#and b) SHE OFFERED. NO PROMPTING FROM ME.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Danse Macabre

[Commission]

[thewingedwolf]

yes i DO find it annoying that when i took this job my aunt said with her own mouth and without any prompting from me, that she would help me with the commute by picking me up regularly on the weekends, and yet in the two years i’ve been here she has actually done that like three times maybe, because every time i’ve asked she has said she’s “busy” and by “busy” she always - and i mean always - means that she’s out getting shit faced at 4 pm.

[pillow-coded]

Recording In Progress

Summary: A private investigator goes undercover to expose Spencer Reid’s secrets—but when he catches on, things far more personal than she ever intended.

prompts used: A thinks they've successfully tricked B... when B leans forward and speaks directly into their wire. — “Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!!

Content Warning: strong language, first person POV, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, power play, unprotected sex, light dom!Spencer, mentions of betrayal and emotional manipulation, semi-consensual dynamics/dubcon, Kinda angsty.

A/N: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Undercover Challenge (Also my first second attempt ever for writing smut, hopefully it’s not like bad or cringy)!!

Word Count: 6.3K

I’ve done worse jobs for better pay.

Political smear jobs, corporate leaks, scumbag CEOs cheating on their fourth wives. I’ve worn heels into strip clubs and smiled through dinner with men who thought I didn’t know what a burner phone was. I’ve been called a bitch, a genius, and a ghost, depending on who was signing the check.

I was hired to investigate Dr. Spencer Reid. No reason given, no name offered. Just a large sum wired to my account and a single note: Find out what he’s hiding.

Simple enough.

Except… Spencer Reid doesn’t have a digital footprint. He’s like a ghost in the machine. No scandals, no secrets, not even a hint of skeletons in his closet. And believe me, I looked.

And now here I am—three weeks into my “trial run” as the Bureau’s newest PR-friendly face. The temporary Media Liaison job I got thanks to me pulling some strings. I talk to the news reporters, fetch coffee. Pretend not to notice how agents avoid eye contact when they think I’m listening.

But Spencer?

Spencer doesn’t avoid anything.

He looks right at me when he speaks—slow, deliberate, almost too polite, like he’s weighing every word before he lets it leave his mouth. Like he’s watching for a reaction, waiting to see what sticks. It should’ve made him easy to read. But he wasn’t. If anything, he made me feel like the one under observation.

At first, I told myself he was just awkward. A little too smart, a little too soft. All anxious fingers and mismatched socks, like some deer that wandered too far from the herd and was just hoping someone might keep him company.

Innocent, I thought.

Innocent my ass.

Because there’s something behind those eyes—something that doesn’t flinch. Something that sees everything and stays quiet anyway. And now that I’ve gotten too close, I’m starting to wonder if I’m the one being hunted.

And maybe I should’ve been more careful—should’ve kept my distance.

Because it’s getting harder to tell which parts of this are pretend. The way my hand lingers on his arm when I laugh. The way he says my name like it’s always surprised him.

The wire beneath my shirt itches when I lean forward. I pretend it’s nothing, cross my arms to cover the mic. But he keeps talking.

Stories. Facts. Soft opinions. I record all of it. Hours of audio. Dozens of little truths. And yet none of it sounds like a secret.

It started with coffee.

Not because I actually wanted it—God knows the Bureau’s idea of caffeine tastes like it was filtered through a floor mop—but because he always had one. Every morning. Same cup, same lid, same little paper napkin wrapped around it like he didn’t want his fingers touching the surface.

So I started bringing him one. A peace offering. An excuse. A way in.

“No cream, four sugars,” I’d say, like I didn’t already have it memorized from the second day.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me coffee,” he’d murmur, almost shy. “But thank you.”

Then he’d take it anyway. Every time. Like it was a favor he wasn’t sure he deserved.

It disarmed me.

The first few days I kept things casual—too casual. Just enough charm to keep the agents from digging into my file, just enough polish to look useful in a crisis. And Spencer? Spencer was easy to hover near. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. Not because they didn’t like him, I realized. Because they didn’t understand him.

But I did.

Or I acted like I did, which, honestly, wasn’t hard. He talks when you let him. Especially about things most people pretend to care about but don’t. String theory. Linguistics. Microexpressions. Magic tricks.

“The trick isn’t in the sleight of hand,” he told me once, while shuffling a deck between his fingers. “It’s in where you make people look instead.”

“Is that what you’re doing to me?” I’d asked. “Misdirection?”

He didn’t answer.

Just smiled without showing his teeth.

And it messed me up more than I expected.

Because here’s the thing: Spencer Reid doesn’t flirt. Not really. He observes. He listens, catalogues, memorizes. And he gives you just enough of himself to make you want more. That’s the part I wasn’t prepared for.

Like yesterday—he’d asked about my family. Out of nowhere. Soft and curious.

“You mentioned your dad’s a journalist,” he said, halfway through a case debrief. “Is that what made you want to work in media?”

He had no idea how deep that question could’ve cut. But he asked it like he already suspected the answer and just wanted to see if I’d lie.

I did.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded. Didn’t press.

But something shifted.

He started watching me more closely after that. Saying my name more often. Brushing past me in the hallway, close enough for the hem of his sweater to ghost over my knuckles. A lesser man would’ve tried something by now. Spencer just... lingered.

And then today. God, today.

The bullpen was nearly empty. Just the two of us, caught in that odd hour between too-late and not-late-enough. I made a joke—light, harmless.

“You know, I’m starting to think you don’t actually like coffee,” I said. “You just like holding something in your hands so you don’t have to look busy.”

I waited for that soft half-smile he always gives when he’s amused. The one that makes his eyes crease, just barely.

It didn’t come.

Instead, he looked at me.

Really looked at me.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Just… observing.

I felt it before he even moved—this creeping heat behind my ribs. I tried to keep still, tried not to let the sudden tension show.

“So do you,” I replied, aiming for playful. It landed a little too breathy.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

I could’ve backed up. I didn’t.

He was close now. Closer than protocol allows, closer than he’s ever been. My pulse ticked loud in my ears. I swallowed. I waited for him to speak.

He didn’t. Not at first.

His eyes flicked to my chest, and for a moment, I thought—

But no. He wasn’t looking at my lips. He was looking lower.

Right where the mic was taped beneath my shirt.

“You wore that all day?” he asked, voice low. No heat in it—just something sharp and calm and terrifying.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

My mouth shut. The weight of his gaze was like gravity, dragging me down into silence.

And then he leaned in. His mouth hovered just beside my ear, breath warm, voice so low it barely stirred the air between us.

“Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

I stopped breathing. My spine locked. My mouth went dry.

“You’ve been recording me.” It wasn’t a question. He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way you’d study a fracture—trying to guess where the break began.

He didn’t pull away.

“You’ve been careful,” he murmured, “I’ll give you that. The questions were subtle. The charm? Believable. The coffee orders were a nice touch. But I don’t trust people who learn too fast.”

I wanted to speak. I really did. But my throat wouldn’t work.

“Especially not people who ask about things I’ve never told anyone.”

And just like that, he stepped back.

My heart was in my mouth. The wire burned under my shirt like a brand. I felt exposed in a way I never had before—caught not just in a lie, but in something deeper. Something personal. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed. Maybe even hurt.

“Who sent you?” he asked, softer now. Not demanding. Just… tired. Like he already knew.

“It’s not what you think,” I said.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. But there was nothing warm in it.

“Then tell me what it is. Because I’m trying really hard to believe this wasn’t just some elaborate… game.”

I didn’t say anything.

I wanted to. I think I even opened my mouth. But there was no defense I could give that wouldn’t sound like another lie. Another twist of the knife.

So I just stood there, heart thudding against the wire, pulse loud in my ears, and let him look at me.

He waited.

And when I didn’t give him anything—not an apology, not an excuse—something in his face changed.

Not anger. Not disgust.

Something quieter.

Like disappointment. Like resignation. Like he’d already filed me away under lost cause.

“Tell whoever sent you they won’t find what they’re looking for.”

He paused.

“And if they want to try again,” he says, eyes still on mine, “tell them next time… they should send someone I won’t miss when they leave.”

He turns to walk away, and I should let him.

But I don’t.

“Wait,” I say—sharper than I mean to.

He stops. Doesn’t turn around right away.

When he does, it’s slow. Controlled. Every part of him unreadable. Except his eyes—they're sharper now. Sadder too. Like I’d cut him without knowing where the blade was.

“You think I wanted this to happen?” I ask. “You think I planned to care?”

He just looks at me. Long and hard.

“You didn’t plan anything,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He steps closer. The space between us evaporates. My pulse flutters. His eyes fall to my chest—where the wire sits taped beneath my shirt. His jaw clenches.

“I should report you,” he says. “Walk you out of here myself and forget this ever happened.”

“You should,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly through his nose. Like he's trying to talk himself down from something.

“I knew something was off,” he says. “But you—you looked at me like…”

He stops. Closes his eyes for just a second. Opens them again.

“I was doing my job,” I say.

“You were lying.”

We’re close enough now that I can feel the tension roll off him like heat. His hand lifts—hesitates—then brushes the edge of my collar. Just two fingers. Just enough to press gently over the place where the wire sits.

His voice is low, and it trembles with something between fury and want.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”

He doesn’t count.

Neither do I.

Because I don’t move.

And neither does he.

Not until the pretending breaks—soft and sudden, like the snap of a wire pulled too tight for too long.

His breath stutters, and I see it—right there in his eyes—that flicker of recognition. That I’m not going anywhere. That whatever this is between us, it’s no longer something we can ignore.

Then he moves.

Slow at first, like he’s giving me time to pull away. Like he’s testing the current between us.

But I don’t flinch. I can’t.

Without a word, he closes the remaining distance, seizing my chin gently between his fingers. His touch is deliberate—measured—there's heat in it, too. His thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, slow and careful, brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath.

His other hand finds my hip—strong, sure—as he pulls me flush against him. I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of my clothes, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding against the softer lines of mine like they were made to fit.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don’t.

His lips hover just above mine, a hairsbreadth of space between us. I can feel his breath mingling with mine, warm and unsteady. The scent of him fills my lungs—clean cologne, warm skin, and something unmistakably him.

“Last chance,” he whispers, voice low and rough and dangerous in the best way.

And I don’t take it.

His words hang in the charged air between us, suspended for a single, trembling moment. Time seems to slow—each heartbeat stretching into forever—as I stand there, breath caught, teetering on the edge of something I can’t undo.

He murmurs something under his breath—too quiet to catch, too dark to be innocent—and then he moves.

He closes the final inch between us, and his lips crash into mine in a searing, hungry kiss that steals my breath and sets every nerve in my body alight.

One of his hands tangles into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss. The other tightens at my hip, pulling me harder against him until there’s nothing between us but heat and tension and the press of his body against mine—hard, unyielding, and everywhere.

His tongue slips past my lips, bold and sure, stroking along mine and sending sparks through me so sharp they feel like electricity in my bloodstream. I can taste the desperation in his kiss—feel the pent-up longing in the way his fingers clutch at my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear.

It isn’t a kiss. It’s a demand.

And I give in to it, completely.

He walks me backward, mouth still on mine, until the edge of his desk catches the backs of my legs. I hit it with a quiet thud, breath hitching—not from shock this time, but from the sheer, aching need curling low in my stomach.

His hands skim up my sides, fingertips dragging slowly over the thin fabric of my blouse. His palms are warm and slightly rough, catching just enough to make my skin spark beneath the surface. I feel every inch of contact like a live wire beneath my clothes, and when his hands reach my ribcage, he pauses—just for a breath—before slipping his fingers to the buttons of my shirt.

One by one, he undoes them.

I gasp as cool air brushes the skin beneath, the lace of my bra suddenly far too delicate, too flimsy. But his attention isn’t on the fabric. Not entirely.

His fingers ghost over the mic, still taped below my sternum. He lingers there, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over it. Then he looks up, eyes dark, mouth curling into something between a smirk and a warning.

My stomach flips. My mouth parts—but I don’t know whether it’s to object or to breathe.

He doesn’t wait for a response.

He leans in and presses his mouth to the base of my throat, kissing a path downward. His lips are hot. His stubble scrapes. He grazes my pulse with his teeth before his mouth latches onto that tender skin just above my collarbone.

He suckles and nips with deliberate intent, letting his jaw rasp against my neck as he pulls another broken breath from me.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he mutters against my throat, voice low and uneven.

Without warning, his hands grip my thighs and lift—effortless, like he’s been waiting to do it for weeks. He sets me on the edge of his desk, the cool surface biting against the backs of my legs. In the next breath, he steps between them, settling into the cradle of my hips.

The zipper of his slacks scrapes rough against my inner thighs, and then I feel it—hard, hot, and insistent, pressing right where I need him most.

He doesn’t move. Not yet.

He just waits—daring me to admit I want it just as badly.

His eyes lock on mine, sharp and unrelenting, like they’re looking through me, not at me. There’s heat there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s intensity. Focus. A fire that catches deep in my belly and threatens to devour everything in its path.

The air between us pulses, thick with tension. A silent standoff. Neither of us willing to look away. Neither of us willing to surrender first.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and raw, rough enough to scrape down my spine. His hands tighten on my thighs, grounding me. Holding me still. “Tell me you’ve felt this too. The way we… fit. The chemistry—it’s like a live wire between us, and you know it.”

He leans in, mouth brushing so close I can feel the shape of the words before he says them.

“I want to hear you say it. Admit it. That you’re just as lost in this… thing as I am. That you burn for my hands, that you crave my mouth, that you ache to be undone by me.”

A tremble works its way through my spine. I don’t trust myself to speak.

