you arrived to work, looked forward to hearing your pleased hum when you took your first sip of whatever drink he prepared you that day. Essentially, he looked forward to seeing you.

Now though, he feels as if this weekend cannot come soon enough, finding himself practically giddy he’s looking forward to spending more time with you off base so much, feeling like a kid who’s itching to get their hands on their new Christmas gifts.

When he arrives at your flat almost a half hour too early (he just couldn’t wait anymore lovie, you can’t blame the poor man), and you open the door to greet him, he doesn’t think it’s fair to compare this to a gift under the Christmas tree.

No. It’s more like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

Standing before him, is the most beautiful, breathtaking vision he’s ever laid eyes upon in all his years. He half wonders if his knees are legitimately beginning to wobble where he stands, he feels so weak in the knees as he gazes upon you in your doorway. It’s still just you, the same woman he’s been seeing every day and dreaming of each night.

But you don’t look like you have every day these past months. Your hair is styled differently, your make up is a little more done up, and the thing that’s really got his mind reeling, is that instead of your regular work attire, you’re wearing a dress so stunning he half wonders whether or not you are the bride this evening. There’s no possible way someone so beautiful is expected to stand on the sidelines tonight, expected to be anyone apart from the star of the show, the centre of his the world.

You don’t take much notice of the way Ghost fails to greet you properly, standing outside your door and practically gawking at you, seeing as you’re preoccupied doing the same to him. His usual fatigues and black everything have been swapped out for black dress pants, a white button up shirt (your eyes definitely do not linger on the top three buttons being left undone, nope, not at all) and a black blazer, matching black surgical mask in exchange for the typical skeleton mask.

You two blushing, bumbling idiots in secret love manage to pull yourselves together enough to make the drive up to the venue, the car ride filled with laughter, stories, and too many stolen glances to count, each of you wishing you could pull the car over somewhere and jump each others bones instead.

At the venue, you go through the obligatory introductions with your family, simply so they couldn’t say you didn’t say hello at least once throughout the busy night, only partially intent on ignoring them later on. They’re left understandably stunned at the mention that the man beside you is your husband, and when your family members begin unloading question after question, the two of you manage to find a quick excuse each time to dash off, giggling and holding onto the other as you weave the growing crowd of guests, all too proud of your little inside joke.

You regretfully tell him that you’ll have to leave him to sit alone throughout the ceremony, though he insists you shouldn’t worry about it, lifting your spirits momentarily when he jokes that you should focus more on not tripping during your walk down the aisle, before the both of you are left bright red in the face at hearing him talking about you walking down an aisle, as if you don’t pretend to be married every day to begin with.

He truly doesn’t mind having to sit on the tiny foldable chairs that make up the seating for the ceremony, it’s only a small portion of the evening after all. And besides, his eyes certainly aren’t on the couple reciting their vows up at the altar. No, his gaze is on one person and one person only. From the moment the music kicked in and pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped out to walk the aisle in their matching attire and matching smiles, his eyes have been locked on you, just as yours have been locked on his.

His size certainly helped you pick him out of the crowd with more ease, finding him amongst the familiar and unfamiliar faces instantly, as though gravity was pulling your gaze in his direction alone. Later on, neither of you could even correctly point out amongst the groomsmen whose arm you were holding on to as you walked, attention only focused on each other.

Even as you stood up front, listening to your sister and new brother in law profess their love for the other, you tried your best to appear as though you were paying them your full attention, considering you were standing up at the front and all. But it was as though you could literally feel Ghost’s eyes on you the entire ceremony, unable to stop your eyes from straying towards him more times than was surely appropriate, feeling the heat of a blush creep over your cheeks every time you saw how devastatingly handsome he was today.

By the time the newlyweds are marching back down the aisle past their cheering loved ones, wedding party in tow, your eyes are no longer pretending to look anywhere other than at him. And Simon is looking back at you, but his mind is growing preoccupied, thinking of how he can finally ensure you’ll let him walk you down the aisle now.

Because in the glove compartment of the very car he drove you up here in, only inches away from your knees the entire drive, he’s tucked away a small little box, containing the exact ring you chose from the jeweller all those weeks ago. He carries it with him everywhere, eager for the moment, the opportunity to be lucky enough to truly call himself your husband and slip the band over your finger as his wife.

And he’s decided that tonight is the night he tells you.

The night he tells you this has never been a joke to him, never been anything apart from what he really wants to be true from the moment he saw you.

To call you his wife.

[mydarlingclaudia]

lalala I’m not immune to him… butcher Simon and fem!reader

wc : 882

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

sigh. Butcher!Simon Riley.

You're new in town, you need a job, you need to have something to do. Too bad that no one besides the small coffee shop a few minutes away was hiring, you got the job, but they could only offer you time to work in the mornings.

After the first week, one of your coworkers told you about the butcher shop down the street that could really use some help (even though the owner refused to put up a sign in the window or anything of the sort), it really wasn't an awful idea to give it a shot, yeah?

The first thing you notice when you walk into the small shop is that the man behind the counter is huge, like, stereotypical slasher kind of huge with a few scars on his face to really sell the look. He hardly pays you any mind, just a small glance and "What'cha gettin'?" while he wipes his hands on his apron.

You panic, mumble out that a few slices of pepperoni and salami is fine, then watch him work for a few odd moments before you ask him if there's any chance you could get a job there.

He once again just glances at you before handing the meat off to you and telling you to come back the next day at 4:30.

So– you get the job.

Simon–your boss's name, apparently–figured there was no harm in hiring you, you'd be working in the afternoon and cutting meat isn't too difficult. Plus, seeing your face light up when he told you the good news made him feel better.

The whole thing comes almost naturally, you don't mind the clean-up that needs to be done afterwards and you're good with the customers, it certainly makes everything easier for Simon. Another good thing is that he lives right above the shop, so if there's no customers that day, he'll just send you home, he can come downstairs if someone knocks on the door.

He's stopped by the coffee shop a few times, too, he normally makes a comment along the lines of "Busy girl, aye?" or "See you in an hour." but it’s easy to brush off.

It’s only after a couple of months when Simon really starts to talk to you, before it had just been him asking about your day or talking about shipments and customers, but now it’s asking about your favorite movies and if you’ve gone to that nice restaurant just outside of town yet, if you’ve got any plans for the weekend and “Wanna know somethin’ funny?”

Turns out he was in some kind of military, you only found out when he had leaned over the counter when someone was ordering and a pair of dog tags slid out from the front of his shirt. Simon tucked them back under his shirt when the customer left, so you thought it was better not to ask.

Anyway, he keeps getting friendlier with you. Telling you that you could take more of the tips from the tip jar was, going out to get lunch for the both of you and evening bringing you food he made from time to time, offering to walk you home, normal things. What you considered a bit odd was when he’d start helping you adjust your jacket whenever you’d put it on to leave or when he’d bring you actual gifts like earrings and sweaters that he said he didn’t need anymore.

Even though you thought it was strange, you liked it, Simon’s a lot sweeter than he looks.

Watching him work is great, too. You’re in no way complaining that you get to see the muscles underneath his shirt flexing nearly everyday, the doting and pet names he calls you are another added bonus.

Once you’ve been working there for nearly a year, he starts inviting you up to his apartment for dinner and insisting that you should just stay with him when the weather is bad. You just brush it off each time, saying you don’t want to intrude and that a little bit of snow wouldn’t hurt you, but the look in his eyes makes your gut twist and you almost say yes.

If that wasn’t enough for you to want to go home with him, then maybe the soft touches would be. Whenever Simon’s hands were clean, there’d always be a steadying hand on your back or a gentle squeeze to your hip when he passes behind you.

Besides, the time Simon decided the shop was closing early when it was almost time for you to go home for the night had been special, but that’s because he asked you, “Y’doin’ anythin’ tonight?” when you were putting on your jacket.

You never do much of anything at home, so you thought nothing of it when you shook your head and turned to the door, but once again, his big hands found their way to your waist and a kiss was planted to the corner of your eye before you could really process that Simon was ushering you out and walking beside you.

”Then we’re goin’ out tonight, ‘kay? Proper like.” You weren’t going to say no, and his hand that squeezed more made it feel like he was planning on keeping you.

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo'66 au ! old!serial killer! rafe x young!sugardoll!reader

warnings : daddy issues/kink. slight of rafe having a god complex. smut. sick love/obssession/behavior. age gap. size kink. gunplay. spit. mean!dark!rafe. mentions of kidnapping/murdering. dark content. be careful with the warnings.

author's note : i think a lot about rafe having a god complex. and the way it could fix him to have a girl who cherish him and love him like he's just the only one. as the same i think a lot of rafe being a cult!leader with a sweet lamb. anyways, enjoy !

you knew you weren't allowed to touch his gun, but you couldn't pretend that the forbidden rules didn't excite you either. the proof being that you were still with rafe even though he had kidnapped you. you had found the glock in the drawer, and now you were having fun with it to the point where you hadn't heard your jailer come home. you were too captivated by the handgun to pay attention to that.

“ will you teach me how to shoot ? ” you asked in a soft tone.

“ obviously not. but i can swear to you that if you don't put the gun right in my hand in a second, i will show you how i use it. especially on a little tiny thing like you. now stop playing and give it to me, sugardoll. i already told you to not get on my nerves. ”

“ are you a serial killer or something ? ” you said to him, not aware about his job.

“ no obviously, i'm a babysitter. see ? how well i care about little silly girls ? ” he answered with the most sarcastic tone. “ i think you already know what i am, but you like playing dumb. because you're desperate for my attention. you need me to explain things, to satisfy your need of validation. that's right ? ”

he moved from his place, and placed himself behind you, your small body caged against his bigger size. you could feel all the pressure of his strength on you, and you started to shiver when his breath came near to your ears.

“ since you want to play with daddy's gun so bad, i'm willing to give you what you want. ”

“ no, i don't want to play anymore ! ”

“ oh i'm afraid to tell it's too easy like that, sugar. the game doesn't stop when you decide. the game stops when i’m done playing. got it ? nod your head if you got it.”

you really started to be his doll, accepting to nod whenever he wants, to use you whenever he feels the need, to move whenever he decides. when you nodded your head, giving him a little look, he grabbed the gun.

“ you will kill me ? don't, i can be good ! ”

“ you can ? no, you will. choose your words better, sugardoll. why are you crying right now ? the worse it yet to come actually. now, open that pretty mouth of yours. ”

you refused, shaking your head. you were terrified that he would kill you.

“ i said open it. if i have to repeat it, i swear that i will snap dry this gun further in your cunt, and everytime a sound will come out your mouth, pushing it deeper inside. do you understand me ? now, don't you want to be a baby sugardoll, full of kindness and sweetness ? show me how sweet and pretty you are for me. and listen to me. ”

with tears on your cheeks, you slowly opened your mouth. you could feel rafe’s smile against your neck. you were so submissive, the perfect victim. he had chosen you well the day he saw you. like a true serial killer, he never missed his prey.

“ this is why you call me sugardoll ? ”

“ see ? i'm good enough to give you a nickname. ”

it was sick but you smiled, you felt like you were special in his eyes. maybe rafe had a collection of little dolls but you felt unique.

