#a higher shelf again

[chisatowo]

A very important concept I need ppl to understand abt deep cut is that if they were to have a swear jar in the first place, it would have been made by Shiver and then exclusively filled by Shiver. It's not that the other two don't swear, Shiver just never remembers to call them out on it, and also Shiver swears like 5 times more often and the other two always remember to call Shiver out on it. Once it's full Big man gets to use it to buy expensive eyeliner <3

[rhysuje]

Frame redraw! Salim saving Jason from the spear.

(only one of many times these two save each other)

https://ko-fi.com/rhysuje

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining using a secluded space on base to do some yoga away from the 141, only to realize Ghost's been watching disapprovingly the whole time.

Like, what you lack in raw strength compared to the boys, you have in agility. You're not nearly as rigid. You're flexible, and it's only because you take the time to work on it. You have several methods but dancing and yoga are by far your favorite.

Neither hobby you can enjoy on base much, because well...you always get stared at. So, you take it upon yourself to clear out part of old studio space used for storage. It's kind of crappy, with cracked tile and dust bunnies galore, but it'll do. You play some music in your earbuds and do your beginning stretches on your mat.

When you're in the zone you're in the zone. You end up in a place far away and yet still within yourself. The burning stretch from some of your maneuvers feels so good you nearly groan. You get lost in the personal meditation. One certain position uses a specific pair of muscles in your lower back. It takes you a moment to realize why it makes you gasp. You bite your lip and decide to take a short break.

As you untangle your body you feel something's off. You're physically fine, but your heart starts to race. Your stomach lurches. You move to stand, suddenly startled by seemingly nothing.

"Yer doing it wrong."

And just like that Ghost makes himself known from behind a shelf. He's in his workout clothes, which isn't much but some slinky basketball shorts and a tank top. Black of course. His mask is the soft one he uses when he's not on the field.

You scoff at him, still feeling on edge but also relieved at no immediate threat.

"You do yoga?" You ask incredulously. "Fine, big guy. Show me how it's done."

He rolls out a mat and gestures for you to copy him. It's a simple move, one you've perfected. And yet he still shakes his head at your form. You try it again. Wrong. Again. Wrong.

"Where am I going wrong?"

You don't expect him to reach over and grab your back leg. He pulls it out further. You stumble and he rights you with the same arm. He tuts at you, but he's the reason you're off balance.

"Lift your back. No. Higher. Your hip should be down."

Next thing you know he's behind you, his large hands making your body twist and bend. You end up in the same position as you'd been in earlier, but this time you can really feel the stretch. Maybe he was right, you were doing it wrong.

You tilt your back up and feel the familiar stretch. It's better than you've ever been able to get it on your own. You can't help the soft groan that leaves your lips. The last time those muscles had been used was before you joined the 141, when you'd still had a boyfrie-

Two hands grab at those spots. Large thumbs work circles into the areas. Despite yourself, you moan. This was going a bit too far but...

The more he kneads the more you fall to your knees. You can't hold the position with your back up anymore. You practically collapse onto the mat, ass up, Ghost knelt over you.

He still doesn't let up. His thumbs dig into those circles hard enough it should hurt but instead you only feel bliss. You bite your lip, it feels so fucking good. Eventually he relents, and stops digging into you. You whine at the absence.

"That feels so good." You groan, voice sounding way too needy for what just occurred.

"M' glad." Ghost huffs amusement evident in his tone.

Ghost grabs you and flips you over onto your back. He grabs one of your legs and pushes it as far forward towards your head as he can without hurting you. He does the same to the other. It's a weird position, but it's not far off from some of the other ones you're used to. It burns but it also feels good. Considering you're flat on your back, you feel supported.

You smile up at him, a little breathless but also happy that he's willing to help you out. Yoga did not seem like something any where near his wheelhouse.

"I didn't know you liked yoga. How did you learn about this stuff?" You ask, using your own arms to hold your legs in position as Ghost gets up higher on his knees.

Ghost huffs behind his mask as he looks down at you. He narrows his eyes, his head blocking out the white light of the overhead flourescents. You feel a hand slide between the material of your shorts and the curve of your ass.

"The Kama Sutra."

[kaivenom]

One piece men first reaction to having a wet dream about you

Characters: Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Kid, Killer, Law

Warnings: NSFW, obviously

A/N: i am starting to think that i will put some of the future preferences with multiple parts, to give the One Piece Dilf a place too.

Masterlist

Monkey D. Luffy

Is surprised, a lot. He was dreaming about meat and suddently it transformed in your body, naked.

The cream of cakes and the juices from the meat covering all your body in a revealing pose.

When he oppened his eyes, he stared at the ceiling trying to process why you were on his dream.

Then he realized how his stomach felt strange and his pants incredibly tight.

He knew that feeling wasn't from hunger, so he let his hand travel to his crotch and palm it thru the underwear.

It felt really good, he finally slided his hand on his underwear and started to pump slowly his cock.

All he could think about is your body and how good would that image look in front of him.

When he was on the edge of cumming, he realized that maybe it he should go talk to you.

A broken moan escaped his lips while he got up from the bed, with a painfully hard member.

He needed to know if you can help him.

Roronoa Zoro

He feels "horrified", he tents to avoid feelings, talks or being emotional involved with anyone.

So, when he dream about you sucking him off with a smile, he got into a really bad mood.

Everyone noticed but nobody could know why, he got especially tense when you were around.

The end point came on lunch, when he had to saw you eat a hot dog, his mind went crazy of reminiscing all the things from his dream.

He went fast to the crow's net and tried to workout all the feelings away.

He got hard, really hard, to the point he couldn't concentrate on nothing.

After a whole hour of changing exercizes furiously, he sat down, trembling, sweating and whimpering... but not from the workout.

With a dissapointed grunt he started to jerk off, at first crusing your name with irritation and at the end letting out breathless moans.

He cummed a lot, all over his body. His only thought while he was heading to the showers was not to bump into you.

Vinsmoke Sanji

His hand was on his pants even before he wakes up.

He moans, whimpers and sights with every touch he imagine you do to him.

The vision of your breasts bouncing while you ride him, unable to touch you because his hands are tied up, that drives him crazy.

He doesn't know if he is still asleep or he is already awake, but he cums undone with a really loud moan.

He is not very good at pretending or trying to be quiet.

Then he felt bad about dishonoring you, but felt sooo good to him.

His day went crazy from there, having some avoidant attachment we could say.

He changes between being your living servant and licking your feet to locking himself on the kitchen.

You didn't understand that, it was really weird, but in fact, he gets away to hide the boner you make him feel.

He usually controls his impulses but after that dream he can't keep his hands out of himself.

He really wanted to aproach you on the kitchen and eat you out there, but he can't .... and then he feels bad about imagine it again.

He has a huge conflict between his desires and his chivalry.

Trafalgar Law

He feels ... unproffesional, he is your captain and you are his subordinate, he can't dream about that.

He tries to stay away from you, not from guilt but from embarrasment, from seeing you and only picturing your body riding him while he presses his chest against yours.

Then as the day passed by he starts to get closer to you, not conscientiously but his body someone tried to have some contact.

A little brush on the dinning room, setting himself behind you to get something on a "higher" shelf.

He tries to find excuses to see you alone, trying to have the courage to make a move... saying it to you or kissing you but he couldn't do it.

That lead to unnecesary visits to his office, helping him with some "new" projects on the lab, giving him books, etc.

At the end you spent all the day making stupid walks around the submarine and you got so angry you yelled at him.

He won't admit this part, but you made him hard with your yells at him.

Eustass Kidd

He gets up, not surprised at all to dream about you, he knows exactly what you do to him.

But dreaming about taking you from the back, all in four, his hands on your ass pressing firmly, that caught him out off guard.

He went to take a shower and couldn't resist to jack off under the hot water.

And It works, he is not hard anymore... Until he saw you later on the deck.

He is a very direct person but also a very arrogant one.

That results in having him trying to sound like a fuck boy, making you desire him and show it, before he even tells you he wants to fuck you.

Showing of his muscles and attributes, being extra confident and dominant thinking that the kind of stuff you like.

Once he realized he doesn't need to be that extravagant and just sit there and whisper naughty things on your ears, he will win his prize.

Killer

His dream his very connected with feelings becuase you two were in missionary, you looking at him with heart eyes full of love and lust. (without his helmet)

Goes straight forward to tell you.

Very mature from him, and plus having the helmet he can hide his blush.

When you go to take breakfast, he tells you, sounding very relaxed. He is trying to hide the fact that he is still hard.

He went so fast to tell you that his member didn't catch the message yet.

He presses his body to the counter trying to hide it.

He doesn't want to scary you or make you uncomfortable, he just wants to talk things.

After that, he tries to make distance a little bit to give you time to think.

But he can't help but give small glances to your body, he can't help it... and the helmet helps to be discreet.

[strwberri-milk]

Hello 👋. May I request for our LADS men's reaction if we give them a mini plushie version of ourselves for company? (and maybe we have a mini plushie version of them). Like when Xavi runs off on his own or when Zayne is busy or when We're too busy to visit Rafa or when we can't meet Sylus. 🤭. Sorry I'm too sad that I can't get Zayne's card so I'm hunting all the fluff I can find and I don't know what type of finance ruining shenanigans are they throwing for his bday

good luck solider i was there during the rafayel apocalypse and thank god i got a job to pay back that hole in my wallet

Zayne didn't know what to make of the little plush that appeared on his desk after you visited him one day. He couldn't help but laugh as he realised how close it looked to you, smiling to himself when he sends you a picture of it.

You text back immediately, asking him if he likes the fact that he has a little version of you to keep him company. He's busy trying to figure out when you had the time do all of this when you send him another photo of yourself holding a tiny Zayne plushie, telling him that you didn't want to be left alone either for his overnights.

The entire ordeal has him admiring just how adorable you are. He can't believe how lucky he is to have found you, texting you a thank you as he makes sure the plush of you has a safe spot on his desk.

Xavier didn't quite know what to do when he was presented with a little plushie version of yourself. His first thought was to keep you safe in his pocket but he was worried you'd fall out while he was fighting.

He ends up finding a safe space in his home to keep it and when he goes to work he keeps it with a small bag of his other things for the office. He won't take it to the field in worries of losing the plush you gave to him. He protects it the way he does you which you find totally adorable.

Rafayel absolutely adores the little thing you give him. He loves it so much that he takes it everywhere with him. Whenever he gets bored from painting or inspired to he starts making new outfits for the plush. The plush ends up amassing a wardrobe you think is a little too intensive for a stuffed toy but Rafayel makes sure you don't miss out by buying you new clothes too. You have caught him dozing off with it on multiple occasions if you take too long to visit him and you never have the heart to take it away from him.

Sylus doesn't really know what to do with it. In his opinion he'd have a much better time with the real deal but you tell him that you can't always be by his side so this is a much better substitute. He tries to tell you again that he'd just come and find you but you aren't having any of it, telling him to consider the plush an extension of you.

When you say it like that he decides he has no choice but to make sure the plush of you is treated just as well as he treats you. He doesn't spoil it by any means but whenever you see it you find that it's tidy and pristine, sitting carefully on a higher shelf to avoid being knocked down but coincidentally at a perfect height for him to reach.

[hysteria-things]

need a rough chris smut that’s kinda like the one u wrote for matt. that movie one where he kept restarting it?

maybe reader has been teasing chris all day leaving him super super needy but not needy in the way where he becomes subby, he gets tired of it and when they’re alone he puts her in her place and just edges her over and over again so she knows how he feels.

and he gets so turned on by her crying and shit and the more she does and begs him to cum the more he edges her

hes just a lil meanie :33!

RULE BREAKER

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve been such a tease all day, and chris is starting to get fed up. later that night he comes up with a plan… one that you’re not fond of.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, swearing, teasing, vibrator, orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, begging, spanking, overstimulation, choking, degradation, p in v, stomach bulge, unprotected sex (don’t be silly!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,277

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: chris is mean in this sorry not sorry😇

sorry it took so long :(

chris isn’t fond of the game that you’re playing. you’re acting oblivious to it, but he knows damn well what you’re doing.

you and the triplets are on a target trip right now, and the two of you are at a different section of the store.

“should i get this?” you ask innocently, bending down in front of him to pick up a product that you certainly don’t need off the bottom shelf. wiggling your ass a smidge, he stares at you unamused.

you sigh, backing up into him and arching slightly. “or what about this one?” you stand on your tippy toes to grab another useless item.

he groans because when you reached up, your ass rubbed against his crotch. he grips onto your hips and pulls you closer. “cut it out.”