His hand slides from my thigh up my side—slow, deliberate. Fingertips grazing the curve of my ribcage, mapping the slope of my breast. He palms it through the thin lace of my bra, the heat of his touch making me gasp.

Then his thumb finds my nipple.

Rolls it. Just once.

A shock of sensation shoots through me, and I bite my lip to stop the sound that nearly escapes.

He feels it. Knows it.

And his mouth curls, just slightly. Like he’s satisfied—but not nearly done.

He gathers my answer without a single word—reading it in the tremble of my thighs, the sharp hitch in my breath, the way heat blooms across my skin in a helpless, rosy flush. His eyes, now dark and heavy-lidded with want, drag over me like he’s cataloging every reaction… and storing it for later.

I don’t even know what I’m begging for when I whisper,

“Spencer… please…”

But it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

Something shifts in him—like control has finally slipped through his fingers, and now he’s choosing to let it go.

His hand dips beneath the lace of my bra, his fingers brushing bare skin. My breath stutters as his palm curves around me, warm and possessive. He cups the weight of my breast, rolling it gently, then pinches and tugs my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it stiffens in his grasp.

The sensation ricochets through me—sharp, heady, electric.

Before I can even moan, his other hand finds its way into my hair. He fists it at the base of my skull, not rough, but firm enough to steal my breath. And then he kisses me.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat.

His mouth crashes into mine with a hunger I feel in every nerve ending. It’s the kind of kiss that scrapes thought from bone. The kind that tells me this isn’t just lust. It’s possession.

I’m not kissing Spencer Reid.

I’m being devoured by him.

He devours my moan like he’s starved for it—like the sound alone could satisfy something buried deep inside him. His mouth moves hungrily against mine, swallowing every breath, every sound, as if he’s trying to consume me from the inside out.

His grip tightens in my hair, angling my head with a rough kind of reverence that opens me completely to him. The hand on my breast isn’t gentle anymore. He kneads the soft flesh firmly, expertly, and the mix of pressure and pleasure sends shivers racing down my spine.

When he finally tears his mouth from mine, I’m gasping—but he doesn’t give me long to recover.

His lips blaze a trail down the column of my neck, his teeth dragging, tongue soothing, until he reaches my pulse point and lingers there. He bites, just hard enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, in a way that makes my whole body clench.

He trails lower.

Mouth warm and wet as he moves down the swell of my breasts, over the valley between them, until he reaches the curve of lace hiding what he wants most.

His lips close around my nipple through the soaked fabric of my bra, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. My hips jerk instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him.

His fingers don’t hesitate. They find the clasp at my back, working with practiced ease, and I feel the tension in the garment give way.

I’m panting now, barely keeping up with the pace he’s set—as the cool air hits my bare skin, kissing over every exposed inch and pebbling it with goosebumps. But there’s no relief. Not from the heat pouring off of him. He’s everywhere. Surrounding me. Consuming me.

He shoves the fabric of my bra aside and his mouth descends without hesitation, closing around my nipple in a wet, greedy heat that makes my head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. He licks, broad, deliberate strokes, then circles the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling, hungry and unrelenting, like he’s ravenous for me.

I cry out. I can’t help it.

His other hand cups my remaining breast, fingers rough and insistent as they knead and pluck, teasing the tip until it aches under his touch. Every movement marks me until I feel like there’s nothing left untouched.

And still, it’s not enough.

His hips begin to move—slow, grinding rolls that press the hard ridge of his arousal against my center. Even through the barrier of my clothes, the friction is maddening. Precise. He grinds again, and I feel my thighs part a little more with each thrust, until the thick swell of him is nestled perfectly against the place I need him most.

I arch. I whimper. I burn.

“Tell me what you need,” he growls, voice rough and low in my ear.

I meet his gaze, barely holding it. My voice trembles as I breathe,

“You… all of you.”

His hand leaves my breast, trailing down the center of my body in a path that feels like fire. slow and deliberate. His fingertips glide over my trembling stomach, dipping lower until they reach the waistband of my skirt.

He doesn’t ask permission.

He just slips his hand beneath it, under the thin barrier of my underwear, and groans softly when he feels how soaked I already am.

“Like this?” he rasps, fingers brushing against my center with maddening restraint. “Is this what you wanted?”

The heat in his voice wrecks me. Low, rough, commanding. A far cry from the soft-spoken man I’d spent weeks practically studying. This wasn’t shy, awkward Spencer. This was something darker. Hungrier. A version of him I wasn’t sure anyone else had ever seen.

He strokes me through the slick fabric, circling over my clit with just enough pressure to leave me gasping but not enough to satisfy. Every touch is calculated—teasing, fleeting—designed to unravel me without giving me what I want.

“Tell me,” he says, the edge in his voice tightening. “Tell me how badly you need me.”

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken sound—half gasp, half plea.

His fingers press a little harder, his mouth close to my ear now, every word dripping with dominance and need.

“Say it,” he breathes. “Say you want me. Say you want to feel me deep inside you… filling you, wrecking you.”

The pressure builds, unbearable, electric. I’m shaking. I can barely breathe.

And I want it—I want everything.

“Say it,” he growls, fingers pressing harder against my aching center. The friction sharpens, maddening—his touch no longer teasing but demanding, as he rubs firm, relentless circles over my clit. His other hand grips my hip, holding me in place with bruising intensity, like he doesn’t trust me not to fall apart.

“Beg for it,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “Beg for my cock like the desperate little thing I know you are. I want to hear you scream for it.”

The words hit me like a jolt to the spine—vulgar, filthy, perfect.

His fingers shove my panties to the side, and one thick, calloused fingertip slides between my folds, slow and deliberate. He drags it through my slick heat, teasing—hovering just at the entrance, never quite giving in. A low, satisfied sound escapes him, like he’s savoring the way I tremble beneath him.

And then, with the hand not working me open, he reaches down to his belt. I hear the soft clink of metal, the zip of fabric sliding apart. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just keeps touching me—keeping me on the edge—as he frees himself with terrifying calm.

“You feel that?” he mutters, pressing himself into my thigh, the outline of him thick and undeniable through the cotton. “You shouldn’t be able to do this to me,”

His breath stutters against my cheek as he shifts his weight, one hand still working me open while the other reaches down. I feel the stretch of fabric, the quiet drag of cotton being pushed aside. Then the thick heat of him presses directly against me—bare now, heavy and pulsing at my entrance. The last barrier is gone. There’s nothing between us anymore.

He’s right there—right there—poised to push inside, to take, to ruin, and still… he waits.

And I break.

“Please,” I choke out, breathless, undone. “Oh my God, please, I—I need you.”

“I think you do,” he growls, voice low and ragged. “I think you need my cock buried inside this sweet little pussy”

And then he moves.

One swift, brutal thrust—and he’s inside me.

Fully. Completely.

I gasp, no sound behind it, my mouth falling open as he stretches me wide in a single, punishing stroke. He drives in to the hilt, hips pressing flush against mine, forcing my body to take every inch of him.

I’m overwhelmed. Split open. Filled.

“Fuck,” he snarls, the sound rumbling out against my chest, where his body presses hot and heavy over mine.

He gives me no time to adjust—no breath, no mercy. He pulls out almost entirely, just the thick tip left inside, and then slams back in with a force that steals what little air I have left.

Again.

And again.

Each thrust is brutal. Precise. Unrelenting.

The rhythm builds fast—sharp, punishing, perfect—and it’s all I can do to hold on. My cries are ragged, torn from my throat as he drives up into me like he’s trying to etch himself into my body, brand me from the inside out.

One hand clamps around my hip, fingers digging deep into flesh, anchoring me in place as he fucks me like he owns every inch of me.

His free hand moves lower, searching.

I barely register it through the haze of sensation until I feel a sudden tug at my waist—sharp, deliberate.

His fingers find the wire trailing from the recorder clipped to my skirt, and before I can react, he yanks. The movement is swift, almost angry. The adhesive holding the tiny mic to my chest rips free with a sting, the wire snapping taut as he drags the entire thing into his hand like a secret he’s been waiting to expose.

He brings it up, slow and deliberate, until it’s hovering right at my lips.

“Is this still on?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and quiet, eyes never leaving mine. “You gonna send this to them? Let them hear what you sound like when you're being fucked by the person you’re supposed to be investigating?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He just holds it there—steadily, deliberately—catching every breathless moan, every gasp, every desperate sound that spills from my lips.

“All those filthy little sounds. Let it record what you sound like when you're mine.”

And God help me—I moan for him. Loud. Unashamed.

His eyes flicker—dark and satisfied—as he presses the mic even closer to my lips, like he wants it to catch everything.

“That’s it,” he breathes, the corner of his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “Let it hear how desperate you sound when I’m inside you.”

He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust, forcing another cry from my throat—one I can’t bite back even if I tried.

“You think they’ll recognize your voice?” he murmurs, low and mocking as his hips roll into mine, relentless. “Think they’ll hear how wrecked you sound and wonder what it cost you?”

Every thrust lands with calculated force, his pace unforgiving, grinding me closer to the edge with each brutal stroke. My hands scramble for something to hold—his shoulders, the edge of the desk, anything—but there’s no grounding here. Just him. Just the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy, wrecked sounds he’s dragging from my throat.

And the mic.

Still held to my lips. Still recording everything.

“You were supposed to be watching me,” he grits out between thrusts, the words strained with effort. “But look at you now.”

Another slam of his hips, and I cry out again—louder this time, legs shaking, breath hitching. I can feel the tremor starting in my core, the tightening that warns of everything about to snap.

“This what they wanted?” he growls, jaw clenched. “You giving them everything but the answers?”

He presses in deeper—deeper than before, like he’s trying to bury himself in me, leave something behind. His forehead drops to mine, sweat-slick and shaking with restraint.

“You’re not gonna be able to listen back to this without coming apart,” he whispers, voice rough and fraying. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Spencer!”

My nails dig into his back, desperate for something—release, control, him. I don’t even know if I’m clinging to him or trying to pull him deeper, but he groans when I do it—low and wrecked—like it unravels something he’s been barely holding together.

His pace stutters for just a beat.

Then he grabs my thigh, hikes it higher around his hip, and drives into me again with brutal, unrelenting force.

The desk creaks beneath us. The microphone trembles in his hand.

“That’s it…” he breathes against my mouth. “Say my name.”

Another thrust. My body arches, wrecked and raw.

“Say it like you mean it. Let them hear you fall apart for me.”

And I do.

Each time his name tears from my throat, his grip tightens—on my thigh, on my waist, on the mic still trembling in his hand. He’s losing rhythm now, chasing something just out of reach, buried deep inside me like he can’t stop until we both fall off the edge together.

His movements turn rougher, more erratic, like control is slipping through his fingers and he wants it to.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking apart. “Come on—give it to me.”

The pressure coils tight and fast, unbearably sharp, building from deep inside me like a wave I can’t outrun. I feel it clawing up my spine, lighting every nerve on fire, and I know—I know—I’m about to break.

“Spencer—” my voice fractures.

I shatter around him with a cry that borders on a sob, back arching, thighs trembling, everything inside me clenching hard around him as my climax hits like a lightning strike—hot and endless and all-consuming.

He groans my name in return, low and guttural, pressing his forehead to mine as he follows me over the edge with a final, desperate thrust. His body jerks against mine, hips stuttering as he spills into me, his breath ragged and uneven in my ear.

And then… stillness.

Just the sound of our breathing. Heavy. Shaky. Shallow.

His hand falls away from the mic, letting it dangle by its wire like a forgotten confession. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

For a moment, it’s just quiet.

Then he pulls out of me slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to hurt me—but the ache he leaves behind is instant.

I shift, suddenly aware of my half-unbuttoned blouse, the stretch of my thigh still hooked around him, the sweat cooling between us. The shame doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps in.

And then he speaks.

“You can stop recording now.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

My throat tightens. I reach for the mic with shaking fingers, powering it off in silence. He watches me do it—watches everything—and still doesn’t look away.

“Who sent you?”

I flinch.

It’s not a growl. Not a threat. Just a question. Clinical. Lethal in its precision.

“Was it internal? Press? Private buyer?”

I try to form words, but none come. I look at him, eyes wide, mouth parted, still wrecked in every sense of the word. I open my lips—twice—and still nothing.

He exhales through his nose, eyes flicking away for the first time.

Not angry. Not even hurt. Just… resigned.

“That’s what I thought.”

He moves before I can speak. Reaches down, tucks himself back into his boxers, then zips up his slacks with that same quiet efficiency—controlled, distant, like he’s locking something away. Like he doesn’t want me to see any part of him he didn’t mean to give.

“Get dressed.”

His voice is steady, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

I open my mouth again.

“Spencer, I—”

“Don’t.”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair like it hurts to keep standing there. His shoulders are tense, spine straight, but I see the tremble in his hand. He’s not angry.

He’s wrecked.

Not because I fooled him.

Because he let me.

And he’s about to walk away—leave me in the silence we created—when the word escapes me, sharp and sudden:

“Wait.”

He stops. Doesn’t turn around fully. Just enough for me to see the side of his face, unreadable.

My fingers move before I can think. I reach down, disconnect the recorder, and slide out the memory card. Small. Light. But somehow heavier than anything I’ve ever held.

I walk toward him. Quiet steps. Careful steps. And when I reach him, I place it in his hand.

“Here,” I whisper. “Here’s everything.”

He stares at it for a long moment. Then closes his fingers around it.

“What do you want me to do with it?” he asks, voice low. Tired. But not cold.

I meet his eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

He nods—just once—and slips it into his pocket.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

And then, softer than before, he says, “You know… You could’ve just asked.”

I step up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth still clinging to him. Close enough to imagine, for a second, that we could leave like this. Side by side.