“ don't kill me. i'm begging you. ”

“ fuck, you don't know how hard you make me when you're desperate like that. but trust me, i will make you see soon how good you make me feel. it will be your reward for being this sweet for me, sugardoll.”

he spread your legs, holding them wide with his strong hand covering your trembling thigh while his other hand brought the front of the gun down onto your skin. passing the coldness of steel across your tummy, while you shivered at the thought of dying. when he got to your underwear. you had heard his smirk.

"oh sure, you don't want to die. you want to be fucked. it's so wet here, i could stick the gun in without even preparing you, it would slide off so easily.” his mocked tone made you yelp.

“ i'm not controlling myself ! ”

“ and you don't need too. let me take care of you. keep your mouth open. i will put my gun in. ”

“ i can't do this ! it seems very dangerous…”

“ then suck it well, sugar. especially, if you don't want me to empty the gun on your gorgeous throat. ” he warned you, while pressing his lips on your neck. it was not a kiss, but you were so soft for this little touch. you wanted to please him, to see him proud of you.

he rushed the pistol between your wet plump lips, and you almost choked on it. “ be careful, doll, daddy's gun it's loaded. ” he said with a smile that made your tears even saltier.

while you had started to do your job, his fingers were lightly pressed on the surface, fiddled with the trigger. he loved seeing your petrified eyes, he loved feeling your blood freeze inside your veins, the way you resembled a frightened and helpless animal. you were defenseless and he had no limits.

you lapped at the cold metal at first, your tongue rolling over the barrel, swirling like a needy pet, and licking every bit of the object. you didn't waste anything, moistening the weapon with your own spit, some trails dripped down your tits. rafe had pushed the gun farther, almost into your throat. you choked, a trail of saliva raining over your jaw.

there was nothing amusing about it, but he found it fun. you sucked like your life depended on it even though let's be honest, it did. you moved back and forth quickly, rushed every movement with a softly sloppy gasp. he loved, no he adored the view of your ruined face and your mouth stuffed by the cold weapon. your great job made his dick painfully hard. you could feel the gun under your tongue, and the way it abused you. you drooled, a batch of saliva engulfing one side of the charger.

“ slow down, sugardoll, you're about to melt. ”

you felt dirty for being turned on by something so humiliating, the way you were pathetic for every single thing he introduced you to. it was as if he knew what you wanted, and how to exploit it. he could destroy you as well as shape you. you were nothing but the doll he wanted to play with. he knew more than anyone how to make you feel good. he knew well how to play with his toys.

you were killing him slowly with the way you were going about it, your pink tongue tickling the barrel, your mouth swallowing the entirety of his gun. every inch moved in and out of your parted lips. you lost count of the number of times you almost choked to the point you could throw up, you did your best.

the cold air of the room hit the soaked fabric of your underwear. it had gotten so wet down there.

you tried to focus on this dangerous game but you saw his bulge growing, his crotch distorting his pants.

“ keep sucking, i'm not done. ”

“ but ..."

he ignored you and took off his pants and boxers, freeing his hard cock. the next minute he was inside you, completely buried to the point where you could feel him all the way to your stomach. you salivated on the handgun, making a rain all over it.

as he filled you up, his thick cock abusing your tight pussy, the position was totally different, you were lying there, still the gun in your mouth, but now he was fucking you. his eyes were on you, and you could feel that motivating him even more to pounded you. your juices pooled on the surface the deeper he went. the slobber gathered around the metal. he rushed away your tears with his thumb.

“ stop whining, sugardoll. you can't cry when daddy takes you so well. ”

you really wanted to listen to him but it was too much for you. you were full of tears and they constantly wanted to come out, even when you felt good. but it was like the more you cried, the more he bullied your pussy, and by that, giving you more reasons to whine.

“ jesus, i'm pretty sure that you really like that gun in your mouth. ” he said with a firm thrust that made you squirm, your eyes wettering as the sentence. “ you like being this pathetic ? don't worry, i got you, i'm not judging you, but don't mind if i take advantage of it ? of course, you don't mind. you love being this sick, you're just a needy freak. ”

he pulled out before putting it back in you, inched himself deeper and deeper, letting you breathless. he was more rough this time, his fat length stretching you wider. his hips slammed your skin, his sweaty balls slapping you in motion. you nodded your head, your loud moans echoed in the empty room. his heavy hand on your tiny throat, pressuring it every time your walls tighten him.

his big other hand squeezing your small waist, as your core wrapped him harder. “ see ? daddy's making you a new home, right now. ”

his breath was heavy and short, the sweat of his body pressed against yours, while you were about to explode, so close to the orgasm. you were crying even more. and he covered your mouth with his large palm. he hitted the right spot again and again, without a break. you reached the second orgasm quickly, and you waited for him to explode at his turn. but he was taking his time on purpose. he obviously liked to abuse this little cunt of yours, wrecking like it was nothing your cervix. he glared at your glistening eyes with a proud face, while hurting your sloppy cunt. “ be patient, sugar. it's a matter of time but daddy will make you melt, and you will make a big mess on his dick to show how grateful you are ? ”

you didn’t answered, even when he released your mouth from his hands, because of the overheating.

“ you better answer because i can go to the next round. ”

“ yes .. yes !! ”

“ you're so naive, sugar. trusting me this easy, it's your own fault if old men like me use you. like did you really think we will not go on another round ? i'm about to make you dumb. not only your brain, your pussy, all of you. after this, you will not be able to think, to talk and even to walk. ”

your tears made him cum, and you let out a noisy and desperate whimper. “ it's sad for you that i'm the only god you can pray for, because i'm going to ignore all your prayers, making you on your knees every time for nothing more than my own good. sweet lamb, i'm such an uncaring god. but you can't hate on me, even a little, such a pretty precious thing you are. ”

“ why ? ” was the only word that came out of your mouth.

in fact, you were a little sad about this, because you wished that he cared a bit, even an hint about you.

“ nobody deserve you like i do. nobody deserve to touch you, or put an eyes on you, no one. you're just mine, and i need you to understand that clearly. do you got it ? do you even understand what i mean ? i will never let someone have you. never. ”

“ i really love you. ”

“ not only you love me, sugardoll. you adore me, you cherish me, you can't breath without me. do you understand ? how trapped i made you.”

“ bu…”

“ quit crying. you wanted this, you begged for. ”

“ i thought you only wanted to kill me ! ”

“if i wanted to kill you, it would already be done. i don't mind having blood in my hands, i'm a killer after all. but yours, i promise, i would never dream of, sugardoll. ”

it was very sick. but his words made you smile.

“ i want to hug you ! ”

“ don't make me regret my words. i still can choke you to death. ”

“ can i ask a question ? ”

“ jesus, if you don't yap more than a thousandth time each day, you're dead or what ? i swear, tell me your question, but choose it carefully because it will be the last. so, use your dumby brain very well. ”

“ i just wanted to know…if it's the first time you do this with one of your victims ? ”

“ why do you want to know ? ”

“ you need to answer ! ”

“ and you need to mind your own business. ”

“ i asked you a question ! it's not fair if you don't answer it ? ”

“ you better not try to raise your voice at me because i can shout, and trust me, the tears i will bring in your face will not be that pretty. ”

“ you're still mean to me…nothing has changed. ”

“ and you're still annoying. yes, nothing has changed.”

and you smiled at him, your sweet eyes melted on his unhichanged look.

“ someday i know you will love me too ! ”

“ bold to have faith, better to work on it, sugardoll. ”

you gave him a sweet look, even if he was grumpy, you wanted him.

[sanemistar]

DANGEROUS MAN

contents ★ clan leader!gojo x fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fluff, suggestive (17+), making out, slight mention of biting/marking, reader gets called princess, 1.6k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

your parents had warned you several times about satoru gojo, the leader of the gojo clan. one of the strongest clans to exist, along with your own clan. they had forbidden you from speaking him, let alone being in the same room as him. due to the long history and the rivalry between your clan and the gojos, your clans had considered each other enemies for as long as one could remember. you had been familiar with their warnings like the back of your hand, and you had abided by them for so long. though you personally had no ill intentions towards him, nor even understood the hatred against the gojos.

that was, until you had met him in person at one of those boring higher up gatherings that you were forced to attend when you two coincidently went outside to get a breath of fresh air, away from all the tension and awkwardness inside.

the first thought that had come across your mind when you first saw satoru was that he was charming, like one of those charming princes you read about in fairy tales. you’d seen him in pictures before, but never this close. truth be told, pictures could’ve never fully captured how ethereal he looked in real life. you’d never seen anyone like him before, and you probably never would. he was simply out of this world, like a work of art—a one in a million man. enchanted by his beauty, you couldn’t help but stare at him in admiration. your eyes never dared to look away from him, as if they were glued onto him.

“well well. if it isn’t you, the princess from that clan.” satoru’s voice pierced through your ears, waking you up from your dazed state. “you’ve been staring at me for so long, like i’m a statue in a museum or something.” you were unaware of how long you’d been staring at satoru until you saw the confusion on his face as he pointed out. you felt your face redden in embarrassment and you immediately looked down in an attempt to hide your flushed face.

“s-sorry about that, gojo-san. i didn’t mean to do that, i just…” you trailed off mid sentence, unsure of what to say in order to justify your actions earlier. your head was in and your thoughts were all over the place.

you heard a pair of footsteps coming closer to you and before you was none other than satoru. the one man you shouldn’t be standing so close to. your mind was telling you to run away and leave, but your body refused to move an inch. his thumb quickly glazed over your chin, swiftly lifting it up and your eyes got caught in his alluring gaze like a mouse in a cheese trap that was unable to escape before he let go of your chin. you could swear that the spot where he touched you earlier was tingling, as if his touch was electric.

“oh c’mon, no need for these formalities. they mean nothing to me. my name is satoru, so just call me satoru.” he spoke and you were slightly taken aback, you two had just met and he already wanted you to act on a first name basis.

“but..” he cut you mid sentence.

“no buts, it’s pretty easy. just repeat after me, satoru.” he said his name again slowly, waiting for you to say it back. he was pretty insistent on it so it looked like you had no choice.

“satoru.” his name finally rolled off your tongue, and a proud smirk made its way onto his face upon hearing you say his name. the way it came off your lips got him a little excited.

just then an idea popped up in satoru’s head, a reckless one at that.

“why don’t we go somewhere else where it’s just us two? away from all this.” he grabbed your hand gently yet firmly, like he had no intention of leaving you alone.

you knew best that it was never good ignoring what your parents had told you and involving yourself with him. but at that moment, you agreed to go with him. completely forgetting about everything, the rivalry, the hatred, everything. you weren’t sure if that was a rebellion phase or what, all you knew was that it felt right leaving with him.

satoru seemed surprised for a moment by how quickly you agreed to follow him, but grinned and took your hand before dragging the two of you away as you disappeared from the main entrance and into a quieter place where it was just you and him.

you had no idea how you ended up being pinned against the wall with satoru’s tall, lean figure hovering over you. completely blocking your view and blocking you from sight.