“cut what out?” you pout, looking at him with those fuck me eyes you’ve been giving him all damn day.

when he doesn’t answer, you sigh and rotate your body. “let’s check out.”

before walking away, he flinches once you grab onto his hard-on.

he was quiet the whole ride back to their house. matt is dropping you off since you’re sleeping over, but they’re going to film first. “thanks matt!” you exclaim, getting out of the backseat.

“i need to run inside real quick.” chris says, grabbing the target bag and following behind you.

once he shuts the door, you turn to face him. he yanks a box out of the bag and throws the bag somewhere. your eyes widen.

it’s one of those vibrators that one controls from their phone. you don’t even know when he picked it out.

he unboxes it and takes it out, pulling you to him by the waistband. you gulp, your eyes not falling from the toy. “when—”

“shut your mouth.”

you immediately close it, letting him reach down into your underwear to put the vibe in. you bite your tongue at the feeling.

he points his finger at you. “i’m going to go film a video. you are going to stay here. don’t fucking touch it, and don’t you dare cum. if i find out you’re going to be in big trouble, you understand me?”

“yes,” you mumble, looking down at your feet.

he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. “what?”

“yes,” you repeat in a higher tone. he grins, kissing you on the cheek before heading out the door.

you’re so fucked.

you roam around the kitchen aimlessly, looking for a snack. it started as a gentle rhythmic feeling, like when you were on the couch watching a movie before and felt the vibration start between your thighs.

currently, nothing is happening, but chris has been edging you for about an hour now.

you tap on your phone that’s on the counter before you feel the most intense vibration yet, possibly on the max setting.

knuckles white as you grip tightly on the counter, your head falls between your shoulders with a loud moan.

you start humping the toy as if that’ll do you a favor. it doesn’t, but the vibration is so intense that your legs start to quiver.

a chance to breathe comes along when it stops, but it doesn’t take long for it to start up again.

despite your grip, you almost tumble to the ground. you squeal uncontrollably, the knot in your stomach forming like it has been all this time.

it’s too late to stop the knot from snapping, sighing in relief when your orgasm drips down your legs.

you thought you were fucked before, but now you’re really fucked.

chris fiddles with the controls on his phone, his brother’s voices blocked out around him. “can you get off the damn phone and listen?” nick asks annoyed, tapping his brother on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“hold on,” he replies, then he gets a text from you.

your leg bounces as you sit on chris’s bed, the door swinging open just moments later. he didn’t touch the vibe once you texted him, and it freaks you out even more. you look at him with wide eyes and he joins you. “take it out.” he demands, referring to the toy that’s still inside you.

you throw it somewhere on the floor, and when you do, chris yanks you by the back of the neck to pull you over his lap.

he quite literally tears off your leggings, and before you can react, a hand makes rough contact with your right asscheek.

you jolt while his hand meets your left one this time. “funny to assume that you can tease me all day and get away with it.” right. “but you were wrong.” left.

“it was an acc—” you cry out of pain when he spanks you again.

“be quiet,” he says through gritted teeth, spanking you so many times that your ass turns red and is tingling. he doesn’t care if his brothers can hear. there’s only one thing on his mind, and that is to punish you.

tears well up in your eyes, your arousal glistening on your pussy.

when he’s done, he throws you back flat onto the bed. you gulp when he unbuckles his pants.

you feel his body dip into the bed, hovering over you. the chain he’s wearing dangles freely above your face. “ch—”

“do you just not fucking listen?” he curses, rubbing his tip teasingly at your entrance. maybe you should shut up.

he has no problem sliding into you, and the moment he does you groan. he wastes no time to plow into you, arching your back the deeper he gets.

you start to lift your head from the pleasure, but he wraps his hand around your neck to push it down. broken moans escape your lips, your eyes fluttering back with each thrust.

chris grunts, loving the way your eyes fill with tears. “i’m gonna—”

“absolutely not,” he says, lifting your legs so they rest on his shoulders. this new angle doesn’t help with the feeling in your tummy. “hold it, slut. doesn’t feel good, does it? huh?”

at the last word, he pulls out and slams back into you. your cry out, your bottom lip quivering.

your hands scratch at his chest, silently begging for release. it sucks though, because you know he won’t give you one anytime soon.

“ple-ease.” you beg. “p-please. i need to—”

you’re cut off when he starts to hit your cervix, the bulge of his cock forming in your stomach. he smirks menacingly, taking his unoccupied hand and pressing it onto the bulge.

“feel how deep i am?” he questions, but your head is leaned back with whimpers leaving your mouth. your legs start to shake, being too far gone in the pleasure.

squelching noises and the slap of his hips on your ass bounce off the walls, along with your noises. “please, please, please.” you sob, your g-spot getting hit over and over again.

“no. don’t make me say it again, slut.” he says, getting more turned on by the tears streaming down your face. “this is what you wanted, no? you wanted to be fucked like a whore, and that’s what i’m doing.”

when you start clenching repeatedly around him, the feeling makes him shoot his ropes of cum inside you. he grunts, releasing his grip from your throat.

you inhale sharply, but then he pulls out of you. he shrugs smugly when you look at him with a plea.

“but—”

“you broke one of the rules i gave you, ma.” he walks by your head to wipe the tears from your face. “don’t pull shit like that again.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs

[my-castles-crumbling]

higher - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 220

Sirius huffed, standing on his tip-toes, trying to read the book on the top shelf.

He wasn't short, mind you, he was just...vertically challenged. And he wasn't about to ask for help when he could just grab into the shelf and pull himself a bit....higher...almost...there...

There was a movement next to him, and suddenly, Remus Lupin was close. So close, Sirius could smell chocolate and cinnamon and all things boy.

It was at this moment that Sirius realized Remus was tall. Taller than him, and tall enough to easily reach up and grab the offending book from the shelf, allowing his jumper to ride up and revel a sliver of tan, scar-ridden skin that Sirius tried not to stare at. Except he did. Stare, that is.

And then brown eyes met gray-blue as Remus handed him the book, smirking a bit. "This one, Pads?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

But for some reason, the words stuck in Sirius's throat. He was too busy gaping now at the freckle on Remus's jaw. How had he never noticed it before?

"Pads?" Remus asked again, tilting his head to the side, concern mixing with his teasing expression.

"Erm. Yeah," he breathed, stepping back. Because for some reason, being that close to Remus messed with his senses. It must have been some weird Library curse.

[hotnbloodied]

Hiiii can I request popular yandere classmate x oblivious reader, oh and can it be smut pleassee?

Thanks for your ask! I started randomly naming all my yanderes even if they are all one shots, I don't know if I want to keep it though. We'll see. This one almost fucking tore me to shreds, I might need a break after this. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

-˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Popular Boy X Oblivious Reader (!!SMUT!!)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

CW: not proof read, yous/yours used, gn reader, there is SEX, sloppy lewd writing, yandere tendencies, reader is kind of silly here. (LMK if I'm missing anything.)

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

It was the first group project of the year! You and three other people were going to be randomly assigned together to work on a research project about something or another. The first two seemed like nice people but the third was Atticus, your friends have talked about him before. Wasn’t he popular or something? When the group met face to face you finally understood why, he was funny, charismatic and quite the looker. Your group decided to meet up in the library and you thanked your lucky stars that it seemed everyone was working well with each other. The other two in the group knew each other and were friends so when one of them had to leave later on in the day the other one did so as well leaving you and Atticus the only ones in the group still in the library.

Without the other two here, people were more inclined to come by to say hi to Atticus causing him to get distracted, you didn’t care much honestly, you had work to do after all. You overheard a couple of the people who came to talk to Atticus talk about some sort of group karaoke and that he should join them. “Sorry guys, I’m still with my group partner,” he apologized. You looked up, “it’s all good, this is just the first day after all.” Atticus looked at you incredulously. “See? Even your groupmate thinks it’s fine. Join us, Atticus, the girls are asking for you.” Internally he was annoyed, he already said no and the least his groupmate could do was back him up. Were you really that stupid? Eventually though, he was able to convince them to leave him alone. But when he turned expecting to see you still sitting there you were gone. Your stuff was still here so he assumed you went to get more material to research.

Scanning over the library he spots you eventually, struggling to reach for a book on a higher shelf. He sighs and starts walking over to assist but it turns into a run when he notices that you’re about to get toppled by said books. He covers you from getting hurt and curses at himself because having books fall on him fucking hurts. “What are you doing?” He says sternly, “if you can’t reach something ask for help.” He gasps, some of his true self leaked out, his image of a prince type is over. “Dang I’m sorry, you’re right. No sense in getting myself hurt, thanks! By the way, are you okay?” Suddenly, his heart raced, he didn’t know why. It might have been the way you looked under him currently, or it might have been the way you accept his rough tone with you, but either way he was going to explore it, explore you.

The project goes by smoothly, you still hang out with Atticus since the two of you exchanged numbers due to the project. You found it really weird though, each time you hung out with him and his friends, his friends were never able to make it. You hope you’re not scaring them away. Little did you know that if anyone is scaring people away it’s Atticus. The more time he spent with you was like heaven but also hell. He loved spending time and learning new things about you but, fuck, why were you not picking up any of the hints and flirty signs he was giving you?! Like today when it was just the two of you again, you two were at the movies and he tried to get an arm over your shoulder. “Oh my! Are you cold? Here, you can have my jacket.” And wrapped him up in your jacket! Sure, being able to smell your scent was nice but that’s not what he wanted! To rub salt on the wound too, after the movies his friends spotted him and invited you two to join them and you ACCEPTED! “Oh sorry, were you guys on a date?” One of his friends asked. “Oh no, we’re just chilling! We’d love to join you!” You responded. He almost choked up blood.

He went to his last resort and feigned sickness. Worry etched your face and you apologized as you helped carry him away. He convinced you to go to his place since it was nearby and was a bit hurt that you agreed so readily, you were going to be in a private space with him after all. Arriving at his place you helped him inside, all the way to his room. As you wished him better and got up to leave he tugged your arm. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Hm? What’s up, need something?” He hugs you, “I… I need you.” Not sure what he meant, but feeling like he needed this, you hugged him and both of you stayed like that for a while. That was, until his lower half decided to act up. “Do you, uh, need help with that?” You ask, almost too innocently. His face flushed, “help with this…?” “Of course, a boner is a natural part of your body, you know. Though I also heard that boners don’t happen just because someone is horny though…are you horny?” Atticus felt the blood rush to his head, all he could do was meekly nod.

You were sucking on his member, he could tell that you’ve done something like this before but maybe not too often due to the slight hesitation you exhibited. Regardless though he never imagined you would have been so willing to do this for him, should he have asked sooner? The sight of your mouth wrapped so prettily around his cock, he wasn’t the type that was quick to cum but just because it was you doing this act on him he felt close. He couldn’t have that, so he grabbed your shoulder and urged you on to his bed. “Take off your clothes,” he instructs. You did as he told, he gulped, he wanted this for how long now? It felt surreal that this was real. He couldn’t help but use his hands to explore your body, groping, touching, feeling your warmth. Your breathing quickened, you weren’t sure why he was taking so long, his exploration of your body started making you feel needy. You were close to telling him to hurry but let out a yelp when he started to suck and lick on your chest. He worked his way down to your lower area.

“What are you doing? Is all this necessary?” You ask him. “Please,” he begged, “I just need this, won’t you let me?” You whimpered, this is good and all but all this teasing is something you aren’t used to. He sucked and tongue prodded you for a while, you said that you would let him do what he wanted but you wanted to release soon and his tongue wasn’t doing that for you. “Hey, uh– hnn!!” Before you could say anything more he inserted a finger then two into you, rhythmically finger fucking you. Making sure to brush against your g spot each time. You were so close and Atticus knew it, so he stopped making you whine even louder. “Why did you stop?” “Grind on my dick,” he ordered. Sluggishly you got up and did as he was told. “Don’t even try to insert before I allow you to.” So you rubbed your sensitive area against him, slow at first but even you can grow impatient and you’ve been that for a while. Your wetness making a mess and with your bodies grinding against each other a squelching sound reverberated through the room along with the heavy panting and moaning. “Soon please?” You begged. Atticus needed you badly as well so he pushed you down on the bed again and aligned himself before pushing in causing you to scream out from the intrusion. He jackhammered you silly, “fuck, fuck, fuck, please. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he chanted like a mantra, “I need you so bad.” What followed was one of the hardest orgasms you ever had. He unsheathed from you and quickly went to your face marking your face all over with his seed.