“Would you really have told me anything?” I ask quietly, not looking at him.

There’s a pause.

Then—just barely above a whisper—

“Maybe not everything.”

Another beat. A breath.

“But I would’ve told you the truth.”

We stand there in the hallway—two liars trying to remember how to be honest.

And this time, when he turns to walk, he doesn’t walk away.

He waits.

take a slow step forward, then another, until I’m beside him again. Close enough to feel the quiet shift in the air between us.

“Well… I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” I say, trying to smile—trying to ease the weight.

He doesn’t respond. Just watches me.

So I drop the joke.

“For the record… even if you don’t believe me, it got real. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being part of the job.”

I glance up, meet his eyes.

“You’re real to me, Spencer.”

And for a moment, he just looks at me—searching. Like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

Then, finally, quietly—

“I know.”

And he starts walking.

This time, I follow.

[aurorawritestoescape]

I KNOW BETTER THAN TO CALL YOU MINE

Pre outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader || 7k

Summary: Joel lets himself have a treat. You.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, slight age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel is 30), sex work, idiots in love, soft Joel, praise kink, size kink, f/m oral, cum eating, alcohol consumption, m!masturbation, sex toy usage, bondage, protected/unprotected piv, creampie, light pussy spanking, somno, aftercare, mention of degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, honey). Reader has hair, wears dresses. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is for @janaispunk ‘s 1500 kisses challenge. My prompt was ‘first kiss’ with Joel Miller. Congrats again, Jana, and thank you for the fun challenge!😘 The pic in the m/b is from this post by @liminaltourist. Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘🫂 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 The title is from the lyrics of ‘Let’s fall in love for the night’ by FINNEAS. Hope you will enjoy this story! Love you all!💖

MASTERLIST

Joel met you at Tommy’s birthday party and was instantly attracted to you. You were beautiful, sweet, funny, a little shy which he found charming. You told him that you worked as a waitress, meanwhile looking for a steady job after graduating college. He spent the whole night talking to you. The whole night being a couple of hours when he had a sitter for Sarah. Joel noticed a trace of sadness in your gorgeous eyes while you two were saying your goodbyes and for a second he regretted the way his life turned out. A single father at the age of thirty, working tirelessly to give his daughter the best life he could. But all the regrets vanished into thin air the moment he returned home and saw Sarah, sleeping peacefully in her bed. He planted a gentle kiss on her temple and quietly went to his empty bedroom. She was his life and he was ok with it.

Next time when Joel went out with Tommy for a drink, he asked about you in passing. He tried to make it seem like a simple curiosity but his younger brother still gave him a knowing smirk. Joel really liked you but his life was hectic enough. Work and being a single parent took all his time and he couldn’t squeeze in a relationship. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, he thought, and you deserved only the best. But your image— your eyes, your smile, your body, was flashing behind his eyes again and again, reminding him that he had needs and desires.

After a few beers and tequila shots, their conversation circled back to you and Tommy blabbed out that you worked as an escort. Joel was astonished. You seemed shy and sweet. He had never been against sex work but he always imagined a different type of people in that business. He didn’t know what to make of it but he felt his cock twitch, thinking of how sexually liberated you were.

He thought about asking for your number, but Tommy would tease him to death and he decided not to.

The next time you met Joel was at another Tommy’s party. Joel agreed to come, wanting to see you again. You talked and laughed like before but the air was almost electric between you two. The glances were darker, your hand brushing his skin here and there made him want more— touch you, feel you close against his body. He could save up and do all that if you agreed. So he made a decision and offered to drive you home when the party was over.

As soon as Joel parked his car at your driveway, he cleared his throat and asked if he could see you sometime.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your voice was soft and a shy smile tugged at your lips.

“Ehm… fuck, I —I know what you do,” Joel admitted, turning to you slightly in the driver’s seat, “Tommy told me when he was drunk. Forgive him and me, please, ok? And— I don’t know what you call that, but— can I meet you for an appointment?”

Your face fell and you were blinking at him with a mouth agape. Joel’s heart froze- what if Tommy had been fucking with him and you didn’t sleep with people for money.

After a few longest seconds of his life, you took a deep breath and gave him a little nod. Joel asked you about the details and you explained to him what he needed to do to book a session with you and though you were talking about sex, it sounded cold and dry. You gave him a little smile before getting out of the car and he drove off with the thought that he had made a mistake.

He really didn’t plan to call you, thinking he had killed whatever spark and connection you two had, but his thoughts returned to you again and again. He was hearing your laugh everywhere and your face was behind his eyelids every time he went to sleep.

One night after a few beers he imagined you in his bed and his hand flew to his already stiffening cock. He shut his eyes and saw you next to him, naked and ready for him. Pleasuring himself, Joel imagined your hand wrapped around his length, sliding up and down, then your mouth sucking on his tip and soon he was spurting his load all over his stomach and fist. He could have you, you already agreed to it, and he deserved to feel good, to treat himself once in a while. With those thoughts on his mind he texted you and booked a session.

Joel tried to be on time for your first meeting, but everything seemed to go wrong that day and when he arrived at a hotel, you were already waiting for him at the bar. He showered you with apologies for being late but you assured him that it was ok. He felt the flames of desire, when he took you all in. Your black dress was hugging your body perfectly and he couldn’t wait to take it off you.

You had already got a room for them so Joel followed you to the elevator. He had never been that nervous in his life. You must have noticed it, so you took his hand and gave him a warm smile.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this, Joel.”

“Never done this before,” he admitted when the elevator doors opened and you walked to the room.

“It’s ok, Joel. I’m sure we’re going to have a great time,” you said, smiling to him, and opened the door.

When Joel stepped inside, he saw a typical hotel room with one big bed. You turned to him and asked,

“Before we start, do you have any questions or suggestions about what you want us to do?”

Joel swallowed loudly.

“I want —, he scratched the back of his neck and continued, “just the usual, I guess.”

“The usual?” you repeated with a little smirk.

“Yeah, just sex.”

You pouted your lips in thought, then smiled with mischief in your gaze and slowly came up to him.

His breath hitched when your behavior changed in front of his eyes, like a little kitten turned into a panther in a matter of seconds. You looked the same but there was an allure in your every move, each glance was magnetic, as if you were calling for him to touch you, fuck you. You were irresistible. Your body was inches away from him, your perfume subtle but enticing, enveloping him, and you purred,

“I don’t think we want it to be ‘just’ sex, Joel. How about we make it special.”

Your tongue caressed your lower lip and he slowly leaned down. You swiftly swerved him and instead of tasting your lips, he nuzzled your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Joel— I don’t kiss on the lips during sessions.”

“Oh fuck, sorry.” Joel felt really bad and explained, “I got carried away... I’ve read the rules you sent me… I remember no kissing part, like in “Pretty Woman”,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his scruffy cheek in a nervous gesture.

You giggled, too, probably trying to make him feel more comfortable, “Yes, just like in “Pretty Woman.”

Without noticing it, he tried to memorize the sound of your laugh, how pretty it was. You slightly pulled away from him and tilted your head.

“How about I take the lead at first and then we’ll see how it goes?”

Joel nodded. He wanted to take your dress off, carry you to the bed and fuck you till you screamed his name. But he was afraid to do something wrong, he’d never been in that type of situation. You took his hand and gently caressed it, your fingers dancing over his hardened skin. Then he watched you bring it to your red lips and kiss his palm. You glanced up at him with your big beautiful eyes, not taking his hand away and his whole body reacted to your gentle touch. He was getting hard.

You led Joel to the bed, your fingers intertwined with his, and gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. You slowly took your dress off and he tried not to start drooling like a cartoon wolf, seeing you in front of him in a black lacy set.

You stood between his spread thighs and bent over to tug at the hem of his dark tee. He helped you to take it off and when you kneeled in front of him, he almost moaned. Your beautiful face was so close, he wanted to kiss you so much but he couldn’t and he’d never do anything you didn’t want.

You unbuckled his belt and softly asked him to take his jeans off.

Soon Joel was sitting there in his boxer briefs with you on your knees between his spread thighs.

"You're so hot, Joel," you whispered, as your dark gaze slid over the expense of his broad shoulders and chest, and your nails slightly scratched his muscular thighs.

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you look, wearing your lingerie and your high heel shoes, how much he'd been thinking about you since the day you'd met but his mouth was dry and he felt himself like a teenage boy who was trying to compliment a hot girl.

You weren't aware of his inner torment. As always calm and confident, you leaned closer to his torso and kissed a spot on his chest, right over his heart. Joel took a sharp breath and shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm down. He couldn't believe what just a gentle chest kiss from you was doing to him, but he was already painfully hard.

Your lips glided lower and you started leaving open mouth kisses, tracing a path down to the bulge in his boxers, and he opened his thighs wider to give you more space. When your face was close to his clothed cock, you rested your head on his left thigh and looked up at him.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed and growled at the sight of you so close to his already throbbing manhood. You were so pretty, so obedient but even on your knees he felt that you controlled the situation.

“Joel?”

“Yes, baby?”

You smiled hearing the pet name and asked,

“Can I take you in my mouth?”

His cock visibly twitched when he heard your soft voice and the words you uttered.

“If you want.”

You bit your lower lip and asked, rubbing your cheek on his hairy thigh.

“I do but would you like me to?”

Joel nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly but he didn’t care. He wanted you so much.

With a content smile, you sat up straight and shifted on your knees, getting comfortable. Then you pulled at the waistband of his boxers and in a second they were on the floor and his cock was bobbing in front of your face. Your breath visibly hitched and you glanced up at him.

“You have a gorgeous cock, Joel Miller,” you whispered and he wanted to kiss you again, hearing the praise. But instead he brought his hand to your face and cupped your cheek. You purred into his touch but parted from his palm in a second when you lowered your face and kitten-licked the fat tip of his cock. Joel sighed and bucked his hips already impatient for more. You didn’t make him wait long.

Your lips soon welcomed his cock between them as you started taking him deeper, covering his length with your warm saliva as your hand was firmly wrapped around his girthy base.

Joel moaned loudly at the sensation, he didn’t care what sounds he was making, completely lost in the pleasure your soft lips and skilful tongue were giving him.

Your mouth was slowly caressing his cock as your curved up lips were sliding over his sensitive skin and your tongue danced around the fat head, now and then stroking the leaking slit. There was so much precum, he saw you swallow it again and again. Your hand was gently massaging his balls and his big palm was lying on your head, not pushing, just showing you how much he needed you at that moment. Joel was in heaven.

Soon you took all of him and your throat contracting around his length was the last straw. He was dangerously close to coming and painting your mouth creamy white. But he had other plans for you.

“Shit, baby,” he cupped your cheek and gently pulled you off his ready-to-explode cock, “you’re too fucking good at it. I won’t last. And I wanna..”

He lost his words as you were looking at him with sparkling eyes, full of understanding and warmth.

“Of course, Joel.” You slowly got up on your feet and took off your high heels. Then you padded to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Joel saw a few toys lying there and his heart started to beat faster when he imagined using them on you. Maybe he could suggest it, he mused inwardly, but when you started sliding your panties and bra off your body, he lost his train of thought.

Now completely naked you came up to him and placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Then you planted your knees on each side of him and got on his lap.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said in a low voice as his hands found your hips and he rubbed your skin with his calloused thumbs.

You thanked him, smiling, and opened the package with your teeth. You brought the condom to his hard cock, slid it on and then got up on your knees, your pussy hovering over Joel’s tip.

You searched for his eyes and as soon as your eyes locked, you started sinking on his thick length.

Joel watched pleasure twisting your face while his cock was slowly parting your insides. He moaned at the sensation of your wet warm pussy welcoming him, grasped your hips tightly and when you took all of him, your ass was flush with his balls, you both loudly sighed.

“You feel so good, baby. So warm and tight.”

“Thank you, Joel. Your cock is so fucking big.”

He took a sharp breath, hearing you curse, and at the back of his mind he wondered if you said it to every client but he drove the thought away. He needed you too much.

Your breasts were right in front of his face and he asked, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess he was praying to.

“Is it ok if I kiss your body?”

“Yes, Joel, please. You can do anything to me.”

“Just not kiss your beautiful lips?”

“Joel,” you whined and he felt you clench around his hard cock.

He scolded himself for those words as soon as they left his stupid mouth. It was the thing you kept for yourself, he understood and accepted it but his desire drove him insatiable.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know it’s a rule. I understand it. It’s jus’ my brain doesn’t work properly, all the blood is down there.”

“Oh, right,” you softly giggled, “Let me shut you up then.”

You lifted your hips, making his cock almost leave the heaven of your cunt, but when the tip was close to slipping out, you sank back down on his manhood inch by inch, gliding your hands over his broad chest.

Joel’s mouth got slack and you both moaned at the ecstatic sensation of him, filling you up again.

With a groan Joel swiftly put his mouth on your breast and you whimpered when he swirled his tongue around your perky nipple. While he was gently sucking and licking your tits, you were languidly riding him, as soft whimpers were leaving your half parted mouth. At one point you nuzzled his forehead and your hot breath on his lips let him imagine you kiss him. His fingers dug into your hips but just for a second. Afraid to hurt you he glided them over your back and arms. He raised his lips to your neck and kissed your skin there.

Joel knew that he was getting close. His hand slithered to your pussy and he slipped his thumb between your folds. He found your clit hardened and throbbing for attention. He began stroking it slowly and you reacted immediately with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Joel,” you breathed out and he clenched his jaw, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Want you to come on my cock, baby.”

You stopped bouncing on his member and he saw you furrow your brows in concentration.

He made his thumb dance faster over your bud and soon your pussy was pulsating around his cock. Your contracting walls sent him over the edge and he started coming, filling up the condom inside you. Oh, how he wished to paint your walls with his creamy load but rules are rules.