“why did you follow me so easily, hm? what if i had a malicious intention of some sort. didn’t your parents warn you about how dangerous the gojos were? especially their leader.” your chest moved up and down as your heart began racing rapidly.

“if you had any malicious intentions like you said, you would’ve taken me somewhere outside the territory. but since we didn’t really go that far away, it’d be useless for you to be doing anything dangerous here.” you began explaining. and satoru seemed so impressed by your smart response.

“you’re indeed very amusing.” he chuckled softly. he rested his hands on the wall, forcing you to look at nothing else around but him.

tension between the two of you began rising, and you found yourself subconsciously looking at his lips.

and satoru was so quick to notice how you were eyeing his lips for a while now.

“you could’ve simply asked me for a kiss if you want it so badly instead of just staring at my lips, princess.” he leaned in as he whispered into your ear and you could feel it heat up a bit in embarrassment.

and before you could get the chance to say anything you felt satoru’s lips smacking onto yours. you gasped into the kiss in surprise, your mind screamed at you to break away and push him off of you. but this time not only your body, but also your heart, refused to. you wrapped your arms around his neck, getting in the mood as you pulled him even closer to you. your fingers ran through the back of his soft hair.

meanwhile, satoru’s hands delicately trailed all over your back, slowly exploring every part and every bit of your skin. he was taking his sweet time touching you all while having your lips against his own, tongue exploring every corner of your mouth.

as the two of you further got in the mood, your kisses had become sloppier and hungrier. teeth clashing against each other as tongues swirled around one another in sync. what started off as a soft, gentle kiss had become a series of deep, passionate kisses that held so much lust and desire in them.

you felt so good that you could almost see stars.

“mhmm..” careful not to make any loud noises in order to avoid getting caught by anyone, you hummed against his lips. and you never knew you had the ability to hum like that ever so sweetly.

you couldn’t believe that you were doing such things with the one man you were never supposed to be doing all of that with.

satoru gojo was indeed dangerous, he was too dangerous for your heart.

the two of you had been making out for almost ten minutes straight. if it wasn’t for your desperate need for air to breathe, you wouldn’t have broken away. but due to the lack of oxygen, you had to break away from the kiss and catch your breath. eyes were only half open, your head was still light and dizzy after that makeout session as you were heavily panting, your lips which were now swollen were still slightly parted as a small trail of drool trickled down your chin.

“you look so beautiful right now, i think i’m in love.” satoru glazed his thumb over the corner of your lips, wiping the drool off. he leaned in once more and began nibbling on the crook of your slender neck and you winced a little as you felt him biting a bit too hard which would have probably left a mark that you would have to hide.

“maybe we should leave all this behind and run away together. it’s a great idea, don’t you think?” he suggested as he looked up at you, his blue eyes glowed slightly in the dark.

you suddenly came back to your senses upon hearing the words he said and slightly pushed him off of you.

“satoru we..” you began speaking, trying to form a coherent sentence. “we can’t do that. we’re supposed to be enemies, remember?” it was more of a reminder to yourself than it was to him that you and satoru would never be anything more than enemies.

“but enemies don’t kiss each other like that.” he whispered as he continued kissing your neck and up to your cheeks, then your nose, then back to your lips. he gave you quick, light pecks before pulling away.

“guess i’ll have to talk to those annoying higher ups of ours and end that nonsense rivalry, cause no way i’m gonna let you be with anyone else that’s not me.”

and the next thing you knew, you were being dragged by satoru into the main hall where all the higher ups were as both of you made a dramatic entrance when he announced that he’d be marrying you before kissing you in front of all of them. leaving everyone in the room, you included, in great shock.

satoru gojo was a dangerous, very dangerous man.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @lxnarphase @sylusdoll @itachiiwrites @itoshivy @17020 @creamflix @luv-lies

[itoshiierae]

hii can I req

hate sex with mean!sae (only mean in bed) cus he frustrated

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 notes: lowkey this is what happens when you date a man with no emotional communication skills and a dangerously hot face 😮‍💨 (not proofread!)

ᡣ𐭩 cw: minors dni, angst, f!reader, rough sex, oral (m!receiving), light choking, mild degradation, emotional tension

you always knew dating someone like sae wouldn’t be easy. he’s not the warmest, or the most expressive. you tried to be understanding, but sometimes it gets frustrating— especially when all you want is a little reassurance, and all he gives you is cold distance.

so you accidentally blurted something you shouldn’t have:

“you’re always so cold… do you even want me, sae?? do you even care?? maybe i should’ve stayed with my ex if i wanted to be treated this way—”

you don’t even know why you said it. maybe it was to hurt him. maybe it was to make him feel something— anything at all. and for a moment it looks like it worked. his mouth twitches, and his eyes darken.

but then he immediately turns away.

he didn’t even bother to yell. just turned and walked away, like you weren’t even worth the effort of a reaction.

and you know how sae is. he’s never good in the heat of the moment. he always needs space; needs to step back, to breathe and process, before he ends up saying something he can’t take back.

so you tell yourself you’ll apologise later, once he’s calmed down. and once you’ve also figured out why you tried to hurt the one person you never wanted to lose.

──★

when he enters your shared bedroom 3 hours later, you immediately stand up.

“sae, about just now… I’m sor—”

“strip. now.”

“…huh??” you blink, caught off guard by the flatness in his voice.

“you wanted me to show you just how much i care, right?” he says slowly, eyes unreadable. “then do it. strip.”

for a second, you think about pushing back—asking why, maybe even telling him no. but then you see the quiet intensity in his stare like he’s already made up his mind. you swallow hard, breath shaky, as you drop your gaze while quietly peeling your clothes off one piece at a time.

the way he’s looking at you right now is icy and distant; weighted with everything he refuses to say. he stands completely still, fists clenched at his sides, teal eyes fixed on you as you peel off each layer of your clothing. the tension in his posture says more than words ever could. he hasn’t even touched you, and yet your heart feels like it’s splintering under the weight of his indifference.

“go on,” he mutters. “show me just how sorry you are.”

you immediately sink to your knees in front of him— lips brushing along the seam of his pants as your trembling fingers fumble with his belt.

you press a kiss just above his zipper before easing it down, pulling his cock free.

and when you finally wrap your mouth around him— he exhales sharply, teal eyes hooded with lust as they drop to watch every desperate movement of your mouth taking him in.

“look at you…” he murmurs, finally running a hand through your hair.

“crying and i haven’t even properly fucked you yet...”

then he tightens his grip suddenly—fist curling at the base of your skull as he pushes your head down, deeper onto his cock. your throat tightens with the stretch, a wet gag catching in your chest as tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“mm—yeah,” he groans, jaw tense. “just like that...”

afterwards, he carries your body and drops you onto the mattress— immediately rips off his shirt without hesitation, then climbs over you with that same cold, unreadable expression.

when he finally pushes his length in, it’s not mercy. it’s a reminder; each thrust measured like he’s making a point you won’t ever forget.

“so… you’re really gonna compare me to your ex??”

he pulls back, just to slam into you harder— mocking you with how calm his voice stays.

“…you knew how i was when we first started dating, you knew i always had trouble opening up,” each thrust feels like a reprimand, like he’s spelling it out for you the only way he knows how.

you reach for his mouth to kiss him, but he immediately turns his head, just to remind you that you haven’t earned that yet.

“no,” he whispers. “you don’t get that yet.”

your body’s trembling, chest too tight, your voice caught somewhere between shame and need, as you try to figure out if you’re angry or just broken open under him.

you try to speak, but the words crumble before they can leave your lips; by now, you’re nothing but a trembling, moaning mess.

then he immediately grabs your chin and forces your gaze to his again.

“aw, you’re shaking… what, your ex never fucked you like this??? yeah, ‘cause he couldn’t.”

his hips snap forward again.

the impact of his thrusts echoes through your ribs—skin slapping against skin, while your breath catches in your throat; your fingers claw at the sheets, desperate to steady yourself as you try to accommodate to his pace.

but he doesn’t pause or soften, he just keeps going like he’s trying to fuck the thought of anyone else out of you.

“s-sae—please… it’s too much, i can’t—” you mumble as your nails dig into his forearm, legs trembling from the sheer intensity of his thrusts.

“ohhh so now it’s too much?? wasn’t too much when you compared me to him,” he sneers dragging his palm down your spine as he pushes into you deeper.

the way he’s moving right now it’s like he’s trying to bury the words you forced out of him. every thrust is brutal, each one bitten off like he’s choking on everything he didn’t say a few hours ago, “go on… tell me again how cold i am.”

“m–sorry, sae, i–i really didn’t mean to….” you gasp, voice splintering as his hips keep slamming into you without pause.

your body quivers under him, already wrecked and overflowing with too much of him and still, he doesn’t stop. his palm slides up your stomach as he wraps around your throat again; almost as if he’s grounding you as he pushes his member in deeper.

“you don’t get to run your mouth and then fall apart the second i give you what you asked for.”

his fingers tighten slightly at your throat. not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who’s really in control. you’re gasping, trembling, already so full it aches… and still, he doesn’t let up.

he leans down suddenly— grabs your jaw, forces your face up, and kisses you.

his lips crash into yours, hot and punishing as his tongue claims your mouth the same way his body does; deep, ruthless, all laced with frustration and feral need.

and when he finally pulls away, you’re left dazed and breathless.

“sooo…” he mutters, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “do i still feel cold to you now?? don’t ever compare me to your fucking ex again.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[speed-world]

Hey, I got this idea from watching some Dark Souls lore videos, so can I request a HC of beast cookies being beaten by a chosen Undead reader.

Plot: when the Beast cookies went on a rampage The Witches knew they had to stop them but the cookie were too powerful to do so so they decided to work together to bake a new cookie, a cookie that can weaken them to a point that they can be in prison, a cookie that can come back from the dead as much as possible until the deed is done, they call them the Chosen Undead Cookie

Sworn Purpose

The Five Beasts. The primordial Cookies created by the Witches as emissaries of the Godly Creators; that fell from grace due to their Absolute power corrupting them completely. The Witches couldn’t bear to see their creations promised as saviors turned apostles of evil, and so they punished the Beasts by sealing them away in Beast-Yeast. At least…that was what should have happened.

The Beasts rebelled, refusing to go quiet into the night. They broke free from their shackles and dominated the lands of Beast-Yeast without challenge. The Witches refused to give up however, and would go deeply into a period of heavy trials and error in baking something …greater. They combined their magic to create a Cookie that could complete the task they failed too. A Cookie that would never rest until they sealed these Beasts, even if the Cookie was crumbled. A Cookie that will rise and rise again, as if freshly baked out of the oven, to complete their assigned life purpose. As the Witches spent numerous days and nights creating this Cookie, they’d mix so many flavors into to them that the Cookie was ultimately nameless to the Witches. When finally completed, passerby Cookies knew them only by a couple of names: Y/N Cookie, or their more known, and more appropriate moniker…Chosen Undead Cookie.

It was never easy completing your task, but you never once questioned it or the Witches. They told you all the features and names of the Beasts, that you must do whatever it takes to seal them away, and you followed as such.