After a couple of beats you asked, “hey, uh, can I have some napkins?” “S-sorry,” he scrambled to his drawer and took out a box of tissues. After you cleaned yourself up you asked, “I’d like to borrow your bathroom.” He told you that it was down the hall. You took your clothes and left his room, when you came back you thanked him. “Well that was fun! I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later alright?” And left. He was shocked, how fucking clueless can you be?? He was going to make sure you understood that you were his now and he was going to move heaven and hell to make sure that happens, his darling.

[rebelfell]

I could tell you this is *really* it, but you’d never believe me… 18+, MDNI 1.7k

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson

cw: pregnancy/fertility discussions

continued from here, index here

“Did you want one?”

Eddie’s voice barely manages to break through the fog your mind had slipped into.

Tangled up with him in the softness of your sheets, cast in the scarlet glow of your scarf-covered lamp, body shiny with a sheen of sweat and your legs still trembling with the effects of the last few hours, it was a miracle your floaty, dopamine-addled brain had even heard.

“Huh?” you asked, lifting your head the full two inches you were able.

He lifts himself from his place between your thighs, where he’s been the last…twenty minutes? Thirty? It’s hard to say. Time has a tendency to stretch and expand when he’s in this mood. 

When all he wants to do is live down there—not even actively trying to get you off, just letting his tongue glide through your folds and play with your clit. Unhurried and engrossed.

Like he has all the time in the world.

Because at last he does.

It was hardly an ideal time to ask, Eddie knew that. But he hadn’t been able to get the question out of his head since earlier that afternoon. Even now, when he was smack dab in his version of heaven, he couldn’t put off the question he’d been wanting to ask any longer.

So he didn’t.

“Did you want one?” he asks again. And then, when your brow furrowed and your head started to shake in confusion, he adds, “A baby.”

“A…baby?” You repeat it slowly, pushing up on your elbows to look at him.

The doe eyes come out in full force as he looks up at you and nods. Round and open and so, so vulnerable it made your chest ache. Even with all the efforts he’d put into making himself look older—the glasses he’d been wearing more and more often, the beard that he was letting grow in—those eyes always gave it away that deep down he was still that scared, eager little twenty-something puppy come to life.

“Why?” you snicker. “You got a friend who can get one wholesale?”

“No,” he snickers back, smoothing his hand over your stomach. A little higher than where a baby would go, but you don’t tell him that. “I was just wondering if you, you know…wanted one.”

“Eddie, I…” You trail off, not quite sure how to answer. Because you’re slowly but surely starting to realize he’s not joking. With a hard swallow, you ask, “Is this about what you found?”

He doesn’t need to nod for you to know it is.

In the midst of clearing out the closet, making room for him to start bringing his stuff over and slowly move in with you over the last few months of his lease, he’d unearthed something.

It was just a shoe box, something that would typically be totally inconsequential. Something you’d stowed on the top shelf in the far corner the first night you spent in this house. Something that only came out for short intervals during particularly heart wrenching bouts of nostalgia.

You hadn’t labeled or decorated it. Hadn’t put anything on it to indicate just how precious its contents were. Nothing more than a tiny “E” in ballpoint ink on the bottom corner of the lid. 

Small enough to miss easily. But Eddie didn’t.

Inside, he found all his notes from that summer folded back up into triangles. A bottle cap from his favorite beer. A guitar pick he’d left out on the patio table one night you’d sat outside looking at the stars while he strummed “Going to California” on his acoustic. He’d had it stuck in his head for days, ever since you told him how Robert Plant and Jimmy Page wrote it for Joni Mitchell.

All the things you felt compelled to keep without fully understanding why.

Near the top were the more recent additions—the blood-stained rag you’d used to bind his hand the day he helped you move. Then the postcard from Berlin Steve sent you that mentioned his name. The envelope with the foreign postage he’d sent your bear in, a copy of Corroded Coffin’s CD.

And the outer packaging of a pregnancy test.

You hadn’t kept the stick itself. That had struck you as a bit too gross. But the box had lain in your wastebasket for weeks, staring at you from atop a pillow of used tissues and make-up wipes and q-tips and emptied toilet paper rolls. And when it finally came time to empty the basket, you found you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tie off the bag with it still sitting inside. 

So into the shoebox it went.

And when you came back up from downstairs, concerned by the sudden lack of thumping that had been near-constant all day, you found him sitting silently on the bed holding it in his hands.

You assured him it had been a false alarm. That the test was negative and that you promptly got your period just a few days after. That you opted not to tell him because you didn’t want him to worry, as you knew he would. That you knew he would have come running without a second thought. And as much as you wished he was there, you didn’t want to do that to him.

And he could understand all that. He really could.

But it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty that he wasn’t here. That he didn’t have a clue it was happening. And it doesn’t make him wonder any less what might have happened if the result had been different. Would you have told him then? Would you have wanted to keep it? Would you have asked his opinion, even knowing he would support whatever decision you made?

You could see his head was swimming with all these questions, getting lost in the whirlpool of them, and grabbed his face with your hands to pull his eyes to yours. 

Stop it, you told him solidly. You don’t need to feel bad about decisions we never had to make.

And you were right. He knew you were right. He didn’t need to worry about doing the right thing, because he could see it in your eyes that you knew he would have no matter what.

So the package went back in the box and the box went back in the closet. And you spent the rest of the day packing and sorting things into piles—toss, donate, storage—until half (okay, a little less than half) of the closet and drawer space was empty and ready for him.

You figured that was that. He didn’t mention it again or act remotely different as you sorted and talked and cleaned. Or when you finally showered and washed the layers of grime and sweat from your bodies only to crawl into the haven of your bed and fall into that easy and tempered, sort of languid lovemaking you both found you liked just as much as the urgent, desperate, carnivorous, animalistic kind of fucking you were prone to.

It wasn’t until he stopped to ask his question that you realized he was still thinking about it.

“Come up here,” you tell him, tugging loosely on a lock of hair by his ear.

And he does.

He slides up to lay beside you, head nestled in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning across your chest as he nuzzles his face against your chin.

You let your nails skim his back, trying to trace the shapes of tattoos you can’t see but know are there. The broadsword on his spine, the barbed vines that wrapped around his bicep, the D20 above his elbow and the bats beneath it.

“Do you want one?” you ask him after a long moment. Muted and wary.

He doesn’t respond right away, taking a beat to chew on his response. And you feel certain he can hear your heartbeat jump to an uneasy rhythm as you wait for his answer. Because what if he does? What if this is it? The moment you come to a real reason this can’t work—that he has dreamt his whole life of a family only to wind up with the person who can’t give him one?

“Honestly, I don’t know…but I’d love to give you one,” he answers solidly, “if that’s what you want. And I’d love there to be more of you in the world.”

“Ed,” you sigh, “I don’t even know if I can get—”

“What if we tried?” he asks, going on before you can dissuade it. “We don’t have to tell anyone we are, we can just…see if it happens. If it does, it does. And if it doesn’t, then…”

“Then what?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Then I’d still have you.”

He rolls onto his elbow and looks up to see the tears just starting to burgeon in your eyes. His hand comes up to brush your temple, following the curve of your jaw that is clenched in thought. The touch of his hand seemingly melts all the tension there, almost like magic, and you feel yourself similarly melting—looking back at this man who loves you so deeply and definitively.

Because you would love nothing more than for there to be more of him in the world.

“So, when are we gonna start…seeing,” you asked with a shy smile. “Right now?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching he was trying so hard not to break out in a stupid-big, beaming smile.

“Maybe not just yet,” he said, the mirth in his voice shining through.

“No?” you ask, your brows lifting in surprise. “How long are we waiting, then?”

“Well, that all depends…” He ducked back down and returned to nuzzling your neck, lowering his voice to a husky murmur in your ear. “...on when you wanna get married.”

You let out breathy chuckles in between the quick, zealous kisses he began to drop on your skin, the ends of his hair tickling as they brushed the side of your face and fell across your chest.

“Ohh,” you laughed, reaching to lace your fingers with his. “Are you gonna marry me, then?”

Eddie pulled back once more and grinned down at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling his smile was so wide, his expression alight and filled with the purest form of mischief.

“Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”

prev┃

Standin’ on a hill in the mountain of dreams, tellin’ myself it’s not as hard, hard, hard as it seems…

[rileyslibrary]

Lift and learn.

Synopsis: You discover Ghost’s unique skill; estimating the weight of items just by lifting them. You decide to challenge his ability by giving him little tests and he (for once in his life) loves to show off.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,381 (approx. 5-6 minutes reading time.)

Notes:

Mindless, platonic fluff with minimal plot.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The storage room is vast and poorly lit, with rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance. The air conditioning blows cool air throughout the facility, with only the gentle hum of the units and refrigerators breaking the silence. You and Ghost stand at the entrance, surveying the endless supply of crates and boxes ahead of you.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” you remark, kicking a nearby stack of boxes.

Ghost nods. “Come on,” he says as he walks between the shelves, “the faster we start, the faster we’ll be done with it.”

You follow him, walking down the first row of shelves, scanning the labels on the boxes and crates to see what they contain.

He checks the list you made with the food you’ll need for the mission, and he points toward the direction of the canned goods.

“Go look for the soup,” he advises, “and don’t lift the crate yourself.”

You turn to face him. “Why not, sir?”

“That thing weighs about 20 kgs,” he says, “you won’t be able to lift it alone.”

“Is that so?” you raise your brows. Ghost lets out a long sigh.

“I don’t doubt your abilities, soldier—I just know the box is too heavy to be lifted from up high,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t want to clean tomato soup off the floors now, do you?”

You roll your eyes and walk over to the box in question. You turn to glance at Ghost out of the corner of your eye—he’s ticking things off the list. You decide to give it a shot. You take a deep breath and grasp the box by its handles, attempting to pull it off the shelf. Your arms strain as you put all your weight into it, but the crate doesn’t budge. You try again, but it’s in vain.

Just as you’re about to give up, Ghost appears at your side.

“Told ya; it’s a heavy box,” he says, amused.

You step back, allowing him to take your place. He grips the box and lifts it off the shelf.

“That’s over 20 kgs.” He comments as he curls the box. “Around 24 kgs, I’d say.”

You stare at the box as it moves up and down, then at him. He approaches the large food scale and places the box on it. As he predicted, the box weights precisely the amount he estimated.

“Do you do this a lot?” you ask.

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I normally curl barbells.”

“Estimating the weight of something just by lifting it?” you clarify, “I saw you do it before when we were packing stuff from the armoury.”

“Ah,” he says, flicking his wrist, “it’s nothing.”

He surely doesn’t act like “it’s nothing.” He’s trying to portray himself as humble. But he looks far too cocky about it. He puffs out his chest and places his hands on his waist. His head tilts a little higher, and he squints his eyes, resulting in narrow creases at their corners. There’s also a slight stiffness in his upper body muscles. Is he flexing? Yes. Yes, he’s desperate to show off his skill once more. And, of course, you don’t waste the opportunity.

You gesture to a massive stalk of bananas. “How much does that weigh?” You ask.

He walks towards the bananas, his hands still on his hips. “Ah,” he says as he lifts the stalk, “this should weigh around 1.3 kgs.” He states and places the bananas on the scale. He waits for the scale to flash and then turns to face you when it indicates just a little over the amount he predicted.

“Wow, Lieutenant!” You yell and clap your hands together. “Do it again!”

He takes a sharp breath from his nose and gestures with his hands. “Give me something more difficult this time.” he says with pride.

You look around the storage room and spot a pile of sandbags in the corner.

“Okay, how much does one of those weigh?” you ask.

He redirects his gaze to the sandbags. He shrugs. “30 kgs.” He says.

“That doesn’t count, Lt.,” you frown, “you didn’t even lift them.”

“I don’t have to lift them, Y/N; we fill sandbags to exactly 30 kgs each.” He explains and turns to look at you with a you-should-have-knew-that expression.

You decide to step up your game.

“Okay, Lt., what about me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

He raises his index finger at you. “I’m not lifting you.” He states.

“Why not?” You ask, and he goes on to explain how it put him in trouble on a deployment about a decade ago. “Bananas, don’t get offended when you estimate them to be a few grams heavier.” He explains. You promise him you won’t be insulted, and he brings his right hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks to stop you.

“O’ay,” you mutter through your pinched lips, and he lets you go. “See this cardboard box over there?” You ask, and he turns to look in the direction of a big, beige-coloured box on the ground. It’s taped shut and sealed with no hint or label of what it might contain.

“Can you estimate its weight without looking what’s inside the box?” you ask.