As you both started descending from your highs, panting heavily, Joel held you in his big arms and you rested on his broad chest. You were breathing into the crease between his neck and shoulder and at one point he thought you’d fallen asleep.

But the next second you sat up straight on his lap with a satisfied smile. You gently kissed his scruffy cheek and he tried not to purr like a happy cat.

You cuddled a little bit more but soon his time was over.

“Can I see you again?” He asked when you got out of the bed.

“I’d love to, Joel,” you replied, putting on your underwear, “Text me when you have a day in mind.”

You looked like you wanted to say something but stopped yourself. You put on your clothes, kissed his cheek again and left.

After the first time with you Joel knew immediately it wasn’t the last. The need to have you, to be with you again squeezed his heart as soon as that hotel door closed behind you. But he wasn’t rich. He couldn’t spend all his money on you. So he started saving up here and there, anything he could, without damaging the level of life of his daughter.

He texted you as soon as he had enough to pay you and you told him that your regulars got a discount which was a nice surprise for him.

Joel invited you to his place. Sarah was at a sleepover and he had the house for himself for a night. He needed just a couple of hours, no way he could afford a whole night with you.

When you arrived at his place, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tank top, his mouth immediately started watering. He tried to be a gentleman and a good host and gave you a tour of the house, but when you stepped into his bedroom, all his decency came crashing down. Soon your jeans were discarded on the floor while his head was between your trembling thighs. Joel was licking up your juices straight from the source, grunting into your wet cunt and fucking his tongue into your clenching hole. He was fully clothed, grinding his hard cock against the bed and staining his gray sweatpants.

You were singing for him so beautifully when he began plunging his thick fingers in and out of your heat while his mouth was gently sucking on your throbbing clit. Your back was arched and your hands were clutching his dark curls. He curled his fingers, pushing on that soft spot inside your creaming pussy once, twice and you came, crying out his name, while your walls were fluttering around his digits.

When he parted from your puffy glistening cunt, he saw tears in your hazy eyes. Joel was happy he still got it but what filled his chest with pride was that he made you cry and writhe with ecstasy.

"I'm here, baby. You did so good for me," Joel praised you, climbing up the bed and taking you in his arms. You were trying to catch your breath and he gave you a respite, manhandling you so your head would be resting on his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Joel, you didn't have to," you mumbled.

"Have to? Sweetheart, it was my pleasure."

He heard your giggle, followed by a content sigh. His hard cock was tenting his gray sweatpants but he didn't care. He was happy to hold you, breathe in the fruity scent of your hair, and when a few minutes later he saw you peacefully sleeping in his embrace, his heart almost burst with affection. He closed his eyes for a second and drifted off too.

Joel woke up in the middle of the night when he felt you move in your sleep. He must have woken you up as you started to shuffle next to him and then sat up straight.

“Fuck! I fell asleep?” You asked, eyes widened, covering your naked thighs with a bedspread.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel. It’s never happened before. Oh my god, it’s so unprofessional.”

He hastily sat up next to you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, no. It’s ok. I loved sleeping with you— next to you.”

He smiled, leaning closer to you and rubbing your hands with his thumbs, trying to reassure you and it seemed to work because you gave him an apologetic smile but he felt you relax a little.

“I won’t take any money from you today.”

“No, you spent so much time with me. I owe you even more.”

“Joel, you ate me out, made me come, and then I fell asleep. I definitely don’t deserve to get paid,” you giggled. “The way I see it I owe you now.”

“I’ll think about the career change,” Joel chuckled and at the same time he felt his cock get harder when you talked about the oral. The arousal he had felt before falling asleep came back with a renewed force and swept him away.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his gaze slid up and down your body and the air in the room got heavier.

“What did you like the most?” he asked as his eyes darkened.

Your breath hitched and even in the dim light of the room he saw your pupils dilate. You dropped your gaze for a second and when you raised your eyes, they were filled with need and desire.

“I loved how much you enjoyed it. How good you were. It felt amazing when your mouth was on my clit. When you were sucking it,” you bit your lip almost shyly and your words went straight to his cock.

You whispered, “Should I go or…?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Joel interrupted you, palming his stiffening bulge, and you quickly nodded before throwing away the bedspread and taking off your top. Your tits bounced as you straddled him and he wrapped his big arms around your naked body.

Joel let you take off his shirt and when your lips latched onto his neck he held you closer and flipped you on the bed, covering you with his body.

You gasped at the fast shift but then moaned when Joel pulled his cock out of his sweatpants.

It was already hard as a rock and wet with precum under his fingers. He gave it a few pumps to spread it over his heated skin.

“Shit, condoms.”

He hastily reached to grab a pack from the nightstand. He opened one, while your fingers were caressing him, dancing over his torso and arms. As soon as the protection was on, you pulled him closer and he pushed his length into you without any warning. He had already stretched you with his tongue and fingers so his tip easily slipped into your crying hole.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Joel breathed out and started rolling his hips. His lips were caressing every spot he could reach and you were kissing his shoulders and neck.

Without pausing he braced his hands on the bed, hovering over you, his dark gaze locked with yours. He wanted to memorize every lip bite, every twitch of your brows when his cock was sliding in and out your needy cunt. You were so wet for him, he felt your juices on his balls and inner thighs and he closed his eyes trying not to come too soon.

“Look at me, Joel,” you purred and he immediately did what you asked. Your gaze slid from his dark eyes to his lips and it took everything from him not to kiss you right now.

He leaned down and instead gently kissed your heated cheek, leaving a wet spot on your soft skin. With a whimper you wrapped your legs around his waist and started grinding your hips, chasing your orgasm by rubbing your little clit against his pubic bone.

“Do ya wanna come, sweetheart?

“Only if you want me to, Joel,” you breathed out and he furrowed his brows, reminded of the nature of your relationship.

“ ‘course I do.”

With that he pulled away from you and sat up on his knees between your sweaty thighs. “Let me…,” he pulled out and you whined.

“Oh, baby, so impatient.”

You bit your lip with a sly smile but Joel quickly wiped it off your face when he took the condom off and asked,

“Can I slap your pretty pussy with my cock, sweetheart?” He gripped his cock at the base, squeezing it a little to postpone his climax and when you whispered a sultry ‘yes’ he slapped your clit with the tip of his throbbing length.

“Oh my god, Joel!” you cried out with a jerk, looking up at him with your brows pulled together and eyes rolling back.

“You like it?” He asked and when you nodded he started slapping your pulsating bud with his cock again and again until he saw some slick, seeping out of your clenching hole. He rubbed his red tip against it, coating his manhood with your juices, and began grinding it between your folds. His tip was bumping into your clit rhythmically and your taut muscles told him that you were close to your climax.

“Come for me, baby, please,” he asked softly and slapped your clit one more time. A jolt of pleasure made you shut your eyes and a loud moan escaped your lips. Wanting to prolong your orgasm and chasing his, Joel pressed his tip to your clit with his hand and started thrusting his cock, rubbing your twitching clit and at the same time massaging his whole length against your soft pussy and his own palm.

The overwhelming sensation, your sweet sounds and the sight of you coming in his bed made him explode and he began spurting creamy ropes of cum on your belly and sternum. He growled when a few drops landed on your bouncing breasts.

When you both stilled and the ecstasy started dissipating he sat down on his heels and watched you for a few seconds.

Joel wanted to remember that image- you, beautiful and satisfied, eyes shut, chest and belly heaving, was splayed on his bed, body glistening with sweat and cum. The happiness soon mixed with regret and the feeling of longing for more, wishing you were really truly his tightened his chest. But the reality was cruel. You didn’t need a single father in your life, you were free and your whole life was ahead of you.

Your curious gaze interrupted his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about, Joel?” You asked with a warm smile.

“I'm thinking my bed has never looked better than now.”

Your smile turned into a grin and you started to sit up but Joel stopped you with a raised hand.

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart.”

He went to the bathroom to get a wet towel and then gently wiped away his cum off your skin.

Before you left, he hugged you, breathing in the scent of your hair one more time and you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

You kept seeing each other for another month. Joel preferred his place to hotels and whenever he had the house for himself and got enough spare money, he would text you. In his own home it was easier to imagine you as his girlfriend, or even wife. He knew that it wasn’t healthy and he was getting a little delusional but it made him happy to think that you were his. If only in his dreams.

Sometimes Joel would literally dream about you. He’d wake up hard, yearning for your touch, your lips on his body, your gentle fingers running through his hair. It was easy to imagine you there with him. His hand would pump his needy cock and the image of you behind his eyelids was enough to make him come, groaning into his pillow.

As time passed Joel got more confident in expressing his desires. The possibilities were endless and you always looked excited whenever he suggested trying something new.

Like the time your eyes glinted with mischief when he asked if he could edge you the next time. Just the idea of making you beg for a climax made him rock hard. So during your next session he had you tied to his bed, as you were whimpering and pleading for a release, a vibrator in his hand pressed to your puffy clit. Though he caved in quite fast and finished you off with his thick fingers massaging your core, his teasing made you squirt and Joel lapped it all up with the wildest eyes and an aching cock. You returned the favor by drinking him till the last drop after he shoved his cock down your throat keeping you in place with his hands clutching your hair.

He loved experimenting with you, loved being rougher. But more often he craved making love to you, wanted you softly purring under his big body, as his cock was buried deep inside your heat, your pussy fluttering around him. He still couldn’t kiss you but your neck, your breasts, your cheeks were enough for him. Yet he couldn’t deny it— he was down bad for you.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asked you, pulling away from your neck that he was peppering with open mouth kisses a moment ago.

You were sitting on his lap, wearing a pretty summer dress and his only thought was to tear it off you but when his hands started roaming your body, you jerked and sniffed.

“Nothing. Everything’s ok, Joel,” you replied softly and nuzzled his neck. He knew something was wrong and you were hiding your pretty face. During the time he had known you, he learnt to read your body language and even feel your mood. So Joel stopped his ministrations immediately and kissed the top of your head.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. If you want.”

For a few minutes, he was holding you in his arms, rubbing your forearm with his thumb. Finally you took a deep breath, not raising your head off his shoulder, and opened up.

“I had a session with a new client yesterday. It was horrible.”

As soon as he heard your soft voice, saying that, his insides burned.

“Who? What did he do to you?”

He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up to face him.

When he saw tears in your eyes, he immediately wanted to rip that asshole apart. But your expression told him that you needed him to be gentle, to be there with you and he wanted to give you that.

“He was really degrading. Clients want it sometimes but it hadn’t been discussed and the things he said— made me feel like a cheap hooker. He didn’t hurt me though,” you added hastily but Joel saw that he had. Not physically but that fucker had made you really upset.

“I should talk some sense into the asshole. Can you give me his name?”

“No, no,” you were shaking your head, “I can’t. It’s all confidential. I’ll get over it and won’t see him again of course.”

You took a deep breath before mumbling,

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood.”

Then you reached for his belt buckle but Joel’s hand stopped you and he placed your hands between his big palms.

“No, you’re not in the mood. It’s ok. Can we just cuddle?

“But— I will be in a second. I’m professional, Joel.” You shot him almost a fiery glance and pouted your lips.

“Hey, baby, your client here—,” Joel pointed a thumb at himself with raised eyebrows and a sly smile, “wants to role play a big spoon tonight. Can we do that?”

“You’re so kinky”, you said with a giggle and lay down on the bed. In a second he was holding you, his chest pressed to your back, his strong arms embracing you, giving you comfort.

He was semi hard and surely you noticed it. He felt the warmth of your skin through the thin material of your dress and it drove him insane but the way you flinched at his touch, your tears, your shaky voice told him you wanted him to just hold you. For the second time you fell asleep in his arms and he woke you up with a kiss on your soft cheek the next morning.

Another month passed. As weird as it might have sounded, you became a huge part of his life. He knew every crevice, every curve of your body, knew every hope and dream. He kissed every spot on you, except for your beautiful lips. He tasted them a million times in his imagination but with time it stopped being enough. So he decided to invite you to celebrate his birthday with his family and the closest friends and finally ask you out on a real date.

Joel was nervous when you stepped into his house that day. Tommy raised his eyebrows, surprised to see you there, but fortunately didn’t ask or say anything. You seemed anxious as well at first, but after introducing you to everyone, Joel was happy to notice you chatting with the other guests, giggling with Sarah about something and when his daughter pulled you upstairs to show you her drawings, warmth spread in his chest. He was glad and relieved that you two got along. He wasn’t looking for a mother for his child, he would never ask you to take such a responsibility, but it was important to him that you two could be friends.

Just before dessert you asked him if you could talk privately. Tommy gave Joel a wink, lips twisted in a smirk, when you two headed upstairs, and the older brother just rolled his eyes.

When you stepped into Joel’s bedroom, his cock twitched in his jeans. It was a Pavlovian reflex at this point. He was used to seeing you there naked, your gorgeous body wriggling in his bed, whimpers and moans escaping your mouth.

But Joel told himself to calm down when you came up to him with a serious expression on your pretty face.

“Joel…,” you started and dropped your eyes, fumbling with your fingers.

“Yes, baby?” His heart started pounding in his chest. Always calm and self assured you seemed really nervous and the change scared him. What if you decided to break off whatever weird relationship you two had, what if…

You interrupted his thoughts when you raised your face to him and a little shy smile tugged at your lips.

“I want to give you your birthday present.”

He opened his mouth to say that you hadn’t have to do it, seeing you there was enough but he paused when you inched closer, your big sparkling eyes staring right into his soul. Then your gaze slid down to his lips and Joel seemed to stop breathing. He felt your palms on his forearms and then you slightly pressed your lips to his. They were barely there at first, hesitant, waiting for him to react.