During your first attempt, you could barely make a move against a jester before being crumbled in a mess of crumbs and jam. The last thing you heard was the jester laughing before you reawakened in a different location.

One of the many blessings you had received from the Witches was that you could communicate with and hear them. You could hear some the Witches applaud you for your efforts, and others express their apologies for what you must suffer through. It didn’t faze you though, you had a God-given purpose, and you’d curse at yourself if you never finished it. Maybe one day…you could live a fairly normal life, but it won’t happen until your job is done.

“Oh~? Pfffttt AHAHAHAHAHA~~!! Oh this is priceless, you’re still kicking huh? I mean, what attempt is this, number….59? 100? Isn’t this tiring to you buddy~?”

“Silence, jester. I am not tired, not one bit. I have been assigned this duty by the Witches, and I refuse to stop until you Beasts are sealed away…”

You stared at him with the same neutral yet angry expression that you almost always have. He upsets you, just as the other Beasts. And, like him, they will be sealed by your hand sooner or later.

“Really now…? How many times have you said that? And yet the result is still the same! I’ll give you credit though, you’re getting closer each time!! But all that means is that I’m improving myself to make sure you continue to be the failure you are!!”

“Am I the failure, Shadow Milk Cookie? You were meant to be a savior, a hero to all Cookiekind until the end of days, but you failed at your duty. Don’t tell me, are you jealous that I’m favored and know how to follow simple instruction? Does it upset you that I’m succeeding in the role you failed to fulfill?”

“Tch…didja learn to talk all smart while you were in between the states of dying and living? Those Witches can BURN IN THE OVEN, AND YOU’LL JOIN THEM YOU MISERABLE PUPPET!!!”

“….I’m assuming you’re done wasting your breath away now? I’m glad you’ll be the first I seal, your voice annoys me…”

You readied yourself again for the umpteenth time, and stared holes into Shadow Milk Cookie. “You are the miserable one here, jester…” You muttered to yourself, before clashing with the jester once more.

————————————————————————

The cold steps of the Ivory Pagoda are all too familiar for you now. The aroma of the incense, the reflective gold of the tiles, all of it was practically burned in your memory as you approached the Master of the Ivory Pagoda yet again. Of course, you couldn’t meet the Master without seeing the guardian of Ivory Pagoda as well.

“Oh, Master, look who’s back again~! You must really enjoy witnessing the truth that my Master has to show the world! At this point, you’re the most frequent visitor here to the pagoda, maybe you’d want to stay here for the rest of your life~? It’s not like your immortality is doing you any favors being the Witches’s pawn~…”

You ignored the mocking comments of Cloud Haetae Cookie. They’re not what you’re here for anyways, so they can berate you all they want, it won’t take your attention away from your mission. You walked past the haetae and stared up at the Beast, who didn’t even open her eyes to you.

“One day, you will come to see how pointless your mission truly is. Again and again, you challenge my truth and power, and again and again, you fail to understand that you’ll never succeed…”

“That is where your arrogance has mislead you, Mystic Flour Cookie. You insist on yourself so much that you fail to grasp the reality around you. More and more, I grow resistant to your power, and I keep parts of my flavor in spite of being turned to flour. One day, you will come to realize that the madness you speak of will never be heard as you’ll spend your days sealed away as you deserve.”

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t bother responding to you. She only waves her hand, uttering the phrase you’ve heard numerous times now: “Return to Flour…”. Your words were true: you were still maintaining your flavor and everything else about you, and only small crumbs were being taken away, albeit incredibly slowly. Then you lounged at her, slashing at her with your blade….and you cut her. Jam leaked out of her thigh from the gash you made. Although your magic and control over the chains and Witch’s fork specialized for sealing the Beasts weren’t strong enough yet, you were making fast progress.

Cloud Haetae Cookie was shocked, but Mystic Flour appeared unfazed as usual. But one thing was abundantly clear, you were improving. Even if you didn’t seal her during this time, you would overcome her powers and seal her away, even if you were crumbled to flour in the process. Mystic Flour will be sealed, just like the other Beasts, and you’ll rise and rise again until your deed is done and all of the Beasts are sealed away.

————————————————————————

Hellish blazing embers and the ruins of forests are the most recognizable sight you know. Whenever you hear the fires crackling, you know that you’re close to Burning Spice Cookie. Burning Spice stares daggers into you just as you stare a hole back.

“You again, eh? How many times are we going to do the same song and dance until you’ve crumbled for good? Those damned Witches must have spent days, perhaps weeks trying to perfect a herald to defeat us, and your failure of an existence is all they have to show for their efforts. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad and true…”

“I’ll keep coming back as many times as needed until you—“

“Yeah yeah, until us Beasts are sealed away. You’re a broken record at this point, and it’s really beginning to annoy the Hell out of me…. Then again, you do have your uses for being a toy, free for me to play with and break whenever I feel like it. So c’mon, let’s not waste words and entertain me, Chosen fool~…”

You smirked at Burning Spice; at least you two could agree on something, that being words are useless at this point. You steeled yourself and gripped your sword tightly, and Burning Spice did the same with that giant axe in hand. All you need to do is seal away Burning Spice, and even if you crumbled in the process, it will be done.

————————————————————————

The skies were an incredibly dark shade of pink, and you’ve slowly grown to hate it when the skies were like this. Mainly because you knew who it was that was around, and Witches did Eternal Sugar Cookie, wielding the power of Sloth, utterly piss you off.

All Eternal Sugar did was yawn on top of the cloud she rested on, and looked at you haphazardly with her hand resting on her cheek*

*Yaaaaaaawwwwnn* “Ahh, who’re you again? You always come here for ah…some mission from the Witch’s I think? Can’t you bother anyone else with your nonsense, I have a lot of better things to do than waste my precious energy on you agaaaaiinn…”

The tone in Eternal Sugar’s voice and manner is what really bothered you the most. Although it was fitting of the Sloth power she held, she just couldn’t care less about you or whatever inhumane actions she did to others. Granted, you weren’t much for words yourself, the most you talk is when dealing with the annoyance is Shadow Milk Cookie, so at least with Eternal Sugar you can get right to the point without any hesitation.

“At least you know what I’m here for, Beast…I’ll gladly make sure you’ve suffered in the last moments of your recreation…”

“Mhmmm, sure thing. Just hurry up and crumble already so you can bother someone else when you resurrect, please~….

Without waiting anymore, you charged at the lackadaisical Beast. Thankfully, the more you do this the more stronger and better you’re getting. Because the sooner you seal away Eternal Sugar, the better. Not just for the Witch’s and Cookiekind, but for the sake of your own mind.

————————————————————————

The eerie silence of the area you stepped into would be enough to scare any being beyond belief. It was dark, quiet, perfectly becoming the scene any scared children would have when fearing the dark. Only this was no dream, is was the brutal reality of a vicious Beast that you could never seem to get an upper hand against.

Silent Salt Cookie was just standing there, sword in hand as always. Out of all the Beasts, Silent Salt doesn’t do anything else now except wait for you. Silent Salt knows of your ability to keep coming back to life after dying and knew sooner or later you’d be back.

The quietness from you and Silent Salt was loud and easy to understand. You weren’t much for words yourself, no need to start now with a quiet Cookie. You both knew each other well enough, understanding the other’s goal in mind as you both nodded and readied your swords yet again. The area soon became loud with the sounds of clashing swords in a struggle of life and death.

Until your mission is fulfilled, until the Beasts are sealed away and no longer a threat to Cookiekind, then you will be raised from the dead. Retaining your mixture of flavors, knowledge and power, and using all of them against the foul Beasts that defiled their roles as promised saviors. Until the deed is done…

[fastandcarlos]

Engaged, When? : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: with all your friends settling down around you, you can't help but feel like you and charles are slipping away from everyone else

After what could only be described as the day from hell, the last thing you wanted to do was go out to a celebration. But that was exactly where you found yourself. Carlos’ and Rebecca’s apartment was bustling with people, noise and lots of excitement for the newly engaged couple. 

Whilst many others wore wild smiles on their faces, your expression couldn’t have been more different. All you wanted to do was go home and rest, but Charles refused to go to the party without you, ignoring your protests and encouraging you to show your face and happiness for the pair. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for them, because you were, if anything, you were disappointed for yourself. Whilst Charles mingled and made sure to say hello to as many people as possible, you preferred to hang back and blend in, simply doing enough to try and make it seem like you were enjoying yourself. 

If there was one person that you weren’t convincing though, it was Charles. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you looking far from impressed, you might be able to deceive most people, but not Charles. Through the dances and the chatter, he made his way over to you, with many of his bosses around, he still felt the need to impress. 

Your body tensed up as Charles came and stood beside you, “I know you’re tired but at least try and look like you want to be here, we’re supposed to be celebrating our friends right now.” 

“It’s lovely, imagine falling in love and getting engaged so quickly,” you mumbled, taking a sip from your drink. Charles hummed as he walked off, not quite getting what you were saying. 

Just as Charles walked off, another figure appeared beside you. The smile on Pierre’s face was comforting for you as he nudged your side, wanting to make you smile too. 

“I know how you’re feeling,” Pierre sympathised as Kika appeared beside him. “We’ve talked about this enough times, but I promise you that he really does adore you.” 

It was easy for others to tell you, but truthfully, you were far from sure anymore. You and Charles had been together for almost a decade, and yet your relationship felt like it was stagnant these days. 

“How many more engagements do we have to celebrate?” You asked the two of them. “How many more times do I have to stand here wondering when it might be my turn?” 

“I’m sure Charles has got his reasons,” Pierre tried his best to reassure you, but even he was confused these days. “You have to trust me though, he is still madly in love with you, Charles wouldn’t still be with you if that wasn’t the case.” 

“Why can he not show me then?” You shrugged, “it’s not even about proposing anymore, it’s about doing anything to show me how he feels.” 

You knew the honeymoon phase was never going to last forever, but after ten years with Charles you hoped the next stage was going to arrive soon. If you were honest, you’d hoped it would’ve arrived by now, especially after watching so many of your friends get engaged and seemingly leapfrog the two of you. 

“I absolutely know he wants to marry you,” Kika added, offering you a warm smile. “It might not feel that way right now being here, but trust me, he does want to.” 

Your head nodded as you tried to use Kika’s words to convince yourself. “I’m glad you guys all feel that way, it would just be nice to feel that way myself. I’m supposed to be happy for Carlos and Rebecca, and instead I’m stood here wondering what about me?” 

As you felt yourself hit a wall of emotion, you excused yourself from the pair and walked off to get yourself another drink. Your shoulder brushed past Charles as you did so, going to say your name, but you were already gone. He looked to Charles and Kika, heading over to them for answers. 

“Why are you both looking at me like that?” Charles questioned, feeling like he was in for a scolding. 

“She’s really upset Charles, have you not noticed?” Pierre asked him. 

“Yeah, I know she’s a bit tired.” 

“It’s not just that.” 

“No?” Charles questioned in surprise. “You mean to say there’s more to this?” He quizzed them both. 

As Pierre nodded, Charles followed you to just outside of Carlos’ apartment and onto the balcony. You were resting on the railing as his figure appeared beside you, eyes watching you closely as you gave away nothing to let Charles know what was wrong. 