He gives a short chuckle and mutters something like “if I can, she asks” under his breath before walking to the box. He tilts his head, trying to estimate its weight by looking at it. He stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, readying himself for what he’s about to do. He gathers his cargo pants from his thighs, and lowers himself to the ground in a deadlift position, grabbing the box by the handles. He takes a deep breath and pulls the box up with all his might.

But the box turns out to be lighter than you both anticipated, making Ghost lose his balance. He stumbles backwards, his arms flapping as he tries to regain control of his body. In his panic, he forgets to let go of the box which seems to defy gravity, and it flies through the air, driven by the momentum of his fall.

“Lt.!” you yell as you hurry to him, kneeling on the floor, “are you okay, sir?”

He stares at the floor, then at you, then back at the ground. You grab his arm to pull him up, but his ego is too bruised to allow you to do that to him. He gets up on his own and dusts his trousers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologise, “I had no idea.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest—he looks defensive. “Neither of us knew, soldier,” he says, trying to reassure you, and walks towards the box.

“Huh,” he says as he lifts its flaps. “I fell backwards by a rocket explosion before,” he recalls, “but never by a cardboard box filled with sanitary pads.”

You giggle, and he shakes his head. He picks one of the packages and shows it to you. “Will you need a couple of these during our mission?” He asks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the ground.

He picks up two packs and puts one of them under his arm. “No shame in that, soldier,” he comforts you and shakes the other pack, “these babies almost broke my hip about a minute ago.”

You smile in response—at least he can make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You’re impressive, Lt.,” you comment, “a walking and breathing human scale.”

“Eh,” he shrugs as he crosses the final items off the list, “it helps with missions and loading up the trucks.”

“Now,” you continue, looking at the boxes you’ve collected for the mission, “how about we fill up the truck before one of us gets hurt in this warzone of a storage unit?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, let’s get outta here,” he agrees, “I don’t want to get jumped by a bunch of Kleenex.”

———————————————————————

[after-witch]

Sufferance [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Sufferance [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: Patience is a thread. Eventually, it snaps. You should have minded this with someone like Chrollo Lucilfer.

word count: 3000+

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, rough noncon sex, sexual assault, degradation

You love books. You always have. As a child, you would curl up under your covers, flashlight in your mouth or propped up carefully with dirty laundry, reading page after page until you heard the creak of your mother’s footsteps in the hallway and had to flop down like a fish, pretending to be asleep. As a teen, you devoured books on the bus, in between classes, sometimes during classes much to your teacher’s irritation. 

Your love of reading led where it sometimes does as an adult--to the library. You were just an assistant--shelver, pamphlet folder, read-books-to-the-kids-every-Tuesday-morning--but it was enough for you to be in the building.It wasn’t a particularly lucrative job, and you had heard from friends and family time and time again that you really ought to go back to school and aim for something higher. Time and time again, you shook your head, smiling, and said you were happy to be there.

Now, you wish you had listened to them. You wish you had put in your 2 weeks notice and went back to school or hell, just quit and taken a job somewhere else. Anywhere else. Preferably in a backroom. A warehouse. Somewhere that wasn’t visible to the public and therefore visible to people like him.

Somewhere that didn’t have you sitting quietly behind a desk, processing books, double checking inventory, darting here and there to help patrons or put something back on the shelves. 

Because that is exactly how Chrollo Lucilfer found you.

You met him once… twice… three… four… five times at the library. At least, five times that you know of; thinking back, you wonder if he watched you secretly. He must have, to know so much about you. You push that thought away.

He left an impression, but how couldn’t he? He was handsome and rather intimidating, with a casually professional outfit and an intriguing bandage wrapped around his forehead. His voice was soft and polite, inquiring, curious. 

He came back a few times. Struck up a conversation. Helped you reach a tall shelf, a low shelf. Offered to carry a stack of books that you had to put away without the cart because it had gone missing. 

At first you appreciated another kind patron--but there was something about him that you didn’t like. Something which seemed to seep out of him as time went on.

Oh, you couldn't have pinpointed it if you’d been paid in solid gold. It was something innate. Something primal. Something deep in your gut that told you to stay away from him, like a rabbit catching a whiff of a predator in the woods.

So you started avoiding him as much as possible, running into the stock room whenever you saw him come in, pleading with a coworker that you weren’t feeling well and needed to swap out. You thought if you ignored him, he would leave you alone, move on. 

Chrollo, on the other hand--if his own words told to you later are to be believed--fell absolutely, maddeningly for you.

So he waited to see if you could come around (you didn’t) and he took matters into his own hands.

That is to say, he kidnapped you. 

You had asked him why, just the once. He shrugged and mentioned that he couldn’t stay in this town forever, and he had to take you before he left. If he didn’t have to go, perhaps he might have tried to court you, but ah, it simply couldn’t be helped.

“Couldn’t be helped.” That’s what he said. It couldn’t be helped that he stole you from your life, your friends, your family. It couldn’t be helped that he stole you. Took you away from everything you’ve known and has decided to keep you with him. Like a pet--no, not that. Like a treasure. Something to be admired and touched at his whim.

And that is where you are now… 

Well. More or less.

Just because he’s kidnapped you doesn’t mean you have to give in to him. At least not outside of the fact that you can’t get away from him, and you know that there’s no point in trying to run or fight or desperately beg hotel concierges or passers-by for help. Because no one can help you. 

What you can do is fight, in little ways. Ways that dig under his skin and keep you from completely drowning in horror and misery. 

The best way to dig under the skin of the seemingly almighty Chrollo Lucilfer is to ignore his attempts to woo you. And oh, they are temptations, there is no doubting that. He has offered so much at your feet that you sometimes wonder why he simply doesn’t find someone who might be open to his advances and do the same. You’ve told him as much, and he’s murmured sweet nothings (emphasis on nothings, in your opinion) about how you’re the only one who’s ever really caught his eye and his heart. 

He’s offered you a veritable library of books, including treasures that you’re sure (even if he won't admit it) were stolen from some priceless collection. He’s taken you to bookstores and told you to have your pick, anything you want--it’s yours. He’ll even read it with you. 

He suggests getting your favorite meals--sticky and spicy rice dishes, homey pasta from the local restaurant, pastries with sweet cream. Whatever you want, whenever you want. He’s collected all of your favorite films (the fact that he knows which were your favorites makes you feel sick every time you think about it) and watched them with you, but there’s no enjoyment in the scenes. Just as there is no enjoyment in the jewelry he clasps around your wrist, your neck; the rings he slides on your fingers. 

You reject the intention behind them all, verbally or physically. Except the food, but only because you need the energy to keep up your struggles for another day. 

You refuse to accept this as normal. Any of this. 

That’s why he still ties you up when he has to leave, whether it’s a short leash that keeps you on the bed or a long chain around your ankle, keeping you away from the front door of wherever you’ve been stashed.

Sometimes you’re tied up when he’s here, too, if you’ve been too ornery. You refuse to let him touch you or kiss you, though God in heaven knows he’s tried. You’ve bitten him in the past, and got gagged for the trouble, but it was worth it. It’s not like you wanted to talk to him anyway. 

He can kidnap you, but he can’t make you love him. He can’t make you let him love you, either, whatever version of “love” he believes is in his heart.

But.

But.

But.

Patience is a thread. Eventually, when pulled too tight, it snaps.

You might have paid more attention to this fact, if you knew what was coming.

--

You shouldn’t be surprised when you exit the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in clean sweatpants and a lounge shirt, that the apartment has been transformed. It’s not the first time Chrollo has attempted a romantic evening.

But you weren’t expecting it and tonight, he’s pulled out everything in the book. Lights. Music. Food. Mood.

On the table of the hotel room are some of your favorite dishes, all neatly arranged on top of a crisp white tablecloth. There are glasses of wine, probably expensive. In the background soft music plays, something nice, relaxing, elegant. There are candles on the dining table, on the coffee table, above the fireplace. Flickering and dancing, giving the room a dreamy effect. 

And there is Chrollo, of course, standing as casually as he can (which is not very much at all) in front of the table. Staring at you with unspoken expectations in his eyes. 

“I thought,” he says, slowly, after a while, “that you could pick our movie tonight as well. Anything you please.” 

You don’t answer. You look at the table and then at him, but you don’t answer.

He sighs, and you see--just for a moment--one of the hands at his side clench and release. He walks toward you, and you’ve half a mind to turn around and lock yourself in the bathroom, but he’s quicker than your thoughts. 

One hand goes to your chin and you set your jaw together as tight as you can, lips pursed, ready to spit venom if he should try anything. 

“Darling,” he whispers. “I wish you’d let me treat you.” He pauses. “I wish you’d let me kiss you.” 

You can feel his breath on your cheek. It smells like mint. He probably popped one while you were in the shower. Asshole. 

He leans in, and it’s not the first time he’s tried to kiss you but it’s the most audacious in recent memory, and you yank your jaw away and take a step back.

You breathe in through your nose, wishing hot fumes could come out to represent how you feel inside. But they don’t. 

So you settle for words.

“Fuck. You.” You spit them out, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. “Fuck you and your ‘date’ and if you think I’m ever, ever going to let you… let you…” Kiss me, touch me, have anything from me except poison and hatred? You can’t finish.

The words aren’t enough. You need something more, something that lets you kinetically toss all of this anger and helplessness out into the world. 

Ah. The table. 

You don’t think before you do it. You just do it. Your hands grip the pressed white table cloth and you yank, hard, sending all the carefully set glasses and dishes flying to the floor. The candles, fragile things, sputter out in the process.

For a few moments, it is mostly silent, punctuated only by a soft dripping that you assume must be spilled wine and your own rapid breathing.

And then you look back at Chrollo and feel your stomach drop out from underneath you.

He’s staring, not at the mess you’ve made, but you. And he doesn’t look angry at all, which isn’t quite right--because you know he’s angry. You know it because the air feels heavy, rancid, like you’re being pressed down by mere emotion. 

“I’ve been kind,” he says finally, voice soft and calm. You want to scream--kind?!--but the feeling in the air keeps you from speaking. You don’t want it inside your mouth, this air. 

“I’ve been kind,” he repeats, “but enough is enough.” 

If you were a rabbit, you would have run. But you’re not, and so you’re standing perfectly still when he takes slow steps toward you and grabs your wrist.

Now, you do try to pull away--but for once, you can’t wrench yourself from his grip. You always had been able to before. But this is different--he’s different. It’s like he’s a stone statue, and no matter how you pull, it makes no difference.

Only he’s not as still as a statue. His hand returns to its earlier position, but instead of gripping your chin, he continues upward, tracing lines across your jaw, up your cheek.

“So lovely,” he says. “A pity that you haven’t let me admire you.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, venomous air be damned. You pull as hard as you can, your socked feet sliding on the floor. You wrench and yank and squirm. Stupidly, it turns out, because it doesn’t work.

He smiles at you. It’s not a nice smile at all.

“That is the plan, dearest.”

Your stomach lurches ahead of you, like a sudden stop on a roller coaster.

“What?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he begins to walk, pulling you behind him.  Your feet skid and slide, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like you're made of nothing, a doll, a toy, that he’s pulling along without resistance.

“Chrollo--what?” You ask again. 

He’s silent as he drags you into the bedroom, and it’s then, your toe bumping against the threshold on the floor, that you realize where this is going. 

“Wait, wait--” The words tumble out of you like water, but there’s no stopping the pull against your arm, or the gravitational force when he gives you a push onto the bed.

The softness of the mattress has you sinking into it, but you manage to scramble backwards before turning yourself over.

“Wait--” 

He stands over the bed. He looks at you for a few long, awful moments.

“No more waiting,” he says. Simply. Coldly. Goosebumps run up your arms and you want to run but you feel stuck, frozen, like something is holding you to the bed. You can’t tell if it’s something real or your fear keeping you there.

And then he’s crawling on the bed, his body over yours.

“I’ve been patient.”

His hand reaches out and grabs your wrists, which feel limp and useless; he pins them above your head.

“I’ve been kind.”

His other hand goes to your chest, but not to touch you. He grips the fabric of your shirt and pulls. It rips like paper. The air must be cool because goosebumps immediately dot the flesh of your bared chest, sending a shiver through your body that almost covers up the sense of dread within you.

There’s a sense of finality to those goosebumps. Because he’s not going to stop at taking off your shirt, is he? 

“No, I don’t want--you--you--you can’t.”

There’s something that changes in his expression, then. You don’t know what it is, and there’s not enough time to really focus on it. Not with adrenaline pumping through you, making you start to squirm, making your breath start to come fast.

He leans down, close to your ear, that damned smell of mint wafting into your nostrils again.