He had been imagining that moment, dreaming of it for so long, so his hands immediately flew to your waist and he pressed his body closer to yours, welcoming your kiss with his whole being.

Joel’s lips started moving against yours, gently and slowly as if he was afraid to scare you away, to ruin the moment. But when he heard you sigh happily against him and your body relaxed into his, Joel wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. He wished that moment to last forever, wanted to never have to let you go.

His tongue brushed your lower lip, asking for permission to breach the last divide between you two, and you graced him by opening your mouth and letting him taste you fully. His tongue was caressing yours while his hands were gliding over your back. Then Joel gently cupped your cheek and tilted his head to give you the best kiss he could. You were so sweet and soft, so warm and lovely on his tongue and he didn’t care that you could probably feel his cock swell against your belly. Your ability to make him hard in seconds was not a secret to the both of you and he bucked his hips against your body with a soft groan.

Joel felt your smile on his lips and playfully squeezed your ass cheeks.

You giggled, your mouth parting from his.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you whispered, putting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck.

“Thank you for the best birthday present, baby.”

Joel kissed your forehead and you fluttered your eyes shut with a happy smile.

“Sweetheart?” he called.

“Yes.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

You lifted your head and your eyes locked.

“Like— on a date?”

“Yes.”

Your lips twisted into the widest grin he’d seen on you and you nodded.

“Really?” he asked, making sure that he was really that lucky, “Fuck, I know I’m not a catch. My life is chaotic and I’m a single dad and…”

“Shh,” you placed your finger on his lips and said softly, “I’d love to date you, Joel Miller.”

Joel beamed at you and embraced you in a tight hug.

“I quit escort,” you murmured against his chest and Joel furrowed his brows.

“Is it because of me? Sweetheart, I’d never ask you to quit your job. If you like it I won’t …”

“I don’t. I don’t like it anymore. After that guy I realized I wanna do something else.”

“Ok. Whatever you decide, baby,” he said and then added with a little smile, “I can still pay you though.”

You laughed at him and playfully punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Joel.”

He took your face between his big palms, marveling at your beautiful face, and whispered, “You know how to shut me up, baby.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his.

Joel opened his eyes to see the early morning sun peeking through the blinds and your face twisted in pleasure just before his. He soon realized that your wet warm pussy was wrapped around his hard cock and you were slowly grinding against him, lying on your side, face to face, your leg thrown over his waist.

He moaned at the sudden pleasure and you noticed that he was up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, honey. I just— I wanted you so much I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were breathing heavily and he wrapped his arms around your naked body and began rolling his hips, helping you to reach your high and chasing his.

“Never apologize for this, baby. I woke up in heaven thanks to you.”

You smiled and kissed him while his hand slithered between your slightly sweaty bodies and he slid his thumb between your folds to stroke your hardened clit. He was swallowing your moans and tried to get his own ecstatic growling under control, not wishing to wake up Sarah.

Soon you both exploded in each other’s arms and Joel flooded your pussy with his warm cum while you were writhing and trembling with euphoria against him.

When your climax subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder. He was drawing patterns on your back until you lifted your head to give him one more kiss.

“Sarah wanted pancakes for breakfast. I’m gonna go make some batter,” you said, getting out of bed and putting on your robe.

“I’ll help you. Be up in a minute.”

You smiled at him and bent over to give him a peck on the cheek but he swiftly pulled you back into his embrace, searching for your lips. You giggled and soon melted into his arms, while he was kissing you, passion and love in every stroke of his lips and tongue.

You were his, fully and completely, and all the fears evaporated when he realized that you were the final puzzle piece, missing from his life. He would do anything to make you happy.

“I love you,” Joel whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you murmured back.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more stories for you, lovelies!❤️

Masterlist

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[jjscrybaby]

prompt 40: ‘lean on me.’

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | hurt & comfort | (stubborn!reader, mention of sick, reader is john b’s sister but no mention of race etc, getting shot, blood, shitty ending cause i’m tired🙂‍↕️)

my first request! thankyou anon, i hope u enjoy this <333

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

For your entire life, you’d been stubborn. Back when you were a kid, you’d refuse to admit that you were sick even when you were puking your guts out into the toilet, there was one time you climbed a tree because you wanted to be like JJ and John B and you ended up slicing your arm on a hanging stick; you kept it from them until the next day when they noticed the scab.

Your brother and your friends were used to it by now, you smiling through your tears when you got cheated on, or stumbling home alone after drinking too much because you were embarrassed to call for help.

No one was worried about you when you began the treasure hunt for the gold your old man had been searching for, you were a strong girl who could take care of herself and them. You weren’t worried about yourself either, not until you heard the bang.

“Shit!” JJ yelled from somewhere in front of you, ducking down with his hands over his head. You knew this lead was bullshit, a trap of some sort.

“Over here!” Kiara called, finding an entrance to the old warehouse you were running near. She held it open and the group of you ran in, panting and groaning. She slammed the door closed as you rushed in and pushed a table against it for good measure.

John B let out a laugh of disbelief, followed by JJ, Pope and then Kie. “Shit, that was a close one.” He chuckled, sitting down to lean against the wall.

“Too close,” Kiara agreed, sitting down beside him to catch her breath.

You weren’t listening to a word they were saying. Your ears rang as you looked down, blood was seeping into your white tee, your body numb from the pain.

“You good?” John B asked, looking over at you. Your eyes flickered over to him, panic all over your face. He slowly stood up and walked towards you. “Hey—” he stopped, eyes landing on the blood that covered your left side. His eyes widened, his face paled and he was rushing at you like a mad man. “No, no, no!”

“What?” JJ worried, coming over from where he’d been leaning against a wall. He followed John B’s gaze and had the exact same reaction, complexion going green and hands starting to shake as he grabbed your waist.

“It’s fine—” you croaked out, inhaling sharply at the pain that followed.

“Shut up. You’re shot,” JJ argued sternly. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and gently pulled your shirt up, apologising when you cried out in pain. He inspected it, you were losing a lot of blood. “We need to get to the fuckin’ hospital!”

“Can’t afford that,” you coughed out, making everyone shoot you a dirty look.

“Would you rather bleed out? Come on, we need to get back to the van,” Kiara responded, looking around to see if there’s another exit.

You tried to stumble after them, clenching your jaw. JJ wrapped his arm around your waist, you tried to push him off and his grip tightened. “Lean on me. Let me help you,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to die, JJ,” you sobbed as he held you up, following the rest of the group. John B was up ahead, storming down the hallway you’d found to find an unlocked door.

“You’re not going to,” JJ argued, his pace quickening. “I’d never let that happen. Don’t panic, I know it hurts. You just have to hang in there a little longer, can you do that f’me?”

You just nodded your head, silent tears rolling down your cheeks as you finally leant on him properly; finally accepted the help that he’d been trying to give you for years. When you climbed that tree, he’d been at the top holding his hand out for you to take. When you were sick, he’d offer to hold your hair back and follow you around with food and water. When you got cheated on, he went round to your ex’s house and punched him right in his smug face. He was always there, you just never accepted the help.

You’d gotten lucky, the bullet had grazed you so the procedure was no where near as difficult as it could have been. When you woke up, head foggy and body numb, you felt a hand holding yours.

“Hey,” JJ murmured softly, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “John B’s just gone home to grab you some shit.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” you replied croakily — he was instantly passing you a cup of water.

He gave you a look, shaking his head at you with amusement in his eyes. “You really ain’t worked it out yet?”

“Worked what out?” You asked, putting the cup back on the side table once your mouth started to feel less dry.

“That no matter how much your stubborn-ass may hate it, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” JJ stated, sounding stern yet soft all at once.

“Why?” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. Was he just being friendly? Did he mean it because you were his best friends sister?

“‘Cause you’re, like, the most important thing to me,” he shrugged, looking down at where your hands were clasped together. “And I hate that you just let yourself struggle alone.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your’s and JJ’s relationship had always been funny banter, witty comments and buried love. You’d never heard him say something so honest, and if you’d been standing it would have sent you to your knees.

“You’re the most important thing to me, too,” you replied, your brain too foggy with the pain meds to think of anything else to say.

He flashed you a grin, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “From now on, you ain’t dealing with shit alone. Definitely not when you’ve just been shot.”

“Grazed,” you corrected.

“Big-whoop. Get ready for me to be your personal butler, your ass ain’t leaving your bed once we get home,” he teased, making you roll your eyes fondly. 

You didn’t necessarily hate the idea of him taking care of you, not that you’d ever admit that to him; although from the glint in his eyes you were pretty sure he already knew. You were pretty sure he felt the same way.

John B was in for a real surprise when he gets back to the hospital — because his best friend and sister are most definitely head over heels in love.

[svelish]

prompt 18 pleaseee

˚₊۶ 𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑀𝑃𝑇 𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 ৎ˙⋆

18. "I missed youu."

You weren’t supposed to fall asleep. You swore you’d stay up, promised yourself you’d wait just a little longer. The time difference was brutal—Billie’s tour schedule had her bouncing across cities like clockwork, while you remained at home, curled up in bed with your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

You blink awake to the soft buzz of a FaceTime call.

“Baby,” her voice comes through the speaker, raspy and low. “You up?”

You answer with a sleepy groan, flipping over and squinting at the screen. And there she is. Billie, hoodie pulled over her messy blonde hair, freckles prominent under the soft yellow hotel light, smiling like you just gave her oxygen. God, she looks tired—but that doesn’t stop her from beaming at you like you’re the sun she’s been chasing all day.

“I missed youu,” she says, dragging the words out, voice laced with that signature sleepy pout she saves just for you.

Your chest clenches at the sound. “I missed you more,” you mumble, blinking back the blur in your eyes. “You look exhausted, B.”

She shrugs. “Show was crazy. But I couldn’t go to bed without seeing you.”

There’s a pause. Just the sound of her breathing and the quiet crinkle of hotel sheets as she shifts. She sets the phone down, angled just right so you can see her stretched across the bed, one hand under her cheek, the other lazily reaching toward the screen like she could touch you if she tried hard enough.

“I hate being away from you,” she whispers.

You press the phone to your cheek, as if the glass could transfer warmth. “I know. I hate it too.”

She watches you for a while, silent, eyes drinking you in like she’s memorizing every feature all over again. “Wanna come with me next time?” she asks. “I don’t care if it’s messy or chaotic. I just… I want you there.”

You bite your lip. That offer’s been floating between you two for weeks, always hinted at but never spoken outright like this. “You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it.” Her voice breaks a little, too soft, too sincere. “I need you. You’re the only thing that makes me feel like myself.”

And for a moment, the loneliness, the distance, the thousands of miles between you—none of it matters. Because she’s there. And you’re here. And somehow, that’s enough.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Next time, I’ll be there.”

She grins, eyes fluttering closed. “Good. Now sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You fall asleep to the sound of her breathing through the phone, the warmth of her love stretching across oceans just to reach you.

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Alpha - Logan Howlett x ftm!reader

A/N: Hi! Um, this is my first work within the fandom! This was written with X-Men Logan in mind. Fic is unedited with no use of Y/N. This is so self-indulgent, so please be nice

Please make sure to read the tags carefully! They’re there for a reason

CW: Reader is a wolf mutant; Logan and Reader get off to a tense start; Reader is implied to be pre-op ftm, via the use of sports bras; implied wet dreams; use of the words slick and wet to describe Reader’s arousal; a/b/o dynamics? maybe?; misunderstandings; rough sex; pet play? (Reader is called pup); Reader is referred to as handsome; grinding; fingering; use of the word dick to describe Reader’s parts; overstimulation; no use of safe word; unprotected piv; multiple orgasms; implied aftercare

2493 words

The first thing you notice about Logan is his scent.

Not that you know it belongs to him. But it’s all you can smell as you talk to Jean. Thick and heady and strong. Musky like an animal and cloying like smoke.

Jean, of course, can tell you’re distracted. Instead of calling you out on it, she simply calls him in. Him and Scott enter at the same time, with an air of tension between them. Not that you care for long.

You’re too busy ogling the man in front of you. Rugged and handsome, more like a mountain man than a teacher.

Yet, that’s how Jean introduces him. Logan Howlett. History teacher.

You smile politely. You hold out your hand and try to not get too offended when he doesn’t shake it. You can tell he’s wary of you. Not that you could blame him.

You must be giving off a scent of your own, though you can’t smell it. But you can hear his inhale, feel the way his eyes watch you. You know he knows.

Especially when he straightens up. Lifting his chin and widening his stance. Establishing his dominance in a more subtle way than most other males. Perhaps he’s just that assured in his position.

Either way, you can feel your instincts itching at the back of your mind. The desire to submit. To recognize his authority. It pricks at you like a needle, but you brush it away. You’ve had enough of submitting to men like him. If he wants it, he’ll have to earn it.

Jean rests a hand on Logan’s arm, softly scolding him, probably for what he’s thinking. “Hey, be nice. They’re a wolf mutant.”

“A wolf mutant?” He looks unimpressed.

You stand your ground. Your nerves are starting to buzz from the force of his gaze. You hate stare downs, but you can’t lose this one.

“Yeah.” You answer him yourself. “That’s me.”

He scoffs and looks you up and down. “Yeah, whatever, bub. You ever even see a real wolf?”

You know what he’s doing and you hate it. But at least he’s not mistaking you for a girl and being all overly nice. You’d rather get his blunt side than his fake side.

“No. I’m a wolf mutant, not a real wolf.” You at least try to keep some of the sarcasm from your voice. Trying’s worth something, right?

Logan doesn’t look impressed. He crosses his arms, which prompts Scott to finally step in. “Welcome to Xavier’s Home for—“

“Thanks.” You interrupt him with a smile, but your gaze never leaves Logan’s.