“Talk to me,” Charles whispered, his voice soft and calm, “what else is going on love?” 

Your body shifted so that you were facing Charles, “I’m supposed to be happy for these two, but if I’m honest, all I can feel right now is jealousy and frustration.” 

Charles’ brows furrowed as you spoke before the realisation hit him. A sigh escaped as he realised finally what it was that you had been hinting at, not just tonight, but for so many years as you celebrated others. 

“It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help but feel like these days we’re being left behind. We’ve just stayed exactly where we are for years,” you confided in him. 

“We’ve always been so strong together, getting engaged, married, having kids, whatever it is it doesn’t define the two of us,” Charles spoke, draping his arms across your shoulders. “Maybe I’ve just become so comfortable that I never really thought about us taking that next step too.” 

You hated the fact that you allowed getting engaged to turn into some sort of competition for you, but your mind could think of nothing else. “I just feel like after ten years it should have happened, or at least to me it feels like it should have happened by now.” 

Charles took yet another step closer towards you. “I’ve thought about marrying you, more than you could ever imagine. I guess I’ve just never really felt like I’ve found the right time to.” 

“Is that right time ever going to come?” You asked, “I mean I always thought we’d be the first ones to settle, have a family, grow old together, but now we’re back of the pack.” 

“We can still do all of those things Y/N.” 

Your eyes looked desperately back at Charles, “then can you please start making me feel like they might be possible someday?” 

Hearing the frustration in your voice sent a shiver down Charles’ spine. He’d never considered how you felt about proposing, marriage and everything else that life threw at you. But now as he looked at you, he could see just how much it truly meant. 

“Am I the person you want to be with? Forever?” You quizzed, “do you really see your future with me Charles?” 

He took a tight hold of your hand, bringing your head towards him and kissing the top of it. “There’s no doubt in my mind that I see forever with you. And I promise all of those things will happen for us, but when the time is right for us.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered back across at him. “I just needed to hear that to reassure myself, with everything that’s been happening for our friends, I guess I just let the doubt begin to creep in.” 

Charles hummed, understanding exactly how you were feeling. He'd become so comfortable in your relationship he’d forgotten to think about how you were feeling. But as he felt you press a kiss against his cheek, he knew he couldn’t do that any longer. 

“Who knows, maybe it’ll be us that we’re all celebrating next time,” Charles joked. 

“I might just hold you to that LeClerc.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[dakusan]

On The Hard Days, Stay.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: Everyone has days where it feels like too much. These are the ones where you fall apart—and they choose to stay. Eight moments. Eight ways love shows up when the world feels too heavy. No grand gestures. Just quiet understanding, gentle hands, and someone who refuses to let you carry it all alone.

💌 a/n: This is for when you're not okay. Each of these pieces is a love letter to the quiet kind of support we often need but don't know how to ask for. If you're going through it, I hope this feels like a deep breath. To anyone struggling: you're not alone, you're love, you're enough and you're doing enough 🥺. Enjoy the mini shots!

📍credits: Just wanna credit @cafekitsune for the divider BCZ IT'S SO FUCKING CUTE... okay, i'm fine :3

🎶 Now Playing: "ONLY" — LeeHi

Bang Chan x Reader | “I’m Here, Okay?”

You didn’t mean to break down at his place. You really didn’t.

But something about the way he opened the door with that easy smile—tired, but genuine—made your throat close up. Maybe it was how he said, “Hey, you made it,” like he was actually relieved to see you. Or how his arms opened just a little like he was waiting for you to fall into them.

You didn’t. Not yet. You just kicked off your shoes, mumbled something about traffic, and followed him to the couch.

He didn’t press. Just let you sit in silence, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists. You stared at the TV without watching it. He noticed.

“You alright?” he asked, turning the volume down.

You nodded. Paused. Shook your head.

“No.”

It came out quieter than you meant. Then the tears hit—hot and fast. You covered your face with your hands like that would somehow keep it all in.

You felt the shift before you saw it—Chan moving closer, careful, like he didn’t want to crowd you.

“Hey… hey,” he said, voice low. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head again, frustrated with yourself. “Sorry. I didn’t wanna cry. I’m just—”

He didn’t wait for the rest. He just reached out, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and gently pulling you into his side. You let him. Didn’t even fight it. Just let your head drop against him, breathing unsteady.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “You’re allowed to cry, you know.”

You didn’t say anything. But your fingers gripped the fabric of his sleeve tighter.

“I get it,” he murmured. “Life gets heavy. Like… it just stacks and stacks until you can’t breathe.”

You nod, barely.

“I’m not gonna pretend I can fix it. But I can sit here with you. However long you need.”

He didn’t try to cheer you up. Didn’t tell you to smile or be strong. He just stayed. His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, and when your breathing finally slowed, he looked down and gave you a small, tired smile.

“Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded into his chest. You didn’t feel better. But you didn’t feel alone. And that? The idea that you weren't alone? It was more than enough.

Lee Know x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Say Anything”

You didn’t even know why you were crying.

It wasn’t one big thing. Just a pile-up of small, stupid things that somehow tipped over the edge today—too many deadlines, not enough sleep, a comment that hit too close. And now you were sitting on Minho’s couch with your knees pulled to your chest, blinking hard at the ceiling like it would stop the tears.

He noticed the second you walked in. You’d said you were fine. He didn’t believe you.

Minho didn’t ask questions. He just handed you a glass of water, sat down next to you, and turned on the TV without saying a word.

It was a comfort thing—noise in the background, something familiar. He didn’t hover. Didn’t touch you. Just… existed next to you. Quiet and steady.

You finally mumbled, “Sorry. I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

He glanced over, then leaned back into the cushions.

“You don’t have to know.”

That was it. Just that.

You didn’t say anything for a while. But eventually, you let your head drop onto his shoulder.

He let it happen, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just shifted a little to make you more comfortable. You felt him breathe out, slow and even. Like he wanted you to match his rhythm.

“Some days are just crap,” he said quietly. “Don’t need a reason.”

You nodded against his hoodie.

He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t tell you it’d all be okay. He just sat there with you, letting the silence stretch in the safest way.

A little while later, he got up, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of rice, kimchi, and eggs. Nothing fancy. Just food you didn’t have to think about.

“Eat,” he said, setting it down in front of you. “Then we nap. You look like you need a nap more than a pep talk.”

And weirdly… that made you tear up again. But softer this time. Because you didn’t need someone to rescue you. You just needed this. Someone who saw you falling apart and didn’t try to make it pretty.

Changbin x Reader | “You Don’t Gotta Pretend”

You’d barely made it three steps inside his apartment before your shoulders dropped.

Changbin was in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up, something half-cooked on the stove. He turned at the sound of the door, his face lighting up at first—until he caught your expression. That quiet slump in your posture. The way you didn’t even try to smile.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a dish towel.

“Come here.”

You didn’t argue. Just walked into his arms and let your forehead rest against his chest. He wrapped you up tight—arms firm around your back like he was trying to hold you together. You hadn’t cried yet. But your body felt like it could give out at any second.

He didn’t rush you.

Minutes passed like that. Then his voice, low and careful:

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Just everything. Work. Family. Myself. I don’t know. It’s all too much.”

He let out a breath through his nose. Not annoyed—just frustrated on your behalf.

“You’ve been trying to keep it together too long, huh?”

That got you. You nodded, and then the tears came. Silent. Exhausted. You felt embarrassed, but his grip never loosened.

“Hey,” he said softly, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head. “You don’t gotta pretend with me, alright?”

You tried to speak, but it all came out as a whisper: “I feel like I’m failing.”

Changbin pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice steadier now. “You’re not failing. You’re just tired. And overwhelmed. And human.”

You sniffled, lips trembling. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to power through all the time. Just let yourself fall apart here. I’ll pick up the pieces with you.”

His words weren’t polished. They weren’t some poetic comfort. But they were real. Raw. And exactly what you needed.

“Now sit,” he added, nudging you toward the couch. “I’ll finish cooking. You’re eating, and then we’re watching dumb YouTube videos ‘til you laugh or fall asleep.”

You gave the faintest, watery smile.

That was enough for him.

Hyunjin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Go Through It Alone”

You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until he asked.

“Hey… what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You were sitting on the floor of his room, back against his bed frame, legs stretched out. He was next to you, sketchbook open, pencil tapping against the paper. Music played low from the speaker. Everything looked normal. But it didn’t feel normal.

You sighed. “I’m just tired.”

He glanced over at you. “Tired like… need-sleep tired, or tired like everything-is-weighing-on-you tired?”

You gave a weak smile. “Second one.”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a second. He just set the sketchbook down beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Come here.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You crawled over and leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around you like he’d been waiting for you to give in. His chin rested on top of your head, and you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he mumbled. “And I know I can’t fix it. But I want to.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie. “You don’t have to fix it. I just… needed this.”

He held you tighter.

“You always carry so much,” he said quietly. “You act like you’re fine, and everyone believes it. But I see you. I always see you.”

That hit harder than you expected. Maybe because he said it so gently. Maybe because he meant it.

“I feel like I’m falling behind,” you whispered. “Like everyone else is moving forward and I’m stuck.”

Hyunjin pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes soft, expression serious.

“Life isn’t a race,” he said. “Even if it feels like it is. You’re not behind. You’re just… overwhelmed. And that’s okay.”

Your lip trembled. He noticed, reached up and brushed his thumb under your eye before the tears could fall.

“You’re allowed to feel like this. You’re allowed to have bad days. Just—don’t do it alone. Not when I’m right here.”

You nodded, and he leaned his forehead against yours.

“No pretending with me, alright?”

Han Jisung x Reader | “You’re Still You”

You didn’t say much when you got to his place.

Just dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and quietly flopped face-first into his couch cushions. Jisung popped his head around the corner from the kitchen like a curious cat.

“You alive?”

You gave a muffled groan.

He walked over slowly, tossing a bag of chips on the coffee table before plopping down beside you.

“Rough day, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m so burnt out,” you mumbled. “And I feel like I have to keep pretending I’m okay because no one really wants to hear it.”

Jisung didn’t say anything right away. He reached over, grabbed the remote, and put on some random YouTube video of a guy reviewing the world’s worst frozen pizzas. It filled the silence.

A minute passed. Two.

Then, softly:

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You turned your head toward him. He was still watching the screen, but his tone had shifted—lighter, but serious.

“I mean, I joke around a lot, but like... I notice stuff. I know when you're not okay.”

Your throat tightened a little. You didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

“I just feel like I’m failing,” you said. “Like I’m trying so hard and still falling short.”

He finally looked at you.

“Falling short of what, though? Whose standard are you trying to meet?”

You shrugged, and it came out half-defeated. “Everyone’s, I guess.”

Jisung leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You know, I do that too,” he said. “Think I have to be a certain version of myself for everyone. The funny one, the productive one, the ‘doing great’ one. But sometimes... I’m not. And that doesn’t make me less me.”

He turned back to look at you.

“And it doesn’t make you less you either.”

You swallowed hard.

“I hate feeling like a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said instantly, voice firm. “You’re someone I care about. You showing up like this? That doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you human.”