“I’m a thief, love. I can take whatever I want.” 

He lets go of your wrists, and both of his hands grip the waistband of your sweatpants. And that’s exactly when panic truly sets in. Your leg kicks--you hit him, you think--and your body flails, hands flying. Every muscle in your body is tight and tense and screaming to get away.

“No, no, no, no!” 

At your panic-induced fury, he merely hums, and it’s the most awful sound you’ve ever heard. 

You feel the shift in the air before you see the book. You hate the book. He’s never used the book on you, no, that is true. But you’ve seen it used on others. A warning towards you, but you didn’t heed it well enough.

He murmurs something and your hands fly up towards the headboard. You try to move them but you can’t. It’s like they're held together by some invisible rope. It doesn’t stop you from kicking your legs, twisting and turning, spit flying as your breath comes in ragged gasps.

At this, Chrollo merely uses his free hands to pin down your thighs.

And he waits.

He waits until your body is exhausted, too exhausted to kick or flail or fight him. Not that it did you any good, with your hands bound. And with his own strength in the mix. 

When your body ceases to do more than squirm pitifully against the bed, and your breath has gone from spitting and ragged to merely heaving, he smiles down at you.

“There, now. That’s better.”

You don’t want this.

“Please don’t,” you say, voice cracking.

But it doesn’t matter what you want.

Your sweatpants are pulled down first. He doesn’t pull them all the way off, and somehow, this makes your stomach squirm. Then he pulls down your underwear, bunching it along with your sweatpants down by your ankles.

You squeeze your eyes tightly and will yourself to be anywhere but here.

You hear his breath hitch at the sight of your bared body, at all the things you’ve kept hidden from him until now.

“Beautiful,” he says, a crooning reverence in his tone. “Simply lovely.”

Something desperate and stupid pushes you to open your eyes, to look at him, gaze shining with oncoming tears.

“D-Don’t,” you force out. “Let’s do--let’s do something else, okay? You can kiss me, or… or…” Your mind scrambles for some substitution.

Chrollo smiles down at you with indulgence, then presses a finger to your trembling lips.

“Hush now. You had a chance--many chances, in fact--but they’re gone now. We’ll do this a different way.”

And then he finally unbuttons his trousers and pulls them down, along with his boxers. You immediately look up, afraid and unwilling to see what’s underneath. 

He leaves his own shirt on, and the sight of that makes you angry, somewhere, deep down. Goosebumps on your chest give way to righteous flushing, hot, angry. 

There’s a moment where the two of you merely look at one another. You, with your eyes watery and wide, naked, bared. And Chrollo, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, filling up his own hollow spaces with what was prone in front of him.

And then his mouth is on yours, wet, warm, insistent. 

For the briefest of moments, it occurs to you that while you can’t move your wrists, you can still move your mouth. You can still bite. 

He pulls back only to speak against your lips, sensing your throats.

“Don’t bite,” he murmurs, in between pressing his lips to yours. “I can be so much worse than this.” 

And just like that, the thought of biting recedes, stuck behind the cold fear of what else Chrollo could do. Would do, if you pushed him to it. 

But that just leaves you and him, on this bed. 

He murmurs something in approval and begins to kiss you again. HIs tongue finds its way into your mouth and you want to retch. It’s wet and warm and awful. There’s pressure on your chest--his hands, resting at first, then kneading your breasts. 

Your entire body wants to recede into the mattress. To simply dissolve into it, down to the floor, and possibly beyond.

You don’t want him touching you, but he is.

He pulls away from your mouth, and you can’t look him in the eye, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I can’t wait any longer, my dear.” 

You know what he’s talking about but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying when his hands drift away from your chest, trailing down your stomach, until they finally reach between your legs.

It’s a light touch, at first. Something you could blink away. But he has no patience to take it slow, and in a moment his fingers are inside you. You’re dry. It hurts. But he says nothing when your breath catches in your throat and you let out a pained wheeze. 

Your inner walls squeeze him, not to keep him in but in an attempt to push his digits out. It’s an instinctive gesture, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t bother you about it. 

He pulls his fingers out and there’s relief for a moment,  until you feel  his thumb rubbing your clit. There’s too much pressure, an electric sort of tingle. You can’t tell if he’s experimenting or trying to get you wet or something else entirely.

You stare up at the ceiling. The ceiling has tiles. You could count them. You could count them and pretend you’re not here, and that this isn’t happening. 

Yet it’s too hard to do that, when you can feel him. Feel his thumb rubbing your clit and his pressure on the body and hear his breathing.

“Look at me, darling,” he says, light, crooning. Like he wasn’t keeping you tied to the bed and touching you unwillingly. Maybe while you’re trying to count tiles, he’s imagining that this went a different way. Maybe.

When you meet his gaze, he keeps it there. 

“This will hurt, I imagine.” 

He stares at you as he thrusts inside you and he’s right. It does hurt. You’re a little wet, maybe, but not really prepared. It feels like your breath gets knocked out of you, like something is stuck in your lungs, all the while a rough stinging against your inner walls brings tears immediately to your eyes. There’s an awful soreness where the two of you meet.

Tiles, tiles, tiles--who can count tiles while this is going on? 

Chrollo, still wearing his damn shirt, begins to thrust inside you. Your breath comes back just in time for it to hitch at the roughness of his thrusts, at how unusually wild and uncontrolled he seems. 

It’s painful. It’s humiliating. You don’t know how long it’s going on. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but they feel cold. A startling contrast to the painful heat between your legs, the uncomfortable dryness even as he thrusts inside you. 

“Oh, you’re cruel,” he says suddenly, voice tinged with just a touch of breathiness. 

His words make something inside you begin to crack. A fissure line ready to spread. 

“I’m cruel?” Pain chokes your voice.

He presses against you, leaning down so that he can kiss your jawline, peppering kisses on  your tear-tracked skin. 

“Yes.” His breath is hot against your cheek. “For denying me the pleasure of this feeling for so long.” 

Some part of you, some dull dragging part, wants you to ask what feeling he means. All you feel is pain and humiliation and this awful helplessness that feels like your guts are being scooped out while you’re still alive. 

“How awful of you,” he continues, uncaring of whatever thoughts might be racing around in your head. He presses a kiss to your lips. “But I’ll forgive you, in time. Starting with this.”

You shake your head against it all, and he only chuckles, pressing a sickeningly chaste kiss to your cheek.

And then he begins to thrust harder, and there’s added torment to it. More pain, more stinging, an awful feeling of stretch. Another feeling, too, something hitting you--again and again, timed with his thrusts. You realize, with a humiliation that makes you actually cry, that his balls are slapping against you. 

There’s an awful lewdness to it, and it’s something you’ll never forget. 

Now and then, you feel a thumb brush against your clit, and you jolt from it. But there’s no pleasure, no warmth, no seeking out his lips and arms to meld together in an embrace. The sweat you feel against your back makes you feel dirty. 

But all you can do is clench your fingers, wrists bound by some invisible cord, and wish for it to be over soon. It would be a mercy.

You don’t know how long it takes. Time drags and hurts. But eventually you feel him speeding up, catch a crack in his expression that tells you with certainty that he’s going to reach his peak. He leans down again, gripping your chin, and kisses you deeper than he has before.

He groans into your mouth as you feel him still, as you feel wetness inside you. It’s warm and thick and you want to vomit it up, even though it’s not in your mouth. You wish you could spit out the sound of his moan. You imagine brushing your teeth a thousand times and never ridding yourself of it.

In time, Chrollo pulls away from you, and removes himself from between your legs. Liquid seeps out of you, slow and warm. 

You will think, later, of birth control. Of asking for a pill. Your stomach will clench and you will throw up with worry that you could be pregnant. He will give you a pill and that worry, at least, will disappear. But that is later. 

Now, however, all is silent. Or almost silent. Your ragged breathing and somewhere on the wall, a soft ticking of a clock. Dim sounds from outside, but maybe that is only rushing in your ears. 

Your thoughts are not so silent. They are buzzing, going from thought to thought. He hurt you. It hurts. He made you kiss him. He fucked you. 

He’s taken everything from you now. Everything you tried to keep, stubborn, stupid thing that you are. Is it any wonder that more tears come, when this thought slams into your brain? 

And is it any wonder that Chrollo gazes down at you with something like reverence when you do? He drinks in  your expression, and when he leans in, you think for a moment--and only a moment--that he’s guilty. Or sorry. Or something almost like those two human emotions that everyone should possess. 

But what he whispers is nothing so human. 

“This is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t denied me for so long, well…”

He nuzzles your neck. His touch feels like sandpaper, but you can’t bat him away. How long will he keep your wrists bound like this? Another minute? Another hour? All night? 

He sighs against your skin. 

“Next time will be better, won’t it? No need to repeat this?”

You would like to go into the bathroom and flush everything out of you with scalding hot water. You would like to drink pure alcohol to rid your mouth of his taste. You would like to down pain pills, to address the pain between your legs.

But you’re tied to the bed and can’t do any of those things.

So you nod, absently. Your eyes go from his face--though his never leave yours, watching what you do, taking it all in--towards the ceiling. 

Oh, the tiles. 

One of the tiles on the ceiling is cracked. 

Someone should really fix it. 

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Dream of You (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: YES! Requested by @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation

TW: Smut. so much smut.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

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Giggles and breathy laughter fills the room. Shared glances and touches of desire. You laid in Spike's arms satiated and content. Your body marked and sore. Nights like this were things if novellas and steamy dreams. Spike caressed your hair as he whispered how proud he was of how well you took him. You blushed and smiled. You wanted this to be forever. You wanted it to be real. You reach for his skin, but it's gone. You're left alone, again in your own bed.

You wake up aroused and moist, again. These dreams are a nightly recurrence, something of routine. Your desire for your dear friend Spike was getting out of hand. You wanted him not just on but inside you. However, you would be mortified if he found out. 

You get out of bed and go straight for a shower. On a lazier day you would play with yourself to meet some of those needs. Today you were in a hurry. It was your nightly date-ish with Spike. You would sit around his crypt and watch tv. You wanted to make sure you ran all your errands before nightfall.

Most of the day is spent running around town, getting things for tonight. You were sure to get all of Spike's favorites, including a couple of blood bags from the butcher. Before heading to the cemetery you decide to pop into The Magic Shop.

"I just need bone powder and it'll be done" Willow commented to Buffy. 

"I'd rather not grind out demon bones." Buffy responded. 

"No, silly. It's on the top shelf to your left."

Willow continued making her spell. She worked diligently to make sure all the ingredients and words were correct. 

"Hello, peeps. What it do?" Y/n walks into the store. 

The scoobies greet y/n as she walks up to Willow. 

"What are you up to?" Y/n asks Willow directly.

"Oh, a truth spell!"

"Who are we truthing?"

"Spike."

"Spike!" Your voice gets a pitch higher.

"Yep. Buffy thinks he's being dishonest, and she needs information from him."

"Don't you need his hair for that?"

Willow pulls out a small vial with blondish hair. "Got it." She grins. 

You look nervous but say nothing. You feel out of place, but you stay. You make sure to be helpful and calm. You didn't know why Spike being under a truth spell made you uncomfortable. You mulled over the ethics of what your friends were doing but instead you came up with an idea. If Willow casts the spell while you were with Spike you could ask him how he feels about you. You're quick to gather yourself and head out with a quick goodbye. 

You basically skip all the way to Spike's crypt.

As you enter the crypt you hear Spike running around downstairs. He hears the door and runs up to the main floor. 

"Don't close that door!" He yells

It was too late; you had shut the door. Spike looks frustrated. He sighs in exasperation. 

"What?" You ask.

"I've been trapped in here for 2 days the damn door is stuck and only opens from the outside."

"Oh... uh oh." It dawns on you that you're now trapped with Spike. You feel giddy but scared. How long will it take for someone to bust in through that door. Worst, now you can't question Spike while he's under the truth spell. If he says he feels the same shenanigans can ensue, but if he says no than you're trapped here with your shame. 

You wring your hands nervously. Spike walks up to you unsure if to shake you or hug you. He notices the care basket you made for them.

"What's this?" He points to the basket. 

"Well, the plan was for us to watch trash tv and eat junk food. I even brought baggies of blood for you. But I guess our plan is to survive." You take a long look at the door. 

Spike palms his face in frustration. Of course, his planned "date" night with you would be ruined. Suddenly he perks up. If the door is shut for now that means you would have to stay with him, share his space... share his bed. 

He takes you by the hand and leads you to the couch he found in the dumpster. 

"Let's make the most of it." He grins. 