Scott seems caught off guard. “Why… don’t I show you around…?”

Something in you relaxes at the thought of being away from such an intimidating man like Logan. You nod and accept his offer.

On your tour, your thoughts keep drifting back to Logan. Even away from him, your body sets on edge at the thought of him. He’s going to be trouble for you, you’re sure of it.

Most of the mutants at Xavier’s are surprisingly accepting of you. The adults, you mean. You don’t tell the kids.

Maybe it’s because you have Jean and Scott on your side, but most of the adults don’t bother you after learning your secret. Most of them find out when you come to training wearing a sports bra and baggy pants.

A few have questions. Most just leave you alone.

You’ve never been more grateful that Logan wasn’t around than during that particular training session.

The tension between the two of you has only gotten worse. You’re sticking by your defiance to his posturing, even at the expense of your pride. Your nerves hate it as well, practically screaming at you whenever Logan gets too close.

Part of you can’t figure it out. You’ve been around men like him before, but never with this reaction. The other part of you doesn’t care enough.

And yet, you care enough to be relieved that he doesn’t directly know your secret. It’s not a huge deal; you’re pretty sure Jean would’ve told him by now. But it’s still nice that he doesn’t know from you.

Until he does.

The whole day starts with you feeling off. You have one of those good dreams, and wake up in a puddle of your own slick. Definitely a damper to your morning.

Then they run out of your favorite breakfast food, some of your students are late to class, and it goes on and on.

By evening you are pissed. Not just at life but at yourself. Because the one thing you cannot get out of your mind is your dream.

You can remember strong arms. Growls of your name. A thick cock bullying its way between your legs. Delicious pleasure.

But you cannot remember the face. It eludes you all day. Stuck there at the back of your mind. On the tip of your tongue.

It’s not until Logan walks into your classroom after your last class that it hits you. With horrifying, picture perfect clarity.

Logan. It was Logan. You had a fucking wet dream about Logan.

Even worse? You’re not as opposed to the idea as you thought you’d be.

For a moment, you’re just staring at Logan. He raises an eyebrow. “You okay, bub?”

“Uh, yeah.” You hastily gather up your things, hoping beyond hope that he can’t smell the slight arousal you feel.

You know it’s too late when you brush by him and he stiffens. You know he can smell you. It doesn’t help the problem.

“What—“

You make your exit. Very fast. Very undignifying. But he doesn’t follow, so you count it as a win.

Two things change. The first is that you start avoiding Logan as much as possible. The second…

Well, the second is that he features in every single one of your dirty fantasies. Every wet dream. Every random horny thought. All Logan.

And it is infuriating.

Logically, you know why. He’s the protector of the house. The ‘alpha’ of the pack, so to speak. Sooner or later your body would react to his presence. He’s strong, handsome, and gruff. Literally your type.

You still blame it on your biology and pretend you don’t think of him when you get off.

It works for a week. One week, that’s how long you get before Logan corners you in the Training Room.

The moment you smell his musky scent, you know you’re fucked. He smells like anger. And something more that you try really hard to not think about.

But this moment was to come eventually, so you gear yourself up and face him head on.

You know you’re a sight. Sweaty and out of breath, wearing a sports bra and pants. If he didn’t know before, he sure does now.

Logan stops a few feet away from you. He eyes you up and down, frowning slightly. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says gruffly.

You cross your arms and wait for him to continue. Slivers of anxiety spiking through your body.

“Why? Why are you avoiding me?” Logan looks frustrated and it makes you want to cower. Shrink down and beg for his forgiveness.

You hated it. How dare he make you feel this way? All because you’re stuck with a fucking wolf mutation that makes you want to hide like a little puppy from him.

So you push against your instincts. Straighten yourself up. Meet his gaze full on. “What does it matter why?”

Logan blinks. As if he hadn’t been expecting your defiance. Then he rumbles out a growl. “You missed the team training session yesterday. How are we supposed to make sure you’re ready for missions if you don’t show up?”

It’s your turn to blink. To stare. To be confused. “What?”

He crosses his arms, unintentionally making his forearms stand out so perfectly. Not that you’re noticing, of course. Just another pesky side effect of his presence.

“You’re one of the most capable mutants here,” Logan says firmly. “So if you have an issue, let’s talk about it now.”

“Wait, you’re here about missions?”

He nods. Then frowns. “What else would I be here for?”

Suddenly you feel stupid. Absolutely stupid. “So… you’re not here about…” You gesture to your body.

His frown deepens. “What?”

“You know,” your anxiety feels like fire ants in your stomach. “The fact that my body is—“

“I could care less, bub,” he says bluntly. “It’s your body.”

You want to cry. You want to laugh. This whole time you’ve been stressing about Logan, and he hasn’t given a single fuck.

You relax. Your anxiety dissipating so fast it makes your head feel funny. That’s one of your problems solved.

And the other?

Well, it only gets worse.

It all comes to a head on a random Tuesday.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo are off on a mission. The students have all been dismissed from their classes. You’re in the Training Room, working out yet another filthy dream about Logan.

Your fantasies about him have gotten more intense now that you know he doesn’t care about the way your body is. It’s a major, major problem. You’ve started getting dehydrated from the amounts of slick you’re creating.

Which is why you’re in the Training Room instead of getting off. You’re lucky Jean and the Professor haven’t said anything yet, but sooner or later they’re gonna know.

You’re working through your third round of training dummies when a scent catches your attention. Musk and thick smoke. You stop immediately.

“Don’t mind me,” Logan says, a hint of amusement in his gruff tone. “I’m just here to train as well.”

Your hopes for training might as well be ashes in the wind. There is no way you are going to be able to focus on anything other than him.

“Wanna spar?” You ask, false cockiness in your voice.

Instantly your instincts are screaming at you. Challenging the alpha to a fight? You might as well give up your position in the school now. No one challenges an alpha to a fight without a cause behind them.

Excessive horniness apparently didn’t count to your wolf brain. But it did to you.

Logan eyes you. He seems tense; can he smell your light arousal in the air?

“Sure.” You find yourself both relaxing and tensing at his agreement.

You clear the floor and get into your positions. Your instincts start to settle, helping you focus. You take a breath, and move.

The sparring is brutal. Fun and exhilarating, but brutal.

One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you’re flat on your back. Logan pinning you down. One hand keeping your hands above your head, the other keeping your waist against the floor. His knee nudged between your legs.

You get wet ridiculously fast. You’re panting, gasping for breath, and you can smell your own arousal. You can feel the slick coating your thighs, soaking through your boxers.

You meet Logan’s gaze. Your wolf instincts are mostly quiet for once. Probably because he already has you pinned down. The only thought in your head?

Submit to him.

Logan’s pupils are blown. He’s panting too, and you know he can smell you.

“You into this sort of shit?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You can’t do much against the instincts of your brain. You let your head rest against the floor. “Into you, maybe.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Logan’s voice is rougher than you’ve ever heard it. The sound goes straight to your core.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he growls, “and it’ll never have happened.”

“I want this,” you say, a hint of a whimper in your voice. “Logan, I need—“

His mouth smashes against yours. It’s not pretty, it’s not delicate. He kisses you like he’s starving, ravaging your mouth. Nipping at your lips until the tang of blood fills your mouth.

It’s not pretty, but it makes you oh so wet.

You moan into his mouth, struggling against his hold on you. You want to rake your fingers through his hair, buck up against him, really just anything more than what he’s giving you now.

“Settle down, pup,” he growls.

Your body responds embarrassingly fast. You still, panting into his mouth.

“Please,” you beg, “please, Logan, I need you.”

He smirks. Nudges his knee against your crotch. Even the slight amount of friction feels like heaven and you chase it with a moan.

“Dumb little slut,” he mutters. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh, handsome?”

You just whine, too busy grinding against his knee to answer. You need more. You need more. Why isn’t he giving you more?

“Logan,” your voice breaks, “Please!”

“Please what?” His fingers ghost along the waistband of your pants. “Use your words.”

“Please touch me,” you whimper.

He smirks, his words dripping with condescension. “Good boy.”

You almost cum just from his words alone. And when his fingers dip under your waistband, sliding into your boxers to circle your dick?

Your vision blurs with pleasure, your body squirming underneath him. He doesn’t let up, just keeps rubbing his fingers against you. It’s torture, pure delicious torture.

“Logan!” You sob. “Too much!”

“Too much?” He mocks. “I can fucking smell you, pup. I can smell the amount of slick pouring out of you. It’s not ‘too much’ till I’ve drained every last drop of cum from your dick.”

As if to make his point, he stuffs two fingers inside you, stretching you out and making you sob. When you start to squirm, he shifts, letting go of your hands in favor of pinning down your waist. Keeping you firmly against the floor.

You burrow your fingers into his hair, gripping tightly to keep from screaming as he curls his fingers against that one spot inside you.

It’s exquisite, mind-numbing, perfect.

He bullies his cock inside you after your third orgasm, stretching you out and making you babble mindlessly. You’re a mess on the floor; fucked out, sweaty, and coated in your own slick.

The sounds are obscene, and you hope to god no one outside the room can hear you.

You can barely feel your legs, lost to everything except the pleasure and the feeling of his hands gripping your thighs as he pounds into you. Over and over and over.

He cums once, and fucks it all back into you. It’s not until you’re literally drooling on the floor that he finally lets up, cumming inside you for the second time.

You whine softly as he pulls out, blearily cracking open your eyes.

“Hush, pup,” he soothes. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He lifts you into his arms and you nuzzle into his chest. Uncaring about how messy you are, or about the puddle of cum and slick left on the floor.

It’s just Logan for now, and you’re content with that.

[daycourtofficial]

Gingerfucker - Eris x Rhys’s Sister!reader Masterlist

Banner by @milswrites | Note: these are in chronological order by content, not by posting date. This is an ongoing series and will be updated.

Summary: no one is more surprised than Eris Vanserra to find that he is capable of much more than just political ambition

Some art of the babies: (Nyx and Atlas) (All the gingersnaps) (Atlas and Leif) (Atlas) (the family)

Art by @dawneternal: Eris during the events of Cold was the steel of my axe to grind, portraits of the gingersnaps, art of Eris and Atlas

Gingerfucker week 2024 blurbs

Moodboard

It’s just to satiate the bond - an agreement to have sex just to satiate a mating bond neither party wants is a great idea. Surely no one will get hurt, right?

Insatiable you - immediately following the events of it’s just to satiate the bond - Eris’s sudden disappearance when you saw him last has left you in a foul mood for weeks. Unwilling to admit to the source of them, they aren’t as one sided as your mate wants you to think they are.

One single thread of gold tied me to you* - Eris accepts the mating bond and is incredibly touched by the effort you put into cooking him the meal from scratch

All’s well that ends well to end up with you - fears and doubts cause you and Eris to do your first irrational act together: a secret mating bond ceremony

I am ash from your fire - Surprising Eris one evening, you’ve turned up in the dead of night to let him know that your brother had figured out your secret relationship, offering you an ultimatum.

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind - centuries of plotting and scheming come to a head when his mate unexpectedly arrives in Autumn and Eris is desperate to set his plans in motion, least she become a piece for Beron to use against him

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons - Eris leaves his mate alone in the Forest House, telling her to trust no one but his mother. The two women are ill-equipped to provide frontline fighting, but surely they can help Eris in their own way. *companion piece to ‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind’

Hell was the journey but it brought me Heaven - in the immediate aftermath of Beron’s death and the thrum of power in his veins, Eris’s mate forces him to, at the bare minimum, bathe

Secret exchanges - a few weeks after the aftermath of Rhys’s banishment, your mate, the new High Lord of the Autumn Court, has a secret meeting with someone from your family.

Blood moon in Autumn - fae cycles are no joke, but your mate is always there to provide you comfort in the best way possible: by being your personal heating pad

Have I found you, flightless bird? - a reflection of a life of secrets and expectations and how, despite it all, a flightless bird found home in an unlikely place

Ferocious beasts with soft bellies - Eris’s hounds know you’re pregnant before either of you do, driving the two of you wild with their newfound devotion to you.

Starfall in Autumn - based on the prompt for Starfall week “characters a and b realize they won’t make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate”

Laborious anxieties - Eris is riddled with anxiety leading up to your labor, but what happens when some of his worst fears come to fruition?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed - your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Amber eyes, looking into mine - Eris finds something in his study that triggers him into a frozen state of panic. Who better suited to pulling Eris from his past than his future?

We started alone, in the end we’re okay - on a rare night alone, Eris reflects on his long life and the lonely nights that haunted his youth. And how he’s a long way from the person he was and the person he had to be.

Fireling - every father’s dream is to be there the day his son first uses his powers. Luckily for Eris, he gets just that.

Let’s play restaurant - your son’s version of playing is confusing, but Eris is surprisingly good at any games he wants to play

How the kingdom lights shine just for me and you - Eris tells his sons a story, letting them know how a strong knight defeated an evil dragon and saved the kingdom.

Loving parents, harmless fun - Modern!Gingerfucker - slice of life where Eris takes his family on a roadtrip and is only slightly annoyed at his son’s choice of car game

* = smut

[unboundprompts]

How about a sort of prompt/prompts where Character A accidentally kisses Character B and then panics because they think they messed everything up when B doesn’t respond? (Thinking about this nonstop bc something similar like this happens in my oc’s background and results in him coming out at almost 200 years old (vampire) )

Being Shocked After a Kiss Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He didn't know what happened. One second, they were laughing and having a good time, the next, his lips were on hers. It was everything he could have imagined. When he pulled away though, finally unlocking his lips from hers, she was dead silent.