He let the silence settle again.

Then: “I also bought three different flavors of ice cream in case of a breakdown, so like… if you wanna cry and eat cookie dough straight from the tub, I’m fully prepared.”

That finally got a laugh out of you. It was small, a little cracked—but real.

Jisung smiled, leaned back with a soft “There we go,” and tossed a pillow at your face like he hadn’t just lowkey saved your life a minute ago.

Felix x Reader | “I’ve Got You”

You’d been holding it in all day.

Smiling when you didn’t feel like it. Nodding through conversations you couldn’t focus on. Pretending like your chest wasn’t tightening with every hour that passed.

And then Felix texted you. “Wanna come over? No pressure. Just… if you need to breathe.”

You replied, “Okay.” Just that.

When you showed up at his place, he didn’t say anything. Just opened the door and pulled you into the softest hug you didn’t know you were craving.

You stood there for a while. His arms wrapped around your waist, your forehead pressed into his shoulder. The kind of silence that made it okay to not speak.

Eventually, you let out a breath. It came out shaky.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you said, voice muffled. “I feel so… overwhelmed. Like I’m on the edge of something, but I don’t even know what.”

Felix didn’t say anything dramatic. He just hugged you tighter.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said softly. “You’re just human. And tired.”

You nodded against his shoulder.

“I’m trying so hard to keep it together.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m proud of you for even getting through the day.”

His voice was low, gentle, like he was afraid too many words might break you. He guided you to the couch, pulled a blanket over both of you, and didn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he whispered. “You just have to let yourself be. And I’ll be right here.”

You didn’t cry. Not exactly. But your eyes stung, and your fingers curled tighter into his. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t offer solutions.

He just held you like you mattered. And for the first time in days, you believed that maybe you still did.

Seungmin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Prove Anything”

You didn’t even mean to start venting.

You’d come over for lunch—normal stuff, nothing serious. But halfway through a conversation about your week, it just… slipped out.

“I don’t think I’m doing enough.”

Seungmin blinked. “Enough of what?”

“Just… everything.” You laughed a little, but it came out wrong. “I feel like I’m always falling short. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s not good enough. For work, for people, for myself—whatever.”

He took a sip of his iced coffee, totally unfazed.

“Sounds like you’re burnt out, not useless.”

You gave him a look.

“I’m serious,” he said, shrugging. “You think pushing yourself past your limit means you’re not doing enough? That sounds backwards.”

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “I just hate feeling like I’m behind.”

He leaned back in his chair, looked at you for a long second.

“You’re not behind,” he said. “You’re just… stuck in your own head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “That’s my ‘I-care-about-you-and-I-don’t-want-you-to-self-destruct’ opinion.”

You cracked a small smile at that.

Then, softer, he added, “You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to not have your shit together sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you’re human.”

You looked down at your drink. Your fingers fidgeted with the straw.

“And if I’m tired of trying?”

“Then stop trying to prove something to people who already love you,” he said. “Including me.”

It was quiet for a second. You glanced up—and yeah. He was serious.

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him with a tight throat and blurry eyes.

He looked back, totally steady. Then added casually, “Now hurry up and eat before I finish your food too.”

And somehow, that very Seungmin line made the tension in your chest crack just a little.

Jeongin x Reader | “I’ll Stay”

You hadn’t meant to stay this late.

But hours passed while you sat on Jeongin’s bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you, scrolling on your phone in silence while he sat across the room, doing the same. No pressure to talk. Just quiet company.

Eventually, he looked up.

“You okay?”

You hesitated.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I think I’m just… numb.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just set his phone down and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking it through.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. “Or just sit?”

You looked over at him. “Can we just sit for a bit?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few minutes passed.

Then, your voice broke the silence. “Everything feels like too much lately. But I also feel like… if I say that out loud, it makes me weak.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly.

“It doesn’t,” he said. “It makes you honest.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers tightening around the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I feel like I’m supposed to have it together by now.”

“You don’t have to,” he said simply. “People act like there’s a deadline for figuring life out. There isn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm and certain he sounded.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small.

Jeongin gave a soft smile and moved closer, sitting beside you now, shoulders touching.

“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t always know either. But I’ll stay. Even when you don’t have answers. Even when you’re falling apart.”

You glanced over. His expression was gentle, but steady. No pity. Just care.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He nudged your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded, and leaned your head on his shoulder. The silence returned—but it felt different now. Safer. Warmer.

And you started thinking that yeah, yeah maybe that is exactly what you’d needed all along.

[menelausblues]

shameless.

꒰ you're kind of a brat, but xavier thinks it's cute. he loves feeding into it as much as you do. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 1.2k. no evol au. established relationship. bratty mc x kind of simp, kind of tease xavier. domestic fluff. slight angst.

mdni.

you and xavier are polar opposites, but he doesn’t mind. you’re stubborn; he’s pliant. your attitude is easily fractured or incited; his attitude is nearly nonexistent. you’re elusive; he’s always easy to find. you resist; he submits. you’re opinionated; he’s mostly impartial.  you’re neurotic; he’s insouciant.  but he likes the abrasiveness of your demeanor compared to the docility of his own. it’s always a gentle game of cat and mouse between you both that he loves being able to play. sometimes, he quietly presses your buttons with his indifference and you press back with the way your neediness explodes into petulance. today, he’s left to adore the way you declare you’ll ignore him because he missed your calls while he was in the shower. he’s quite familiar with your three strikes rule. he gets hit with the book of it at least once a week.

12:14 pm ⋮ you. i’ve called you three times n you didn’t answer a single one. 12:16 pm ⋮ you. wrap it up quickly please. 12:27 pm ⋮ you. wondering if i even have a boyfriend ⸝⸝o̴̶̷̥᷅﹏o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ 12:54 pm ⋮ you. i guess you don’t want to talk or see me again? 1:07 pm ⋮ you. welp.

xavier chuckles to himself, unsurprised and quite endeared as he finally checks his phone. admittedly, he heard your first call, but he was already wet and figured if you showed up, you would let yourself in.  that, or you would be a brat and throw a tantrum he’d have to resolve. inside, he knows it’ll always be the latter with you; he doesn’t mind.

1:22 pm ⋮ xavier. now bunny don’t be drastic. i was in the shower.

he doesn’t receive a verbal response, only a thumbs up reaction to his message. playfully, he rolls his eyes. he knows that you’re upset but underneath that, you just miss him and want his attention. xavier knows you well enough by now.

1:25 pm ⋮ xavier. i’m still coming over so “wrap it up quickly please” as you like to say.

another thumbs up reaction that xavier knows is a quiet promise of reconciliation once he’s made up for it. when he’s standing at your door, he doesn’t bother knocking. he lets himself in and finds you sitting on your couch in front of the television. you don’t react to his entrance or even spare him a glance. his friends tell him you seem like a lot of trouble. jeremiah likes you but thinks your sensitivity must be headache for him. xavier doesn’t know how to make any of them understand that he loves you because you’re like this. he likes that you’re unorthodox. he likes that you’re high maintenance. it’s never his headache and always his honor to cradle even your most seemingly obnoxious traits close to his heart.

“i’m sorry it took me so long.” he murmurs, kicking his shoes off at the door. he holds up a plastic bag for show. “i went down to the convenient store and got you banana milk. and some strawberry jellies." at the mention of your favorite treats, he witnesses your head slightly incline towards him yet you still refuse to fully face him.  he slowly makes his way across the room and over to you. he rests the bag on the small table before you. you immediately go to reach, but he slides to stand between you and access to his edible apology. “aht, aht. you know the price.” he says softly, sitting down in front of you on top of your table. he watches you suck in a breath of disdain as you fight against your desire to scold him for his lack of furniture etiquette. “greet me first.” he says, taking the bag of jelly strawberry candies you love out. “xavier’s hello, then jellies.” xavier is so fluent in your stubbornness that he anticipates the way you roll your eyes and turn up your nose. “you know i love you very, very much and i would never ignore you on purpose. i was in the shower. i didn’t want to be sweaty and stinky when i saw you. is that a crime? wanting my pretty girlfriend who always smells like spring to not have a locker room-scented partner?” you hum, eyeing him sideways, grumbling out, “fine, hi.” “hi, angel.” he can’t help his soft smile, responding cutely to your indignant greeting. “jellies for my pretty baby,”

he lets the small bag rest in your lap as he leans forward to press a tender kiss against your forehead. he chooses not to remark on the adoring curve of your lips at his affection. you catch yourself slipping right into his amorous trap and you clear your throat, forcing your lips back into a pout. “and?” you question, glancing at the bag. a sigh made of his fondness bubbles from his lips. “and i’m sorry i left you waiting. my angel should never wait.” “i agree,” you say softly, reaching for the bag. “i’m glad you kn–” you pause as he takes the bottles of banana milk from the bag and hide them behind his back staring at you knowingly. “the greeting got you the jellies, but i need kisses and forgiveness for the banana milk.” he informs you. your mouth parts in surprise. “you’ve got some nerve bribing me for kisses.” “not true,” he denies. “i’m also bribing you for forgiveness.” your eyes narrow. “you’re so shameless.” a careless nod. “i am. now give your boyfriend a kiss and forgive him for being stinky because he needs your love really, really badly.” that seems to do it. you finally look him in the eyes and you don’t force those pretty, plump lips into a saddened curve. you offer a sheepish, subtle smile before leaning forward to quickly peck his lips. “nope,” xavier retorts instantly. “not enough.” you groan dramatically. “you’re so annoying.”

a nod of agreement while he leans forward to meet you half way. this is the crux of your dynamic, him always pushing to meet you halfway because it’s the only way you don’t leave room to resist or deny him. slowly, you cave, your lips pressing against his fully. xavier’s heart erupts into a loving riot, the swarm of butterflies that live in his gut fluttering wildly for you, for the feel of your mouths slotting together so insistently when you both pull away, he hands over the banana milk without a fuss, but holds onto one of your wrists lightly. he tugs you forward, your nose brushing against his. “i don’t like when you’re mad at me, but i love when you kiss me like that. and i love you.” you rub your nose against his, the affectionate gesture a marker of your own quiet submission. “answer your phone when i call and i won’t get mad and you’ll get kisses like that.” he chuckles, a chaste kiss pressed to the tip of your nose. “you’ve got some nerve, bribing me for obedience.” “i am.” you say playfully. “so be a good boy. and get off my table.” he tries not to let it show the way the words affect him, but the way his face flushes with heat that fills his cheeks to the tips of his ears gives him away. “god,” xavier’s groan shifts into a grumble. “ you’re the shameless one.”

[earlgreylatte]

Overture

A moment you only recall when it’s too late.

Nolan wonders how he got here, married to Debbie, a father to a toddler, and another one due soon. He tried to rationalize it. That he’s doing this so people like Cecil will trust his intentions, so that it seems like he’s integrating himself like Martian Man, that he’s one of them.

That it’s all for the mission.

But he knows that he’s slowly screwing himself over when you toddle to him, chanting ‘daddy’ over and over. When his wife calls him over to feel his second child kicking, strong and firm. When Art, who is becoming someone he genuinely likes, with his wit and comforting presence, convinces him to ditch the white Viltrumite outfit, for something more ‘iconic’, something heroic. Something that isn’t him.