You nod and sit back. You spent the night watching tv and eating. It was 2am and your eyes were drooping. Spike noticed and turned off the tv. 

"You can take the bed." He mumbled as he walked you down to his room.

You're suddenly awake. His bed. You can share it. Wait... are you even ready for that intimacy. You risk it. 

"We can share. I trust you" you say cheeks burning red. 

Spike is chipper but downplays it. He assents and lets you lay down. 

"I'll be down in a bit." Spike tucks you in and scurries back to the couch.

You find it hard to fall asleep. Your heartbeat in your ears. You were sharing your crush's bed, and you were stuck with him. What is this a Wattpad story? Eventually, your eyes close and you're off to dreamland. 

Soft touches and passionate gazes. Bodies intertwined in lust and love. You breathe hard finding your sanity as Spike thrusts into you at a steady pace. Your eyes are rolled back into your head. Chest down, ass up, you were at his mercy. He grabs your hair keeping you in place. Your moans are lewd and loud. You feel yourself closer to the edge, closer to release. His hand finds your swollen bud and plays with it in circles. It makes you see stars. You're climbing, soaring, so close to your release. 

"Y/n"

You can’t speak.

"Y/n!" 

You awake in a startle. Your eyes adjust to see Spike over you. You pull the covers up to your chest as your brain adjusts and remembers where you're at. 

"Are you okay?" Spike asks

"Y- yes... why?" 

"You were mumblin' in your sleep. At some point you were yellin'. "

You blush ferociously. "Did I say anything?"

"Nah, love. I couldn’t make it out. 

You sigh in relief. He looks at you confused. 

"It was probably a bad dream" you mumble. You turn around and pretend to go back to sleep to avoid further questions. 

It's 4pm and you and Spike are wide awake and bored. You try to open the door to no luck. 

"Stop, pet. I already tried."

You sigh and turn to him. "What now?"

Spike walks to the couch and turns on the tv again. You give up, not knowing what to do, and sit by him. 

"Do you have any friends?" You ask

"No. Partners in crime, yes. Friends, no."

"Do you get bored of being a vampire?"

"No. I kill, I shag, and I sleep."

"Do you -" you're cut off

"Wha is this, 20 questions?" He turns to you annoyed. 

"I’m bored. Let's play a card game."

Spike obliges. He finds a deck of cards and you spent the next several hours playing cards in silence.

"I’m bored again." It was 8pm. 

"Let me ask you questions then." Spike grinned. 

You nodded, nervously. 

"Who was your first kiss."

"Robert in third grade. Sloppy kisser."

"Cheeky."

"Who was your first love?"

"Jason in college. A real gentleman. Before you ask, we broke up because he developed a coke addiction."

"A real gentleman, indeed."

"Who's your last love?" Spike leaned in expectantly. 

You chuckled, nervous. "What? No question on who I lost my virginity to?" You tried to change the subject.

"It ain' Xander, is it?"

"I’m tired. More questions tomorrow, okay?"

Before he could respond you book it to Spike’s room. You lay down and close your eyes real tight in the hopes that Spike didn't trail after you. 

Dim lights and rustling. The scent of sex in the air. You're laid out, open and exposed. Spike is nowhere in sight. You feel slight pressure on your clit. You gasp as it increases. You look down to see a head of blonde hair. Your eyes widen as you notice what was happening. Spike's tongue played with your folds. He lavished your insides with his mouth. Your breath labored as you grabbed the sheets of the bed for dear life. He made sure to take his time. To memorize every crevice and nook you had to offer. He became drunk with your scent, your taste. You moaned his name like a Gregorian chant while he worshipped you. You felt your lower abdomen tighten as he lapped at your slit, rolling circles around it. You knew he would give you the best orgasm of your life and you were ready for it. You begged him for release. He prayed your juices would wash over his mouth so he could memorize your taste. You feel unstable, as if someone is shaking the bed. The movements becomes more prominent.

You wake up, groggy, disoriented. Spike, again staring down at you. 

"Love, are you okay? You were repeating my name over and over again."

"Um... I had a nightmare... about you...?"

"What about me?"

"Uhhh... You were being attacked... by a uh... demon! And I was scared for you." 

Spike is confused but takes your explanation as true. 

"What time is it?" You try to change the subject. 

"5pm."

You jump out of bed. "We gotta get out of here." You say for your sanity. 

Back at the Magic Shop Willow was ready to do her truth spell. All her ingredients in place and determination in her mind. Sadly, she had taken an extra ingredient in with all the others, a strand of your hair. As Willow works on the, unbeknownst to her, ruined spell Buffy beelined it to Spike's crypt. 

Back at the crypt only arguing can be heard. 

"You're acting weird." Spike accused.

"I’m just tired of being here!"

"So, you're tired o' me?"

"I didn't say that." You turn to him, exhausted and embarrassed. 

Pounding comes from the outside of the crypt. Buffy kicks down the door and goes straight for Spike. You're left standing there. 

"Where's the next big bad?" Buffy questioned Spike. 

"I already told you; I don't know." Spike looks helpless.

"You're lying. Why is the spell not working" Buffy shakes Spike. 

"What spell?" Spike asks.

"A truth spell for you." You chime in without your consent. 

Both Spike and Buffy look at you. Spike was surprised and Buffy annoyed. You were confused at your own statement. You didn't intend to tell the truth. 

Buffy punches Spike a couple of times before questioning him again. When she didn't get an answer, she dropped him and walked away furious. 

You just stand there until you remember your fight with Spike. You had to get out of there. 

"Oh, no you don't" Spike grabs your forearms. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been having sexual dreams about you." You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your free hand flies to your mouth. You mentally reprimand yourself. 

Spike takes in what you said. A grin painted on his face.

"You don't say, love. Out of curiosity, what are we doing in these sexual dreams" He leans in. 

Your eyes widen and your mouth starts moving. You tell him about the lewd and lustful acts you have dreamed about. You confess to waking up wet and pent up. You put yourself out there in display for him to ravage the carnage of your secrets. 

Spike's face hurts from smiling so wide. 

"Now tell me, why would you have these dreams about us?"

You try to bite your tongue but it's too late, "Cause I’m in love with you."

Spike wastes no time claiming your mouth. He memorizes how you taste, how soft your lips are, the way you closed your eyes to kiss him. 

"Ler me show you what I can really do." He whispers against your lips. 

He picks you up bridal style and walks you down to his bedroom. With care he places you on his bed. He climbs on top of you, kissing you as he settles between your legs. 

Impatient, you start tugging at his clothes trying to get them off. 

"Easy. All in its due time." He says. 

He trails kisses down you jaw to your neck, nipping on his way down. Carefully, he removes your shirt and your bra. You resist the urge to cover yourself from his prying eyes. His gaze is lustful, like a predator eyeing his prey. 

His mouth makes a path between you neck all the way to your breast. With great care he places his mouth on your left nipple, giving it the attention it deserved. With his right hand he massaged your right breast. All synchronous so as to stimulate you and prepare you for what’s coming next. He alternated between breasts, sending little jolts of pleasure through your body. 

With little haste he made his way to your abdomen and found his way to his prize. He nestled himself between your legs inhaling your scent. Without much wait he dived in, lapping at your folds, twisting his tongue on your clit, memorizing your taste. 

You gripped the bed sheets as hard as you could. Your back arching, reaching for him. Your body was alive and electric. He didn't slow down his assault, giving you no space for a deep breath. You moan and beg. You're at odds with yourself. You need release but want to savor the moment.

Spike is observant of the rise and fall of your chest. He tracks your moans and whimpers as he plays with speed and pressure. He has never been this hungry. He decided that he wants to have you wash over him. He wants your release. He inserts two fingers in you while still lapping at your clit. He chases your orgasm with his nimble hands and expert tongue. You swear that your soul is being exorcised out of your body as you crash and spill all over with your release. You're a whimpering, shaking mess. You gasp for air as you slowly land back in your body. 

As you look down you see Spike, still between your legs, grinning. Please but not satisfied, yet. You make a move to stand up, but he's on you faster than you can speak. He claims your mouth, inviting you to taste yourself on his lips. You're drunk on your own taste on his tongue. 

As you passionately make out, Spike makes quick work of his clothes. He's ready to claim you. You're giddy and pliant. 

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?" He asks.

You nod, unable to form a single word. 

When he finally releases his erection from his pants you're surprised. How are you going to take all of him. He's so big and hard. Spike can read the uncertainty in your face. He cups your cheek gently and places his forehead against yours. 

"It'll be alright. If it's too much just tap me on the arm and I'll stop."

You nod again, determined. 

He teases your entrance and clit by rubbing the head of his cock back and forth. Slowly entering you every now and then but then retreating from your entrance, so as to prepare you for his size. Your whimpers fill the room. You want him so much. He can tell you're getting impatient, so he aligns himself and slowly enters you. He stays still, letting you acclimate to his size. Your breath is labored, you're almost delirious with pleasure. You can't believe this is happening. 

He slowly moves, rocking back and forth, giving you a rhythm to hold on to. You moan in tandem. Your eyes brimming in tears from the pleasure. 

"Look at you, taking me so well." Spike praises you. 

You give a lustful smile, too lost to register his words. 

He picks up the pace. Thrusting in and out, in and out. Giving you what you asked for. Giving you heaven on earth. You beg for him to go deeper. You needed him completely. Spike chuckles and thrusts harder. His movements are rough and long, giving you a chance to feel every vein and curvature on his cock. You push up against him with your hips, meeting his every thrust. He looks down at you, drunk on sex, admiring how beautiful you look out of breath and disheveled. 

He feels your legs shaking. He can tell you're close. 

"Are you gonna come for me, love? I want to hear you say my name. Remember who’s taking you.”

You can barely nod as you chase your orgasm, focusing on his movements. Taking him all into you. Memorizing how he feels and how he makes you feel. 

Your body ceases and you gasp as your orgasm crashes over you, like a tidal wave. Your veins are full of electricity. You’re seeing stars. You hold onto him while you repeat his name, over ad over again. Music to his ears. Spike holds you, never stopping his fierce thrusts. He wants you to remember who is claiming you.

"Good girl" he litters your face with kisses as you work to regain your breath. 

Spike never slows down, chasing his own high. Seeing you spent and tired knowing that he caused it makes him inch closer. He continues to thrust in you, sending aftershock ripples into you as he finds his own release. He fills you to the brim with his seed. He makes you his. 

You both stay connected. Breathing heavy. Satiated and in awe. He eventually pulls out of you with a little shiver. He lays down by your side pulling you close to him. You're both silly with pleasure, spent and happy. 

"Wow." Was all you could say.

"There's more where that came from. Rest up, because we have a lot of catching up to do."

You giggle, giddy for what your future with Spike holds. To think, all of these restless nights craving him and all you had to do was confess your love. You knew once the sun rises you’ll be tired and sore. Something that you’re looking forward to.

[symp4nat]

Muscles

DIOR GOODJOHN X READER

a/n: hey family im back....

You groaned as you walked into your apartment. Your girlfriend had practically begged you to go to the gym with her, so who were you to deny what she wanted?

Until your muscles began to ache. "Never going out again, D."

She hung her keys on the holder and laughed, "You're gonna be perfectly fine, a bath will fix aches."

As you rummaged through the kitchen to make a smoothie for the two of you, Dior creeped up behind you and grabbed the strawberries from the higher shelf in the fridge. She put a few together in a cup and a banana and you poured in the milk. After you finished blending the smoothie; once you poured the smoothie and handed it off to Dior, you quietly admired her.

Undoubtedly, her post gym haze, or aura as some would call, was irresistible. Her muscles popped more than usual, a sight that has your own brain fuzzy. She had been bulking up for season 2 of Percy Jackson, which made her biceps much bigger.

You traced her muscles quietly as you sipped on your drink. She laughed gently and asked, "You like what you see?"

"Dio, quit," you groan as you get teased. "I knew you'd wanna come to the gym to see this," she teased continuously and she flexed her muscles.

You muttered something incoherent under your breath before you flicked her arm. "So can I tie a bow around your bicep?"

[probably-writing-x]

Just You.

Summary: Conrad was a different person now that the two of you were together. It was a side of him the others had never seen before, and a side he wanted to show just for you.

Warnings: Just sickeningly sweet fluff and Conrad being a reassuring king.

Author’s Note: Once again entirely inspired by this gif so plz keep making tsitp gifs so that I can keep writing this stuff lmao

“Shit,” You grumble under your breath, stretching up on the tips of your toes to reach the top shelf in the cupboard.

You groan and wiggle your fingers as if it’ll help you to reach any higher, before feeling the touch of a hand on your waist.