"Say something," she whispered. "Please say something." Their face was expressionless, their hands limp in their lap. She had messed everything up. How could she have been so stupid? Of course, they wouldn't have wanted to kiss her.

"I'm so sorry," they blurted, hand still pressed to their lips as if they couldn't believe they had done that, themself. "I shouldn't have kissed you. Not now, not without asking, I--"

He was so quiet that it was making her stomach churn. She had never regretted doing something more than now, in this moment. Why did she kiss him?

She buried her face in her hands as if she could hide from the embarrassment. "I shouldn't have done that." They were silent. So, so silent. It only made her feel ten times worse.

"I'm not upset," he finally said. "I was just surprised."

"You didn't mess anything up," they told her after a few moments of listening to her ramble.

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[luveline]

omg i loved the loopy wisdom teeth one w peter 😭😭 can i get that with hotch, and reader, who's usually more reserved starts flirting with him and stuff while she's loopy

ty!! and ty for ur request ♡ fem, 1.2k

"Most people have their wisdom teeth out in their teens," Aaron had said before you went in, a Spencer Reid tidbit if there ever were one. 

"I'm a special case," you'd said, accepting his kiss on the cheek but denying his half hug. "See you in a bit." 

People often lament that Aaron's ended up with a  woman so much like himself. You must make each other miserable, one ill-advised chancellor had said, to your amusement. 

We're desperately unhappy, you'd said back. 

The opposite is true. You and Aaron, or Aaron alone, at the very least, is as happy as he's ever been. Work is hard but manageable, Jack is well-tempered, growing smarter and kinder each day, and you're his sweetheart. You're reserved, a little solemn, but you understand him better than anyone ever has. It's a relief like no other to be known so well. 

And so he has zero qualms looking after you for the rest of your lives. He waits patiently for you to come out of surgery, arms behind his head in the empty waiting room. He's worried about you. This isn't a painless procedure. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, but you announce yourself anyways in the doorway. "Handsome!" you say, a lisp to your happy sing-song, "I'm back." 

Aaron doesn't know what to say. He giggles like a kid at your sudden demeanour and sits up properly. "Honey." 

You wobble with the nurse at your back, prompting him onto his feet to take over. "You should remove the gauze in about half an hour when the bleeding has completely stopped. Clean daily with saline, there are instructions in the bag," the nurse says, offering Aaron a white prescription bag. "Okay?" 

"That's perfect. Thank you so much," he says, taking your hand. 

"You're perfect," you say, looking up at Aaron with stars in your eyes. 

The nurse laughs softly as she leaves. Aaron doesn't bother hiding his amusement, grinning at you as he puts his hand between your shoulders to guide you to the front of the building. 

It's busier here. Reception is hectic. Aaron puts his arm more firmly around you to stop people from bumping into you and you again look at him with your starry eyed gaze. "You're very tall," you say. 

"I am," he says. "Though you joke occasionally that I'm shrinking." 

"The only thing getting smaller is your waist," you say, poking at his abdomen, "my champion." 

You're referring to his recent third triathlon success. He's no record setter, but it keeps him active and happy in the summer months, and he can't pretend you don't appreciate the additional definition of his muscle during this time. You like him every month of the year, of course, but with his trim waist comes a certain amount of energy you also appreciate. 

"Completely inappropriate behaviour," he says lightly, waving a short goodbye to the receptionists as he holds open the door for you to pass by. "Next you'll be enacting PDA." 

"You'd like that, huh?" 

Hard to take any notice of you with gauze fluffing your words, and again, he laughs at you. "I'd love that." 

"Well, wait, I'll do it right here–" 

Aaron catches your hands mildly. "In the car first. Kiss after." Your downtrodden expression requires urgent care. "What, that's not okay? You're upset?" 

"No," you lie obviously, glaring down at your feet as you wobble forward. 

"Maybe we can wait until later, then." 

"What?" You gawp. "You just said in the car." 

"I'm teasing you," he says, taking your elbow. "We've been known to do that with one another on occasion. You know I'd happily kiss you anywhere you wanted to be kissed, honey, now watch your step on this curb. Watch your step. Good job." 

You're extremely pleased by his praise, leaning into his arm with your head tipped back. "You're so handsome. Can you kiss me now?" You soften your eyes. 

Alright, you have a little bit of bloody dribble on your bottom lip, and yes, there's this dazed look about you like you've had a mean shock, but you never look at him like this day to day. Perhaps in your more intimate moments, your arms around him when the lights are low, or early, early in the morning when you haven't yet remembered your more timid temperament. But it's so rare. It catches him off guard, how pretty and wanting you look. 

Aaron leans down for a careful kiss, the barest of pressure. 

"And a good kisser," you murmur, turning into his chest for a hug. "I love you, I want you to carry me to the car." 

"Sweetheart, I don't think I can," he says. He's mostly kidding in the depth of his apology, but there are real threads of remorse in his voice, hot as a flame. "Come on. We'll go home, okay?" 

"But you always do everything for me. Everything I ask for." You talk into his chest, likely leaving pink spit on the grey of his quarter zip. He couldn't care less, his arm around you, looking down with equal measures of fondness and surprise. "I had to stop saying I liked things because you kept buying me stuff. I love stuff." 

"Then why did you stop?" he asks quietly. 

"'Cos I know I don't deserve it. Don't deserve you, Aaron, you're the best man I've ever met. Can't believe it."

He savours your mumbling, and begins to walk forward slowly, encouraging you out of his chest as he formulates an answer for your confession with the same gravity. "You can't believe it?" 

"You're a tall glass of water." 

He actually sighs aloud. My girl, he thinks, rubbing your lax shoulder. "Alright. What if I thought the same of you? What then?" 

You giggle infectiously, a stickying sound like you know he's trying to trip you up. "Nice," you say. "We should always be like this." 

When he brings it up later, the extreme effects of your anaesthesia dissipated and your pain revamped, you can't think of anything worse. "I'm mortified," you whisper, your ice pack chilling the top of his arm where you've wedged it, your hand tucked between his thighs in an attempt to stay warm. 

"I quite liked it." 

"You would. You used to flirt with me so aggressively–" 

"Aggressively," he repeats, grinning. 

"–you're lucky I survived it." You sniffle, rubbing your nose into his sleeve. "Was I as intimidating as you are?" 

He presses his lips to the top of your head, not kissing, just there. "No," he says into your skin, "you weren't intimidating at all. Just lovely. It made my day." 

"I'll have to have my teeth taken out more often." 

He snorts. "If you'd rather have more teeth pulled than flirt with me unaided, things are worse than I thought." 

"Don't be like that..." Much quieter, "Will you rub my back again, please?"

Just like that, he's reminded of how much he likes your regular reserved attitude. "Sure, honey. Lean forward."

[garciaasfluffypen]

time to celebrate (the champagne is for after)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 3.1k warnings: smut with plot. minors dni. i found a prompt i never wrote and now i have decided it is a part of this universe. use of "our girl", "good girl", emily is the chef of the family and i stand by that

you had finally gotten into a groove with your girlfriends. 

most of your stuff had been taken over to their place, leaving you with some old furniture that you had to figure out what to do with. but you had gotten a storage unit for a few months, so you had time. either way, you were spending a majority of time at emily and jj’s place and it was nice. you all found a way for everyone to incorporate themselves into the daily routine. it was easier than you originally thought it would be (especially when it came to getting to work on time) and it was a nice change from previous relationships. they listened to you, they made sure your needs were met. they included you in nights out, and made sure that you had everything you needed at their place. your place. while your name wasn’t exactly on the lease yet and emily refused to let you pay part of the rent, the apartment had felt more and more like not a them home, but a you home too. it was something you had never expected, and it was making you feel warm and bubbly inside. 

you smiled to yourself as you walked up the drive, putting the key into the lock and opening it. you knew you were the last one home, since you offered to help hotch with some of the paperwork from the last case. sometimes, you wondered if hotch was prepping you for a promotion, but you weren't a hundred percent sure. rossi was getting older, and if anything panned out the way you thought it would, an ssa slot would open up and it was either one of your girlfriends or morgan who would take second in command. as much as you loved reid, you knew he wasn’t even close to having the guts to take that from three of the most deserving agents the two of you knew. and besides, he preferred to be the one on the research side of things with you. it was nice time that the two of you spent together where you didn’t have to worry about anyone perceiving you as weird-- spencer loved you like a sister for who you were masked and unmasked. at that thought, you threw your bag down next to emily and jj’s, shoes slipping off and settling right next to the boots that emily adored. 

“welcome home, baby.” jj moved to the doorframe to wrap her arms around you. “hotch didn’t keep you late as i thought he would.”

you shrugged. “we split the paperwork.” 

“he knew you had two hot girlfriends to get home to, huh?” emily teased, looking over her shoulder as she stirred the sauce. 

“mm, debatable. he said something about wanting me to learn how to help with the paperwork to lessen the load for the team, whatever that means.” 

“well…” jj trailed off. “i’m not supposed to say anything until it’s official but…”

“what’s going on?” your eyes widened. “who’s hurt?”

“no no, baby it’s good. it’s fantastic, actually.” jj grabbed your hands. “you know how rossi is planning to retire at the end of july?”

“yeah, garcia wants to plan a whole going away thing for him and keeps asking me what flower arrangement she should get.” 

“well, that means the section chief spot is open.” 

“yes….” you scrunched your eyebrows, not exactly following. “i’m lost.” 

“baby… i’m getting promoted.” 

it took you a second. “holy shit. baby wait that’s… oh my gods!” you wrapped her in a hug. “i’m so proud of you.” 

“hotch and i were talking, and he knows how much you lean into those little acts of service when it comes to offering to help or stay late to finish things. and with that, we figured it would be logical for one of us to be section chief so you could keep doing those little acts not only for us, but for the rest of the team as well instead of hiring an external applicant.”

“actually, the three of us all sat down and talked about it.” emily piped in. “me, jay and hotch. we bought up a few things we wanted to see within the team and how we wanted to keep the dynamic moving forward with the change.” 

“and mostly how HR would see the relationship, but that’s already being taken care of.” jj assured you with a squeeze to your hand. “but, we got everything sorted out. as rossi starts fading out over the next few weeks, i’ll slowly be doing more of that stuff.” 

“i- sorry, wait, i have a question.” you paused, looking at emily. “aren’t you technically the senior agent between the two of you? why wouldn’t you be section chief?”

“politics.” it was a simple answer. “while i understand hotch wanting me to take the position, i absolutely hate the politics of it. while i’m not opposed to taking a higher position eventually, it’s something that i’m just not interested in right now.” 

“what does this mean for us?” you couldn’t help but let the question slip. “you’ll be pulling more hours, our routines will be off.”

“we’ll make new routines.” jj looked at you. “i know how important your routines are. we’ll get into the groove of me taking on more responsibilities and make our own new routine when we figure out how everything works together, okay?” 

you nodded. “okay.” 

“i know it’s scary, and it’s different, but we’re doing it in phases so it’s not all done at one time. i promise you, it’s not going to be as fast as your brain is making you think it is.” jj placed a kiss to your lips. “and besides, it means i get to be more bossy at work.” 

you smiled. “section chief jennifer marie jareau. i do like the sound of that.” 

“mm, yeah?”

“it’s hot,” you started, wrapping your arms around her waist. “it’s sexy. it’s totally you.” 

“you think so?”

“we know so.” emily piped in, coming to stand on the other side of jj. “i wouldn’t have told hotch to give you that position if i didn’t know how hot you were when you ooze power.”

you felt jj’s knees buckle slightly, internally chuckling to yourself. she had always been one to melt at emily’s words, no matter what was said. 

“i second that.” you started placing kisses on jj’s collar bone. “you are so fucking hot, jen.” 

“oh god, we’re doing this now?” 

“we’re celebrating, yes.” emily confirmed. “the champagne can be for after.” 

“orgasms first.” you nodded against jj’s chest. “so many orgasms. please.” 

that was all you needed to say to convince your girlfriends to close the distance between them and you, jj pulling you close as humanly possible before kissing you. you knew eventually you wanted to talk about them letting you take the lead, but right now you didn’t mind the fact that jj and emily were horny and needed to have sex right here, right now in the kitchen. one of your hands ran through jj’s hair while the other went to go find emily’s arm, rubbing it up and down as you let jj guide you through the kiss. slowly, your work clothes appeared in a pile on the floor as jj silently urged your hands to start going lower and lower. your hands met emily’s underneath the fabric of her shirt, both of you exploring the almost porcelain skin underneath. emily’s hands guided yours to jj’s breasts, starting to play around with them while emily slowly lifted the shirt over her head. without hesitating, you kissed down to jj’s chest, pushing one of her breasts out of her bra. 

you vaguely heard shuffling in the background but focused on the task at hand. you switched to the other breast, knowing that one needed the same amount of attention as the other one was getting. you lifted jj up so she was sitting on the counter, shoving the coffee maker and other coffee things as far over as you could. you used your foot to push one of the kitchen chairs out of the way, wedging yourself in between jj’s legs. you shifted her slightly over to make sure she didn’t hit her head on the cabinet knobs before you went back to paying attention to her body.

“lovey, can i suggest we do something for jay?”

“what are you thinking?” 

emily smirked. “remember, you can veto anything. but i tell you what to do, how to get jj off? and you follow my directions?” she stepped closer to you. “a play by play on how to get jj to turn into putty in your hands?” 

you couldn’t lie, your entire body shivered and clenched around nothing at the idea of being able to be the one to do that. 

“mm, you like that?” you nodded. “words.”

“green.”

emily turned to jj. “jayje?”

“so green. baby please. baby please i need you.” 

you looked up at emily through hooded eyes, waiting for her to tell you what to do. 