He enters through the back like he always does, leaving the dark night behind, to enter the well lit and painfully warm home he’s called his own for a couple years now. You, who should be fast asleep, call out to him excitedly, waving around a stuffed dog. He picks you up, his hold delicate in a way he never had to be until he came to this planet.

“A new costume? Looks like Art finally changed your mind,” Debbie, his Debbie, comments from the couch, resting a hand on her stomach. “But, didn’t we agree that a toddler knowing her dad is a superhero isn’t a good idea?”

“I thought she’d be asleep, by now. Especially since you talk about how much a bedtime is needed whenever I let her stay up,” He responds, focused on your babbling; you’re telling him about your day. What can a toddler even do that’s remotely interesting? Yet, he’s enraptured.

“She refused to go to bed until you read her another part of your novels,” his wife smiles warmly, “She’s your number one and only fan, it seems.”

“She’s got taste,” he notes, a fluttering feeling in his chest. “I’ll get her tucked in. Looks like she wants to see how Space Rider’s story ends.”

“Make it kid friendly,” she calls as he ascends up the stairs, “And then come back so I can get a closer look at that new suit of yours.”

“What have you done?” You ask, fifteen years old and trying to wash the grime out of your suit in the bathtub.

Mark grins at you while posing in the mirror, wrapped in duct tape, “I’m going to be a hero like you guys, even if my powers don’t come in!”

“You’re still young, and not every Viltrumite is the same,” you reply, draining the bathtub and wringing out the excess water from your suit. “Don’t be in such a rush. You aren’t even thirteen yet.”

“Easy for you to say,” he retorts, “Besides, duct tape can literally do anything! You guys can beat up the bad guys and I’ll tape them up for the police!”

Inwardly you wince at the idea of him going against the maniacs you face every day. But instead you tilt your head in an act of show.

“You could only be a hero to leaky pipes dressed like that. And, it looks like dad just got home, so if—“

He doesn’t let you finish, instead sprinting downstairs.

You finish cleaning and disinfecting the tub, leaving your suit in your room to dry, heading downstairs only for Mark to rush by you, heading up to the washroom. Hopefully he’s patient enough to let the tape soak enough before ripping it off.

“That boy is never getting his powers, is he?” Is what you’re greeted with when you enter the living room, you quirk a brow at your father while your mom only smiles and hooks her arms around his neck.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the superhero, space alien. But even if he doesn’t, we’ll love just as much.”

“And don’t girls normally mature faster than boys or something? He could just be a late bloomer. I got my powers at thirteen so it could be any day for him now,” you piped up.

“Very true, now you two finish up dinner while I untape the boy,” your mom announces passing by you to join your brother upstairs.

You step to join your father at the counter, but falter when his face contorts with frustration, eyes focused on the stairs. He steps forward with his teeth bared like a dog about to attack, ignoring your presence for a moment.

“Dad?” You cautioned, approaching him slowly.

He steps back, the tension leaving him, looking almost distraught. You place a hand on his arm, and he almost crumples, shame filling his face before he hides it with his hand as you embrace him. Neither of you say anything, as he leans onto you before pulling away, a weight in his eyes and his brow still furrowed.

You two silently finish cooking and setting the table.

And when a tape free Mark runs down the stairs with an exclamation of hunger, your mom following behind him, the interaction goes forgotten.

Yes, the moments here are the ones from Eve’s special episode! Wanted to explore Nolan a bit more and his perspective!

Season 3 was so good that I had to make this a series…

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

[ginxyy]

Seungcheol’s hands found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper, his tongue tracing the edge of your lips, demanding entry. There was no gentleness now, only raw need, the kind that had been building between you for too long. You didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. His body pressed into yours with a desperate urgency, making you feel every inch of him—his chest, his heat, his desire.

But you couldn’t let go completely. Not yet. Not after everything.

You pulled away, breathless, your hands still gripping the collar of his shirt. “You think this changes anything, Seungcheol?” you whispered, your lips still swollen from the kiss. “You think you can just come in here and—”

He didn’t let you finish. His mouth found yours again, this time with an intensity that stole the rest of your breath away. His hands slid down your back, pressing you harder against him, his body a wall of muscle and heat. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel—his hands, his lips, the way his body fit perfectly against yours.

But when you pulled back again, this time for real, the look in his eyes made your pulse spike. “You think this is about changing anything?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “This is what I’ve been waiting for, Y/N. You’re the one who hasn’t figured it out.”

“What are you talking about?” You were dizzy, the fog of his touch clouding your thoughts.

“I’m talking about this—this fight, this mess between us, all of it. You want it, just like I do. You want the chaos, the pain, the tension. You think I don’t see how you look at me? How you push me away just to pull me back? You’re addicted to it. And so am I.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, you wondered if he was right. But the sharp, defensive edge in you fought back. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you shot back, your voice unsteady. “This isn’t your game to play.”

He gave you a mocking, bitter laugh. “It was never a game, Y/N. You know that. And deep down, you like it. You like me fucking with your head, making you question everything, because it feels real. You don’t want easy. You want the fight. You want me.”

“I don’t need you,” you spat, even though your pulse was racing, your body betraying you with every thumping beat.

Seungcheol’s smirk twisted into something darker. “No? Then why the hell are you still standing here?”

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, more desperate. His hands roamed, gripping your thighs, pulling you up against him until you could feel the growing heat of him pressed against your core. Your breath hitched, the force of the kiss leaving you dizzy and desperate for more. But you refused to let him have the last word.

You broke the kiss, chest heaving, and forced a smile. “You can’t break me, Seungcheol. You want to? You’re gonna have to try harder.”

His eyes narrowed, fire igniting behind them. “Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice thick with need.

You stepped back, giving him a defiant glance. “You don’t control me. Not anymore.”

But the look he gave you told a different story. Without warning, he pulled you back towards him, his hands on your waist as he spun you around, pinning you against the wall. His body was heavy against yours, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts as his lips brushed the side of your neck.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me like this.”

You gasped, the heat building between you unbearable, but you swallowed the words on your tongue. You knew he was right, but admitting it— surrendering to it—was a whole different thing.

But Seungcheol wasn’t going to let you get away that easy. His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, kissing you until you couldn’t think straight. His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips brushing against your skin, and you couldn’t hold back the shiver that ran through you.

You moaned into the kiss, the tension in your body slowly dissolving, only to be replaced with the raw hunger for more. You knew this was a dangerous game. One that could break you both.

But when his hand slid lower, brushing against the waistband of your pants, you didn’t stop him. You wanted him to push you further, to make you lose control, because you knew—deep down—that this was the only way you would ever feel alive again.

“Say it, Y/N,” Seungcheol growled, his hand pressing firmly against your core, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your pants. “Say you want me. Now.”

You closed your eyes, heart pounding, unable to resist. “I want you,” you gasped. “I want you, Seungcheol. Don’t stop.”

A growl escaped his throat, and with that, he took control once more, the world outside forgotten, leaving only the two of you, lost in the storm of everything you couldn’t say, couldn’t do—until now.

[cevansbrat0007]

Bold Moves

Summary: You decide to slip Ari your panties during an innocent encounter at the public library...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, Bird Being Brave, Going Commando, Light Roleplaying, Frisking, Manhandling, Spanking, Ass Slapping, P in V Sex, Implied Overstimulation, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Decided to finish this when I came across it in my drafts. Takes place earlier in Ari and Bird's romantic relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I’m so glad you pitched me this idea, Marisol.” You beam as you finish writing in your notebook. “I know it’s still early yet, but I would love to collaborate with you for Halloween.”

“Yes!” The younger woman cheers, throwing her arms up in the air. “I knew I picked the right woman.”

“Just I knew they picked the right woman to run the town library.” You throw her a wink before tucking your pad and pen back into your purse. “Now, I hate to cut this meeting short…” Out of habit you press a hand against your belly, silently wishing you’d opted to throw on a pair of spanx this morning instead of a flimsy pair of panties. 

Frankly, you were tired of sucking it in. But every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you looked pretty damn good. Perhaps your confidence was growing after all. 

“But I need to get home and change so I can run by the shop before it gets too late.” You finish, feeling grateful when the sweet librarian sees fit to lead you out of her office.

“Sooo…” The dark-haired woman drags out the word, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you both come around the corner. “Word on the street is that you’ve been seeing a lot of Detective Levinson lately. Everything good, I hope?”

 “What do you mean?” You respond, willing your pulse to remain steady. “Everything’s fine. He just…likes for me to call him whenever something new pops up about Martin. That’s all.”

And whenever you lock up in the evening. And when you make it home. And then again to decide if he’s coming to your place for the night. Or, if you’re already on the back roads heading to his. 

It was all so fun and exciting. But at the same time, it was just sex. Amazing sex, mind you. But just sex all the same.    

Instead of responding immediately, Marisol simply chooses to link her arm through yours. “Mm. While I haven’t lived here long, I’ve already learned how much this town loves gossip.” She muses. “Which is why I try to fly under the radar at all times.”

“Uh huh.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Even when it comes to a certain Officer Milton?”

“Shh! We do no not speak that man’s name in this house!”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like he always goes out of his way to just…be around. He’s like a puppy. I do not have time for puppies, chica. I’m too busy building a career amongst the books.”

“Well sugar, I suppose you might wanna tell him that.”

“Ay, but that would involve making conversation. Something I also do not have time for because–”

“Because he’s standing over there by the door, talking to our favorite resident detective.” You interrupt with a giggle, prompting the other woman to drop your arm in a flourish before racing off back in the direction of her office before squeaking out “you never saw me” - leaving you alone. 

You allow yourself to stand there for another moment, content with watching the two men talk. While both were easy on the eyes, you were only interested in one of them. Glancing down at your outfit, you once again reassure yourself that you’re looking pretty damned good. 

And then – just that fast – an idea strikes you.

Refusing to overthink what it was you were about to do, you discreetly make your way into the ladies room. After checking to make sure you were alone, you slip into a stall. Reaching underneath your skirt, you slide your lacy black panties down your thighs before stepping out of them. 

Biting your lip, you tuck the small scrap of fabric into your pocket. Once you’re finished, you go to leave. But not before stopping long enough to refresh your lip gloss and fluff your curls. And then you’re out the door.

Hopefully you’d be able to catch the handsome bounty hunter before he left.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s right where you saw him last – near the front of the library still talking to Milton. As you near the two, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to pull this off without making an absolute fool of yourself. 

But first you’d have to find a way to get rid of Officer Milton without making your intentions obvious. And then it hits you. While it might be wrong, it was officially time to pawn him off on your favorite new friend.

Marisol.

“Good afternoon, Officer Milton.” You chirp as you sidle forward, politely interrupting their conversation. “Detective Levinson.” Of course you’re immediately met with smiles from both men. 

“Well get a load a’ you.” Milton gives a playful whistle once he gets a good look at your business attire. “Lookin’ sharp, darlin. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Actually, I just came from a meeting down at the bank.” You tell them, smoothing your hands along your gray pencil skirt. 