Conrad reaches up behind you and takes the salt down from the top shelf to hand it to you, “There you go.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and squeezes your waist.

“Thank you,” You smile, “I don’t know why Jere insists on putting everything back on the top shelf as if there isn’t space anywhere else.”

Conrad winces, “Actually I think that one might have been me,” He mentions, leaning back against the kitchen island opposite you.

You turn around and fake a gasp, “Do you want breakfast or not?”

He raises his hands in surrender, “Definitely, yes,” Conrad smiles, “Although I’m not sure it counts as breakfast at this time.”

“And whose fault is that?” You narrow your eyes at him, turning back to the two plates of avocado toast laid out in front of you.

Conrad hums and walks up behind you once again, wrapping his arms around you and perching his chin onto your shoulder, “Your fault. You kept distracting me from getting up.”

You giggle and place your hands over his, “I think we’re both remembering this morning very differently.”

“This looks so good,” He comments, looking down at the food you’d prepared.

“Yeah? You normally don’t like avocado.”

He shrugs, “Not when you do it.”

You hand him a plate and take your own and he stops to lace his fingers with yours before the two of you head into the lounge.

The two of you flop down onto the couch and Conrad sits close enough to you that he can drape an arm around your shoulder, bringing it back around so that he can still hold his plate in front of you. You laugh, it’s hardly practical but he never liked being too separate from you.

“You know you two literally make me sick,” Steven comments as he walks into the lounge.

You look up from your food and grin, “Are you jealous Conklin?”

“Yeah do you remember what it’s like to actually have a girl that likes you back?” Conrad wiggles his fork in Steven’s direction.

“Hey, hey, hey, Taylor likes me back, okay? She just doesn’t know it yet,” Steven drops himself down onto the couch opposite the two of you.

You finish your food and reach forward to set the plate down, Conrad following suit and putting his on top of yours.

“And you didn’t think to make food for me?” Steven gasps, “I’m starving.”

“Boyfriend privileges,” You shrug and Conrad wraps his arms around you tightly.

Steven looks at the both of you with disgust before fake gagging at the sight, “I can’t even watch.”

“Fuck off virgin,” Conrad yells in his direction as Steven disappears into the kitchen.

You snuggle into him a little bit tighter and rest your head against his heartbeat, “Do you think we are too much?”

Conrad takes a deep breath as if he’s considering it, “No.”

You smile a little to yourself, “I mean, I do practically live at this place now. Maybe I should go home some time.”

He hums in response, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

His arms shift on you and both of you stay in that position as if there is no reason in the world to move.

———

It’s later in the afternoon before either of you decide to move, eventually agreeing on going outside to the pool now that the sun is fully out.

You both get changed into your swimwear and Conrad grabs you two towels from the cupboard, making sure to pick you one slightly softer than the others. He fills up bottles of water for both of you because he always picked up on when you hadn’t drank enough, and he’s got your flip flops waiting at the door before you’ve even realised you’d forgotten them.

The two of you step outside and you drag a lounger into the sun, laying your towel over it.

“I’m going for a swim, okay?” Conrad comments, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You hum in response and flutter your eyes shut, pushing your earphones into your ears and turning up the volume. You’re sure you could stay here forever.

You’d been dating Conrad for the past six months since the two of you met at college. Your parents had a beach house only forty minutes from where the Fishers had theirs but you’d spent nearly your whole summer with him instead. You two were inseparable. From the day you two had met, it was like you’d just clicked. He made you laugh, he challenged you, he adored you. Maybe you were a little obsessed, but you couldn’t imagine going without him.

“Hey!” Belly drops down onto the lounger next to you, nudging your arm.

You take your earphones out and smile, “Hey! I didn’t know you guys got back.”

You see Jere walking across the garden towards the pool and wave.

“Yeah, they were out of blueberry pie so it was a wasted journey anyway,” Belly shrugs, “Where’s Conrad?”

“In the pool, I think,” You crane your neck to look in that direction, “He normally hates being in the sun.”

Belly laughs, “Yeah, well, there are lots of things that guy hated that he doesn’t seem to hate so much anymore.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows, “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on,” She giggles, “He’s literally head over heels for you. He’s so different now.”

“Good different?”

“He frowns less,” Belly smiles.

You look back again and watch his head bob up from the surface, chatting now to Jeremiah who’s sat at the edge of the pool.

“He’s happy, it’s a good thing I promise,” Isabel encourages, “It’s just, we’re not used to seeing him like this.”

You nod in her direction and go to say something more before you’re stopped by a shower of splashes falling down onto your head. You flinch involuntarily and look up to see Conrad towering over you, his head blocking the sun from your eyes.

“How dare you,” You narrow your eyes at him.

Conrad breaks into a laugh, a kind of boyish charm as his shoulders rise and his lips break into a wide grin.

“We were in the middle of an important conversation Conrad,” Belly says sarcastically, “Girl talk.”

“Girl talk?” He raises his eyebrows at the two of you, “Should I be worried?”

You fight back a smile when you look at him.

“I was just coming to see if you wanted to come in the pool? Jere wants us to play volleyball,” He glances in the direction of his brother, “You can be on my team, darling.”

You grin, “Alright, help me up,” You say, outstretching your hands to him.

Conrad instead reaches down and wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Con!” You squeal, gripping onto him tightly.

He carries you the short distance to the pool and tightens his grip on you at the exact second that he steps over the poolside, plunging you both into the water.

You drop underneath the surface and flail to get your bearings before you push upwards, your head back above water.

“I hate you,” You narrow your eyes at him, dragging your hands back through your hair to pull it away from your face.

He stands up in the water and steps to you, “You’ll get over it.”

You hum as if considering it and he grabs your hands, tugging you towards him.

“Alright lovebirds let’s play!” Jeremiah claps his hands from the other side of the pool and Belly throws him the volleyball.

Conrad looks at you once more and grins before turning his attention to the two on the opposing team.

———

You play until Belly and Jeremiah have won three times before finally conceding, noting that Con needs to teach you how to get better at volleyball.

You dry off enough in the sun and carry your things back into the house, heading upstairs for a shower before everyone else was waiting for one too.

Conrad’s room was tidier now that you were staying here. He made sure of it. He changed his sheets every week and kept a drawer of his free for all of your things - a collection that had been piling up since you got here. You had a nightstand on one side of his bed and he brought your morning coffees up to leave just there before he woke you up. It was a pocket of perfection away from the rest of the house.

“Hey darling,” You turn around to find him stood at the doorway of the room, “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

“Con we’re supposed to be saving money for college, we shouldn’t be spending this much money on food,” You laugh, squeezing a towel through your hair to get out the remaining pool water.

Conrad narrows his eyes, “But why wouldn’t I want to take you out?”

You laugh and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. Both of you stay in that position for a moment, your head against his chest.

“Hey, um, I wanted to ask you something,” You mumble, quiet enough that it bodes the question of if he’d even hear you.

“Yeah?” Conrad looks down at you, taking your hand in his as he walks over to the bed.

He sits himself down on the edge of it and you stand in front of him between his legs, his hands trailing up and down your skin as yours rest around his shoulders.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, kissing lightly at the skin of your stomach.

“Um, earlier, when we were in the garden… Belly started talking to me about us,” You begin, drawing your hands up towards his hair, “And she said that they think you’re completely different now…”

He doesn’t pull away from you, his hands drawing patterns on your skin, “Yeah, I am.”

“Do you think so? I mean, I don’t want them to feel like I’ve come in here and changed you, they’ve all known you your whole life and I don’t want to be the one to blame for-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Conrad pulls away slightly so that he can look up at you, his hands resting on either side of your hips, “There’s nothing to blame you for.”

You look down at him and chew at the inside of your cheek, “But don’t you think… I don’t know, isn’t it a bad thing that you’ve changed so much because of me?”

Conrad lets out a faint laugh, “(y/n) all she means is that they’re used to me being grumpy and argumentative and short tempered. You might’ve changed me but only in the good ways, I promise.”

You look down at him still unsure of his words, your own self doubt creeping around his reassurance.

“Come on, look at me!” He laughs, “There’s not one bad thing that’s come from you being here.”

You fight back a smile and he takes your evident relief as an opportunity to flip you onto the bed, his legs hooking around yours so that he can pull you down onto the mattress beside him.

You lay on your back next to Conrad as he turns to look down over you, his fingers trailing down your arms.

“You’re it for me, (y/n),” He assures you, “And I’m the person I want to be when I’m with you.”

You blush and bring your hands up to cover your face, smiling bright beneath your palms.

Conrad shifts so that he’s hovering over you, one arm resting down by your side and the other coming up so that he can pull your hands away from your face.

“Does that ease your mind a little?” He asks, leaning down to kiss your jaw.

You hum in response and drag your hands through his hair, “It does.”

Conrad smiles against your skin and moves his lips down to kiss your neck.

“Alternative suggestion instead of going out for dinner,” You say, a little breathless against his contact, “We order in and stay in here for the rest of the day.”

Conrad pulls away from you and shifts so his face is in line with yours, “(Y/n) you just can’t get enough of me.”

[kirikeijii]

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Tsukishima x reader

Synopsis: Imagine this but it's you!

cw: fluff, not proofread

Somehow you tutored Tsukishima Kei, the smartest guy in your class with an average of 98.84 last year. You were always a helpful child, you'd teach anyone your teacher recommended but when you heard his name come out of your advisor's mouth. You were absolutely shocked. "The Tsukishima Kei needs tutoring?"

"Yes. . ." She said sitting on her seat slowly. Your advisor was very awkward with it. You then looked behind you with furrowed eyebrows to see the blonde sitting on a chair with a smile on his face. That smug look you sometimes hated. Well, you know how there's a thin line between love and hate?

Yeah, you were tiptoeing on top of that rope. Sometimes you felt like he'd actually be fun to hang out with. You felt like his close friend could rant to him and he would listen intently while giving advice. You just felt like he could be a vulnerable person if he wasn't an asshole all the time.

You turn back to your advisor giving her a faked-up, sickeningly, sweet smile. "Fine, but I want extra credits." Your smile drops into a poker face. "I- fine, extra credits on your upcoming project-" Your advisor crossed her arms before you cut her off. "Projects, Plural." You smiled at her again.

Your advisor looked behind you, pissed off. Like she was looking at Tsukishima for help but when the boy looked away your advisor looked back at you. "Fine, Projects." You weren't normally like this, but if you were gonna tutor the most stubborn, arrogant, asshole your school had to offer, you needed it to be worth your time. You smiled again at your teacher before dragging the boy out of the class to the library. "God, this better be a shit ton of money." Your advisor whispered.

"So, what are you struggling with?" You asked him with pure curiosity while picking up books from the shelf in the library, making the boy carry them all. "Just some. . . math. . ." Kei said with hesitance "Math?" You look at the boy one eyebrow raised. When you realized you had taken out many books, you tried helping him.

"No, it's all good," Kei said, smiling at you. The one you've never seen before because of how genuine it was. You looked away quickly feeling yourself blush. "Let's find some seats. . ." You said quietly, trying to get away as soon as possible. Soon enough you found seats by the library window.

The desk was a long one, with stools facing the windows. You sat down with a relieved sigh. "Where are you having trouble?" You placed your head on your hand, which rested on the long table.

Tsukishima's mouth hung open, dried up by the cool air the air condition put out. "Calculus. . ." The boy could see your eyebrows furrowing at his statement. Naturally, because it was 2 periodical tests ago and he passed both those tests even scoring higher than you. "I forgot. . ." he added.

You opened your mouth giving a small "ahh". You were still very suspicious of him but you couldn't care less. You were getting extra credits. This might be what you need to graduate top of your class or even your whole batch. "Okay, let's start." You opened the textbooks and started with what the boy remembered.

A few minutes later you could feel eyes staring at you while you yapped about the formulas. You continued for a few more minutes because the boy was humming with every formula you taught him but you could still feel his eyes on you and not the textbook that's when you got annoyed.

"Did you get it?" You looked at him and smiled sarcastically. The boy hummed again "Great. . . I think I got it, but just in case. . . Tell me the whole thing again I wasn't listening." He smiled slyly at you.

"Are you messing with me?" You groaned a little loud at what he said. The boy nodded his head slowly, unsure. "Show me your math exam, right now." You demanded. "I don't have it?" He looked around hiding his bag behind him. You narrowed your eyes at him stating you were serious. "Okay, I didn't fail my math test."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?"

"I wanted to hang out with you." He smiled at you, leaning his head on his hand. "We literally could've done that another way." You deadpan at him. "Yeah, but what's the fun in that? C'mon, I know a spot at the park. We could eat?" He raised his eyebrows.

A sigh came out of your mouth, indicating defeat. "what did you even hear when I started talking about calculus?" You asked when he choked on saliva randomly. Your eyebrows furrow when the librarian shushed the both of you on the way out. It honestly made you laugh at the boy.

A few years later in college, you asked him about it again, you figured he'd open up since you've been dating for 2 years now. Turns out all he heard was "blah blah blah, formula, formula, I'm so pretty and I like you but for some reason, I'm always upset at you."

The moment you heard those words you burst into laughter in your shared dorm. He knew you were never going to let it die, even mentioning it from time to time, even going as far as mentioning it at your wedding leaving him looking like a tomato in a suit.

ᯓ★ I love this trend so much but I also love Tsukishima so why not mix it. Thank you for reading! | Masterlist

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (2/7) - dbf!Joel x reader

After having gotten yourself off twice to the thought of Joel, your paths cross again in the kitchen. Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 42), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 2.6K A/N: Thank you to everybody who commented on and/or shared part 1! It's quite a trip writing this, but I appreciate the support so much. Part II took a little longer to post due to circumstances, I promise you that part III will follow a little quicker.

< part 1 | series masterlist | main masterlist

“... it’s a responsibility we don’t take lightly. We’ve made a commitment to not just look after the citizens of Texas, but far beyond that. In our work as…”

You roll your eyes at the sound of your father’s voice coming from the tv. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you head into the kitchen, already feeling exasperated about hearing him a lot more often than you’d like to. “Does that need to be on?” You brush past Joel who is leaning against the kitchen island, his eyes on the large tv screen on the living room wall, who seemingly is a lot more interested than you are in what is being said.

The urge to touch him, or pretend to bump into him and feel his body is more than just tempting. Even passing this close is enough to smell a whiff of his cologne again, the scent making your nipples hard as you think about the welcome hug you got from him earlier. Frankly, it’s challenging enough already to not blush in front of him right now. 

It was barely five minutes ago that you were fucking your own hand, coming hard while thinking of Joel eating you out to then rail you into your mattress until you were gasping his name. You may not know yet just how big he is - but something tells you that nothing on this man is small. Not those broad shoulders, or those large hands, and definitely not his cock. You can’t wait to discover that by yourself some time soon.

So you try to distract yourself for now, pretend that you don’t feel flushed by this man who made you weak in the knees from the moment you saw him - perhaps really saw him for the first time ever in your life. You nod at the tv, irritation already creeping under your skin as you watch your father speak during the televised press conference. “Blablabla. C-SPAN would be more riveting than this crap.”

Joel scoffs for a moment, turning to look at you questioningly and perhaps somewhat surprised. Raising his eyebrow like that truly shouldn’t be so attractive, nor should his lips look so plush and tempting when he speaks to you. “What? He’s doing good work.”

“Work?” You imitate his scoff from earlier, which amuses him apparently, judging by the smile in his eyes. “He’s just standing in front of a camera in an ill-fitting suit to say some meaningless words.” 

Joel glances back at the tv. “Pretty sure that’s tailored, actually,” he says as he meets your eyes again, and the smile you saw earlier is now a proper smirk, tugging at his lips.

“It’s still - jeez, not the fucking point, Joel.” You shake your head as you grab a glass from one of the cabinets, making sure to reach for one on a higher shelf that requires you to put in some effort. You know that your skirt is probably riding up your legs, giving him something to look at, and you wonder whether he’s an ass or tits kind of guy. But did that really matter in the end? Any guy his age would gladly take a good look at any part of you, so you’ll make sure to give him plenty to look at. “Want some water?”

You notice how it takes Joel a moment to respond, and you smile to yourself when you hear him clear his throat before he speaks. “I’m good, thank you.” The hoarseness in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago almost makes you giggle, and you’re pleased that he definitely seems to like that skirt on you. “Y’know, should probably cut him some slack,” Joel continues. “I’ve known your dad for a long time. He’s always worked hard. For you and your mom, and…”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a real fucking hero,” you sigh as you fill your glass with ice water. The last thing you want to talk about is the man whose absence is always just as noticeable as his presence. But you do want Joel to keep talking, to get to know him more. Not to mention the way his voice is sexy as hell. 

“How long have you known each other anyway?” You hop on one of the barstool at the kitchen island, making sure to sway your legs just enough that he may notice it. His eyes quickly flick over your body, absolutely lingering on your legs and skirt - and this time you can’t help but smile, because that’s the second time he’s checked you out. “I don’t think I remember, just that you were around a lot. And that you have a brother.”

Joel tilts his head, thinking it over as he studies you for a moment. “Quite some time,” he then says, a smile playing over his lips. “Over twenty years, before he even met your mom. There was a period we didn’t see much of each other because he was so busy with everything - work, life, and you were born.” You’ve seen pictures of both your parents from that time, of course, but none with Joel as far as you remember - there also aren’t any from back then on the large photo wall at the stairs.

“Got back in touch when you were about four. You were…” Joel’s laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, and he shakes his head. “A bossy little thing. Pigtails and that stuff. Following your dad all around the house and his office whenever you got to join him there. Saying you wanted to work there, too. It was cute.”

“Over my dead body would I ever work there.” But it’s not as snarky as it normally would be, because goddamn - that smile of his is really doing something to you, making you weak in the knees and more mellow than you prefer to be. “Tell him that if it ever comes up.”

“Yes, ma’am. ” He gives you a mock salute. “See? I told you. Bossy back then and it never went away.” He pauses when you reach into your glass of ice water, pulling out an ice cube with your fingers and then bringing it to your lips so you can suck on the refreshment. Yes, you know you’ve dripped water over your top with that - and that you’re being rather slutty with that ice cube. You’re also really hoping that move will work. “But look at you now,” Joel says almost absentmindedly, eyes watching you closely as you part your lips and slip the piece of ice into your mouth.

“Yeap, still bossy. And look at me now indeed.” You try to ignore the fluttering feeling inside of you that squeals with excitement about him having such clear memories of you, even if you only were a kid back then. Not to mention the ‘look at you now’ comment that made other parts of you respond with even more enthusiasm. You crush the last bit of the ice cube, chewing on it as you let your glance slowly travel over him, once again admiring the outfit as you did earlier. 

The worn out jeans, the shirt that just might be a size too small - either deliberately, or because he’d bulked up -, and messy hair, which you hadn’t really noticed before, but now couldn’t keep your eyes off the few curls that clung to the back of his slightly sweaty neck. It’s then that you realize that he’s letting you look freely - maybe not exactly inviting it, but not shying away from it either as he clearly doesn’t seem to mind the attention. 

“Well, maybe you should see me in pigtails now,” you say as you use your best innocent voice, brushing some imaginary dust off your shirt. It works, because his eye is drawn to the movement almost immediately, even though he tries to not show it. So you take the opportunity to tug a little at the fabric, adjust the top on you, and make sure he’s got a good view of your cleavage. “Less cute. But definitely… hot.” 

You bite your lip and smile when you see his eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but wonder if that’s something he’d be into. Your hair in pigtails and a short little skirt paired with a top that would clearly show your tits. Or maybe a lacy bra, no shirt. Your ex sure had gone nuts for it, and even wanted you to call him daddy, which you did. But there’s not much about a 22 year old boy that makes him actually feel like a daddy dom, not even if he spanks you good. Now Joel, on the other hand…

You look up when you’re interrupted by your mom entering the kitchen. “There you are, honey!” she says happily as she wraps you up in a hug, and you have to force a smile on your face to greet her with similar enthusiasm - even though you’re seething about being interrupted, just when it felt like you were getting somewhere. But it is nice to see her again, you can’t deny that. Your mom was plenty busy with her job on most days, but the major difference with your father was that she always found a way to make some time for you. Her working from a home office instead of being stuck at some firm certainly helped with that, too.

“I’m sorry that I’m so sweaty, I just got back from the gym,” she explains while grabbed a bottle of water for herself, offering one to Joel as well. He dismisses it with a slight shake of his head, grown noticeably quiet since she entered the kitchen, but the look in his eyes almost makes you shiver. Especially when his eyes meet yours, only to quickly look away again. 

Yeah, Joel is absolutely into this. But it’s no surprise that he doesn’t want to let on anything around your mom - it would not go over well. You try to hide your smile as you consider what would happen if you’d get caught with him. The way your father’s head would explode, his facade perhaps crumbling at last. That alone would already be worth the effort of getting into Joel’s pants. 

“... and I got you those mango popsicles you love. Hey. Sweetheart?” Your mom’s voice interrupts your thoughts as she hands you a popsicle, pressing one into Joel’s hand as well. He shakes his head as he tries to hand it back to her, but she won’t have any of it. “Oh c’mon Joel, give them a try. You’ll love them too,” she insists, waving away his hand as he tries to protest. “Alright, I’m gonna go shower and take a power nap before my meetings. I finish at six tonight and maybe we can get some dinner?”

“Sure, six is great, thanks mom,” you say absentmindedly, sucking on the cool treat as you lean back against the counter - it’s delicious and perfect in this summer heat. You wait until she’s left the room, then bring your eyes back to Joel. “What was it we were talking about?”, you ask him in a flirty tone of voice, then take a long, slow lick of your popsicle. “Oh, God. Joel. This is so good. Really hits the spot…”

You see his jaw clench for a moment, his eyes following your every move, but he then shrugs as he bites a piece off his treat. “ ‘s okay. Not my favorite,” he says after a moment.

You give him your brightest smile, as you once again lick your popsicle, this time also catches a spilled drop or two that had dropped on your finger. “Oh don't be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this,” you sigh, this time holding his eyes as you suckle on the fruity ice some more, and you see the confusion creep onto his face.

“The- what? Who?”

You can’t help but giggle at his confused face. “Fuck me, you really are old,” you tease him. “Miranda Priestly? The meme? Devil Wears Prada?”

“Don’t know what any of that means, darling. Sorry.” For a moment he looks awkward, flustered even, as he slips the rest of his popsicle back into the wrapper and pushes it aside. You can’t help but be disappointed - it would’ve been a pretty sight to watch him eat it all the way, even if he did it in that gruff manner. What kind of psycho bites into a frozen fruit bar? 

Applause sounds loudly from the tv, and closeups of people - including your father - shaking hands with each other fill the screen. Joel’s eyes slide back to the tv for a moment, and you can almost hear him thinking, trying to find a way to change the topic - a reason for him to not look at you licking the fruity treat. 

“We were talking about your dad’s work.”

“Mmhmm. Screw that. Like I said, it’s bullshit.” You suck on the tip of your popsicle, mentally willing him to look back at you. “Him, and the others too. I don’t like those boys in suits or corporate gigs,” you offer, thinking back of your ex and several of the guys in your classes this past semester. Too clean. Too proper. No, what you want is exactly what you had seen on Joel’s Instagram. A big strong guy like him, sweaty and dirty and intensely focused - you just knew that he’d be that same way when fucking you. That glorious collection of unfiltered videos and photos for his business had gotten you wet right away and you would definitely revisit them later to masturbate to again.

“I like *real men* who work with their hands, you know?” you continue. “Not afraid to get dirty while laying some pipe.” Almost as if on cue, you hear water running through the pipes somewhere above you, indicating that your mom got into the shower, and you try not to laugh at how that coincides with your words.

Joel’s jaw clenches again as you take another slow lick of your mango treat, your eyes still locked onto him. He shakes his head as he reaches for the remote and turns off the tv, blissfully removing your father’s voice from the room. “Your dad actually is good with his hands. Y’don’t even know,” he says as he picks up his mostly uneaten popsicle, throwing it into the trash bin. “I know you’re pissed at him, but-...”

“I’m not pissed at him,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even stop them, your voice so sharp that even Joel looks surprised. “I mean, I don’t even care about what he does,” you try to recover, dialing it down. “Why would I? It’s not like he’s ever even home.” 

“Alright, darling. Whatever you say.” Joel gives you an amused look as he washes his hands, then dries them on a towel. “I’ve gotta get ready to head out and meet Tommy, so I’ll see you later. Welcome home to Austin.”

You watch Joel leave the room and head upstairs, and you sigh as you throw out the wooden stick of the popsicle you devoured. “Whatever you say, darling. I’ll fucking show him”, you repeat his words mockingly, rolling your eyes as you grab your phone to text your friend. 

“Got cock blocked earlier by mom. He’s totally into me, just seems scared. Will try again later,” you write, then fill up a whiskey glass with ice before you wander over to the liquor cabinet.

Time for that drink now.

next: part 3 >

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