“Ahh.” The officer nods. “Fingers crossed all went well.”

“It did. Thank you.” Delicately clearing your throat, you make a show of glancing around before directing your complete attention to the young officer in front of you. “While I hate to interrupt you two when you’re hard at work, I think Marisol might need you.”

“She does?” The man immediately perks up, vaguely reminding you of your neighbor’s golden retriever. 

“Yep.” You wince inwardly, hating yourself for lying. “Not sure what it’s about, but I think she’s somewhere in the back.” 

Just like that, a switch has been flipped and Officer Milton is off on the hunt for a sweet little librarian who most certainly did not need him. Fingers crossed she would catch the hint and just go with it. 

And now you’re alone with the one man with the power to leave you breathless. You were constantly left tied up in knots around this man. But today it was finally time you turned the tables on this guy. 

“How’s the manhunt going, Detective? Any new leads?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss this part of my investigation with you, Miss.” He says, flashing you a rather charming smile. “But if you hear from our guy Martin anytime soon, be sure to give me a call.”

“Of course.” You nod, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well, I’d best be goin’ now.”

“Be safe gettin’ home.” 

“Same to you. Detective.”

And then, without sparing him so much as a warning glance, you discreetly remove your panties from their hiding spot and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans. To his credit, Ari doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he continues to stare straight ahead, his gaze never wavering.  

Head held high, you manage to make it all the way to your car before collapsing in a fit of nervous laughter. While you wished you could’ve seen his face, you know deep down that you were better off running off the way you had.  

Maybe he’d call you tonight and maybe he wouldn’t. But all that mattered is that you’d mustered up enough confidence to make some bold moves this afternoon, which by all accounts made you a bad bitch.

Later That Same Evening…

It’s been hours since you pulled that stunt with Ari, but as luck would have it, you still had yet to hear from him. Not that you were worried or anything. In fact, if you had to choose an emotion, you were more disappointed than anything else.

While you’d long since abandoned your high heels by your front door, you were still wearing the outfit you’d worn to the bank. You’d simply been too excited to go by the shop so you’d decided to remain closed for the day.

Heaving a sigh as you rise from the couch, you’re in the middle of debating whether or not it’s worth trying to cobble together something for dinner when you hear the sound of your doorbell. Confused, you go to reach for your phone, only to frown when you see there’s nothing from the one man you wanted to hear from most.

The bell chimes again, prompting you to get a move on. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You mumble, stretching your arms above your head. Opening the door, you’re treated to the sight of a large man standing on your porch with his hands in his pocket, his official badge prominently displayed on his hip. 

Hello, Detective Ari Levinson. 

“Evening, Miss. Apologies for bothering you so late.” 

“Why hello, Detective. Somethin’ I can help you with?” You do your best to keep your tone light while you wait for him to explain himself.

“Sure hope so. Got a report about someone engaging in some inappropriate behavior.” He informs you, barely concealing his smirk as he leans his big body against the porch railing.

“Is that right?”

“Fraid so.” He nods solemnly. “In fact, I actually found a trail of evidence that led me right here to your front door.”

“I…well, there has to be some mistake.” You protest, your hand flying to your chest. 

“Huh.” Ari sucks on his teeth as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small scrap of lacy black fabric. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know who these belong to, would you?”

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your panties dangling from one thick index finger. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but they’re certainly not mine.” You sniff haughtily. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Now, Miss.” He gently chastises, taking another step towards you, invading your space. “Perhaps I should warn you that it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement.” Instead of responding you simply fold your arms across your heaving bosom. 

The nerve of this man, thinking he had the right to question you like this right out in the open. Honestly, what would your neighbors think? The scandal!

“You know what? I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna need to search the premises.” The bounty hunter moves to enter your home, only to growl when your hand stops him short. “It’s also a felony to impede an official investigation.” Ari grunts, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“And I'm thinkin’ I'm gonna need to see a warrant first, Detective.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his eyes darken - his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. 

“I’m sure a good girl like you ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” Ari rasps, leaning in so that his mouth now hovers a mere inch above your ear. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” You respond, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Unless there’s something in there you don’t want me to find?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Blowing out a breath you decide to give the man what he wants, if only to see what comes next

“Not sure I believe you, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” You concede. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you come in for a quick look. But you’ve gotta be fast.” You tell him, poking him in the shoulder before turning to lead him into your home. “Because I’m expecting company any minute and we don’t need an audience.”

“We’ll see.”

Your pulse kicks up when you hear Ari shut the door behind you, followed by the quiet snick of the lock. Guess that meant he thought he was staying awhile. Just as you open your mouth to protest, you’re caught off guard when he brushes by you, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. 

“I’m not sure what you’re on, Detective.” You say, shooting him your fiercest glare. Meanwhile, this man responds with his most lethal grin. “But I’m giving you five minutes to figure it out before I–” 

“You know, Miss, I didn’t wanna ask you this outside. Especially given the already delicate nature of this investigation. But do you happen to be wearing any panties?”

“Excuse me?!” His question has your mouth falling open, your cheeks burning hot with outrage.

“Answer the question.” His eyes track your every movement as you slowly back away in the direction of the stairs. “Because every good girl I know puts on a pair of panties before leaving the house for the day.”

“Goodnight, Detective Levinson.” You hiss before turning and taking the stairs two by two. “Please see yourself out before I’m forced to call your supervisor.”

Your words are met with silence. And it’s not until you reach the edge of your bedroom that you hear him moving – up the same stairs you’d just scaled only seconds before. You can hardly suppress a shiver as the heady thrum of anticipation courses through you. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” Ari growls softly as his impressive form fills your doorway, effectively blocking your only exit. “But I’m not through with my investigation.” It’s a struggle to ignore just how good he looks taking up space in your bedroom like this. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I’m finished.” He takes a step towards you, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “But first, I’m gonna need you to turn and place your hands on the wall.”

“I–I will do no such thing!” Comes your almost breathless reply. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Hm.” Ari cocks his head, his magnetic blue eyes leering at your much smaller, curvier frame. “But you are a suspect.” In less than a fraction of a second, this man is now standing in front of you. “And it would be rather reckless of me if I didn’t pat you down.” One large hand curls itself around your bicep before gently leading to a nearby wall. “You should know that I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to following protocol.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you place both of your hands on the cool surface. Taking a deep breath, you can’t help but jump when he kicks your feet apart, forcing you to spread your legs even wider, granting him better access.

“I’m gonna report you.” Unfortunately for you, your flimsy threat does nothing to deter him.

Your eyes fall shut when you feel two large, warm hands glide their way up and down your arms. It feels as tempting as it does comforting. He repeats the action twice more, almost as if he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Next, those wandering hands are stroking along your sides, greedily following the path of your curves. And then you feel him bury his nose in the crook of your neck. It’s impossible to miss his soft groan as he inhales your sweet scent.

“Now I’ve gotta ask you, little Bird.” He hums, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear. “Do you have anything on you that could stab, stick, or poke me?” 

“N-no.” 

God, you were so fucking wet right now it’s embarrassing. And you can’t stop the moan that catches in your throat when his sensual ministrations move to your breasts – cupping, massaging, and kneading. He lewdly palms them through your blouse, this thumps paying extra attention to your hardened nipples. Your back arches of its own accord as he continues to play with your body.

And there’s a part of you that hates yourself for the way he makes you respond.  

“Hm. So far so good, baby. Proud of you for keeping your hands where I can see ‘em.” Now his hands are skimming down your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt. His warm breath dances along your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “But now it’s time for the big question.” Ari begins inching your skirt higher and higher. “And don’t you dare lie to me. Are you–”

“This ain’t right, Detective!” You protest, protectively clenching your thighs together. However, your words only make him chuckle. “Pretty sure this is an illegal search and seizure.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I would have to respectfully disagree with you.” He says at the same time as he grinds himself against you, his massive erection pressing into your lower back. “It’s my job to keep the community safe. And to deal with naughty girls who go around handing out their unmentionables to strangers.” Your skirt inches even higher now, stopping just short of revealing your dripping cunt. 

“And what do you know?” He purrs, holding you still as his hand dips between your thighs, cupping your most intimate flesh. “Looks like we’ve got a little liar on our hands. Don’t we?”

“Don’t. We.” The renewed authority in his tone makes your pussy quiver.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how should we handle liars, sweetheart? Hm?” Your knees go weak when you feel two thick fingers spear their way through your messy folds, lightly strumming over your clit. “What should we do with you?”

“....I…don’t know….”

His deep chuckle has you squirming in his hold, your hips bucking as he continues to grind the heel of his palm against your sensitive nub.  

“Tell you what. You and I are about to have a serious conversation about what happens to pretty young ladies who can’t seem to tell the truth. Even when it’s in their best interest. What do ya say?”

“Y–yes, Sir.” You moan as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, sparks of pleasure dancing behind your eyes. “Whatever you want – I’ll be so, sooo good!”

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Why the fuck you keep runnin’, baby?” Ari growls, smacking your bottom hard. “Yeah, get that juicy ass back here. Love watchin’ those cheeks bounce.”

The rhythmic sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, spilling out into the hall as Ari drives into you over and over again with his impressive cock. 

He’d been hard for hours before he ever showed up on your doorstep. Frankly, he’d lost count of how many times he’d paused throughout the day to bring your panties to his nose. It was like he couldn’t seem to get enough of how good you smelled. But he also knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He needed to taste you. Needed your unique, earthy flavor on his tongue. 

Thankfully, he had no doubt that he’d have time to eat the fuck out of your sweet pussy later. After he was finished fucking you into oblivion for being such bad girl. Who would’ve guessed his little Bird had it in her to be so deliciously naughty?

Meanwhile, you’re too busy sobbing into a pillow to be proud of yourself right now, your hands fisting the sheets while your man exacts his revenge on your body. At this rate, you’d already cum twice. And here you were already roaring along to orgasm number three. 

Fuck, this man was a goddamned menace!

Your desperate cries grow louder as Ari picks up his pace, forcing you to clench around him as you finally resort to begging.

“Please, Ari!” You wail when he lifts your hips higher before adjusting the angle of his strokes. “I–ooh God–M’so close!”

“Oh yeah?” He snarls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Then let me see you work for it.” A sharp hiss escapes when his heavy palm comes down on your ass again, this time smacking both cheeks without so much as missing a beat. “This is how bad girls get punished.” You tense when he delivers yet another blow. “They’ve gotta work for their pleasure.”

“I’m sorry–wooh God!” Your voice comes out raw, bordering on hoarse.       

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there we go.” He gifts you with another slap, earning a sharp yelp from you. “Yeah, throw it back like you love it.”

After an afternoon of being bad, there’s nothing you want more than to be good for this man. You wanted to please him. Make him happy. If only so he never stopped touching you. And you were trying – honest to God, you were.

But it was all too good. Too much. 

“Just know, everytime you run, I’m gonna drag that sweet ass right back.” Ari renews his punishing grip on your hips, holding you up even as your sweat slicked body starts to give out. “Now cum for me one more time so I can finally stop takin’ it easy on you, pretty Bird.”

END

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