“spread her legs. mm, good girl. just like that. use two fingers, rub slow circles.” 

your fingers dusted up the inside of jj’s thighs, a light pressure moving her legs to the side as you moved to meet her center. you couldn’t help but moan as your lips met hers in a kiss, the smell of her arousal filling your senses as you moved your fingers. you followed emily’s instructions, going slow and steady as you let jj fall forward on you. you felt her fingers curl into your back, her lips moving to place kisses on the crook of your neck and shoulder. your free hand went back up to play with her breasts, waiting for emily to give you more instruction. 

“how does she feel?” 

“so wet.” you looked over to emily. “so needy.” 

emily came over. “is that so?” her hand dipped down to meet yours. “oh yes, should we give her more, lovey?” 

“oh fuck please baby--”

“i wasn't talking to you, jennifer.” emily gave jj a stern look. “you stay quiet unless i tell you to speak.” 

jj nodded. “yes ma’am.” 

“what do you say lovey, does she need more?” 

“i think she does.” 

“go ahead and put two fingers in her. but don’t let her cum yet.” 

your eyes widened slightly as you looked over to emily. “i-i don’t know her tells very well.”

“i’ll tell you when to stop.” 

you nodded, turning back to face jj as you slowly slipped two fingers inside of her, placing small kisses at her collarbone as you did so. your fingers stilled for a second before starting to move in and out, curling just the right way to hit that one special spot that emily told you about. a moan escaped jj’s lips as you fucked her, fingers clawing at your back more than before. it was clear she was searching for that release, for the pleasure she got from you. you shifted your fingers as you scooted her forward, the new angle doing something fantastic to her. the moans that escaped her lips were godly, and you couldn’t help but moan yourself as you nipped at her shoulder, trying to find your own release. 

“stop.” 

your fingers stilled inside jj, both you and the blonde breathing heavily. jj let out a whimper, staring over at emily with those big blue eyes of hers. it was rare that you saw her in this position, and it was absolutely breathtaking. you were so used to jj taking control over you in the bedroom that it was a very welcome change. you placed a few kisses to jj’s cheek, knowing emily was figuring out in her head what the next course of action was. 

“start eating her out.” 

without hesitation, you knelt down to her center and placed a kiss right where she needed it the most. you knew there was no use in teasing her more than she had already been teased today. you licked, sucked and kissed everywhere she wanted you to, her hand going to fist in your hair as you ate her out. now this? this you knew how to do. you knew how when her hands started to get tighter and pull at you that she was getting close. it was one of the first things you noticed the first time you ate her out. you focused on getting her there, the taste of her arousal becoming the only thing you could recognize as you got lost in between her legs. you felt emily come up next to you, and you couldn’t help but lift one of your hands up in between her legs as she kissed jj. you smirked as emily started moaning, your fingers collecting her own arousal as you continued to eat out jj. as jj’s hands started to pull at your hair, you pulled away suddenly, resulting in jj trying to push your head back where she wanted it the most. 

“ah ah, baby. not until i say you can.” emily ran a hand through jj’s hair. “do you think jay deserves to cum yet?” 

“i’ve been so good em i need to cum i nee--” jj got cut off by emily grabbing her chin abruptly. 

“you don’t need anything until i tell you.” emily turned back to you. “answer the question.”

“not yet, em.” you licked your lips. “can i taste her more?” 

“use your fingers and your mouth.” 

“yes ma’am.”

you weren't sure what it was about this situation that was making you so turned on, but you knew you liked it. you listened to emily’s orders, pushing your fingers back inside as you started placing more kisses on jj’s arousal. her whimpering and moaning became more prominent the faster you went, your fingers and tongue moving in tandem to bring the blonde to her high. you barely registered emily paying attention to her breasts, only focusing on making jj feel good. 

“fuck em i-- please baby please i need to-” 

“lovey, stop.” 

the sound that came out of jj couldn’t be described as her feet swung back and forth, much like a toddler when they don’t get what they want. emily pulled you up from your kneeling position, bringing you in for a kiss as she put her own fingers in between jj’s legs. jj’s back arched as emily continued where you had left off, her hand guiding yours back to her breasts. 

“suck on them. play with her nipples too. if she starts squirming or touching you i want you to stop.” 

you did exactly as emily said, one of your hands playing with a nipple while the other was in your mouth. you knew jj wanted to touch you so bad, you could feel her hands twitching at her sides and practically see the restraint she was using in her arms as emily went back down. you switched to her other breast, your other hand going to her nipple as you sucked the other one in your mouth. your free hand went from using the counter for leverage to clutching onto her hip, giving you another place to ground yourself in the sensations happening around you. you could feel jj’s body start to tense up and suddenly everything stopped again, emily silently tapping you on the small of your back to get you to stop. 

wordlessly, the two of you moved around each other as you maneuvered yourself into a different position, you finding yourself back between jj’s legs as emily placed herself to the left. she pushed you back down and you knew that she was going to let you finish jj off, which meant you could go at her with fervor. you linked your hand with jj’s, your other hand pushing her one leg over as far as it would move so you could get more of her taste. emily found herself with jj’s other hand in between her legs, the two of them kissing again as jj fingered emily. you knew it wasn’t going to be much longer before jj finished, but you didn’t think emily noticed at the moment. mere seconds later the little whimpers that came out of jj when she was about to cum graced your ears and you started to go as fast as your body would let you move. jj’s orgasm crashed over her in one big tidal wave, her body caving forward as you moved your hand from hers to catch her shoulder. she pulled you back up to her, kissing you intensely as your hand moved across her bare skin. 

“jay, do our girl a favor and eat them out.” 

“yes ma’am.” 

jj scooted off the counter and switched your positions with ease, taking her time with making her way down your body. you had to physically restrain yourself from shoving her down to your center, letting the blonde take her time getting down there. you let out a moan as soon as her lips touched you, feeling emily’s hands pull your legs apart. you pulled the brunette closer to you again as you put one of your hands back in between her legs and the other going up to play with your breasts. you were absolutely obsessed with the sounds that were coming from emily, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer as jj ate you out. you felt the sensation bubbling in your lower region, whines and moans becoming more and more prominent as both you and emily reached your climaxes at the same time. 

the three of you sat there for a second, all breathing heavily and coming down from your respective highs. you pulled jj up from her crouching position and into your arms, wrapping them protectively around her. you angled her head so you could give her a kiss, letting your foreheads rest against each other for a moment before emily joined in, kissing the blonde in the same way you did.

“congradulations baby, i’m so proud of you.” you pushed some hair behind her ear. “you deserve it.”  

“i’ve been telling you for years how well this position looked on you. and i was right. you’re glowing.” 

jj let out a chuckle. “mm, that might be a post orgasm glow, but i’ll accept the compliment.” 

a few more moments passed before emily moved to the fridge to get everyone water and to start doing their aftercare routine. as she turned around, she gasped, setting the bottles down on the counter.

“em?” 

emily went over to the pot, spooning out a little bit of the pasta. “the pasta.” 

your head lulled against the cabinet. “we have more pasta, it’s not the end of the world.”

“and besides, em.” jj smirked, wiping at her lips. “i already ate.”

[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.4k] 2 weeks stuck on a deserted island and while the hope for rescue dwindles by the day, you continue to make the most of your situation while a new problem boils right under your nose...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, heavy touching/mild smut, allusions to sex, arguing, mentions of sexuality

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊

“NO, KEEP YOUR LEFT FOOT STRAIGHT, GIRL.” Cleo reprimanded once more, you sighing and dropping your hands in response. “Don’t be lazy now. Push through it.” The sun had reached its peak, casting a steaming hot glow across the island, prompting a thin layer of sweat to reveal itself on your skin.

You stood with Cleo close to the shore, the girl sparring with you as promised a week ago. Kiara and JJ were surfing while John B and Sarah cuddled in the sand under the shade of the palm trees as Pope sat closeby, mindlessly watching you and Cleo. But mostly Cleo.

“Well, it was easier when only one of my legs hurt.” You exhausted, one hand on your hip as you breathed heavily. “But we’ve been at this for, what feels like, an hour straight and now they both hurt.”

“Do you think boxers give up when they get punched in the face?” Cleo sassed, squinting her eyes from the sunlight, Pope laughing from the sidelines.

“...What?”

“I’m not repeatin’ myself.” The girl shook her head, walking towards you and taking hold of your wrists. “Put your hands back up, spread your feet apart, and quit whinin’.” She ordered before walking back to her spot a few feet across from you. “You should be grateful to even have a leg, missy. So, wipe ya tears and c’mon.”

You rolled your eyes before beginning your “session” with the island girl — ducking hits, soft slaps, and ignoring the soreness in your leg with every twist and step. This went on for about ten minutes before, for the first time in a full week of sparring, you swept Cleo off her feet. Literally.

You watched with your jaw on the floor as the girl fell on her ass in the sand, closing her eyes briefly as a harsh puff of air left her lips while Pope ‘oooh’d from his place in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized. Rushing to lend the girl a hand, she took it, you using as much strength as you could to help her up.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” She asked, dusting herself off before clapping you on the back while catching her breath. “I’ve been tryna get you to do that for seven days and six nights.” Cleo shot, a sly smile on her face.

You scoffed, lightly pushing the girl's shoulder back. “Screw you.”

“You should be thankin’ me.” Cleo joked, pointing a finger as she walked away and towards Pope. “You Americans are so ungrateful.”

“JJ!” Kiara’s voice sounded out before any of you could respond — causing the five of you to turn your attention to the girl as she chased after a seemingly furious JJ, makeshift surfboards tucked under their arms. “Are you serious, bro? I'm talking to you!” She asked, face twisting in annoyance. Water was dripping from both of their frames, leaving rushed wet footprints in the sand.

Your friends all watched with confused faces as you made a move to go towards the pair, putting a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter-”

“Move.” Was all the blonde boy offered in response, jerking his shoulder away from your touch and walking past you without so much as a glance. 

“JJ.” You tried to call after him, but he didn’t even turn around before disappearing into the trees as you turned back around, coming face to face with Kiara. “What the hell happened?” You asked in disbelief.

Kiara seemed to lack a proper response, stuttering for words and trying to move wet strands of hair out of her face before finally making eye contact with you. “I don’t know, he just got mad-”

“He didn’t just get mad.” You stopped her from lying. “What happened?”

Kiara sighed, running a hand through her hair. “...I told him.”

You squinted your eyes in response. “Told him what?”

“...I told him the truth. About why I kissed him in Charleston… about how I feel about you.” She sighed, briefly glancing down at her feet as anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “I was just trying to clear things up, get rid of the tension. Guess he didn’t take it too well-”

“You had no right.” You seethed, staring the girl down as your remaining four friends crowded around the two of you.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cleo asked.

“What’s wrong with JJ?” Pope followed, both of their questions going ignored.

“No right?” Kiara spat, an expression of offense on her features. “I had every right. They’re my feelings-”

“And it’s my relationship.” You bit back. “If someone was going to tell JJ, my boyfriend, about anything regarding me and you, it should’ve been me. Not you.”

“Okay, seriously,” Sarah started, putting her hands out in front of her. “What is happening?”

“Look, I get it’s yours and JJ’s relationship but didn’t you think to tell him earlier? You don’t think the guilt of lying to my friend was getting to me at all?”

“I was going to tell him!” You blurted. “You don’t think the guilt of lying to my boyfriend was getting to me? I was going to tell him when I thought the time was right. But of course, Kiara only ever thinks about Kiara-”

“Okay!” John B stopped the bickering, voice overpowering all others. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening right now. Why did JJ storm off? And what are you two arguing about?”

Kiara shrugged, sassily crossing her arms and eyeing you up and down. “Should I tell them? Or do I have 'no right'?” She bickered.

You couldn’t do anything but scoff, turning away from the girl. “By all means, take the floor. Tell them.” You dismissed, waving a hand in her direction. “It’s your secret to tell. Guess I’m just collateral." You shrugged. "But just so you know, this is one of the many reasons it will never be you.” You sneered before walking off, attempting to go in the direction you’d last seen JJ.

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE AN HOUR OF WEAVING THROUGH COUNTLESS TREES AND BUSHES, you spotted a very familiar head of golden blonde hair, wading in a shallow pool of water under a nearby waterfall. His back was turned as he mindlessly waved his hands through the water. You spotted his clothes on a nearby rock, taking the opportunity to strip yourself down and put your clothes on top of his — climbing silently into the water.

You moved slowly so as to not make much noise, creeping up behind the boy until you were close enough to wrap your arms around his torso — making him jump and look side to side before realizing it was you. Your heart dropped a bit when he sighed at your presence, putting his hand on top of both of yours that were clasped in front of his stomach.

“What are you doing here?” He said, voice despondent. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I would come looking for you.” You tried to lighten the mood, only to be met with another sigh. “...Why did you walk off?”

“What do you mean why did I walk off?” He said, indignation clear in his tone.

“I mean, I know but…you didn’t even talk to me. You didn’t let me explain.” You answered, voice dropping.

“Explain?” JJ said, scoffing. “Explain what? How you didn’t tell me how Kie told you she was in love with you? Weeks ago? C’mon…”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. “Okay? I am.” You reassured. “I was trying to find the right time or…something. But every time I got close to telling you, the thought of your face dropping made me…not.”

“...When exactly would’ve been the right time to tell me?” He questioned, moving your hands off of his torso and turning to face you. He didn’t look happy. “We’ve been stranded here for two weeks. When were you gonna tell me? How did Kie make it to me before you did?”

“I didn’t think she was gonna tell you.” You tried to defend. 

“She shouldn’t have had the opportunity to.” JJ reprimanded, lowering his head to be more eye-level with you. “I should be the first person you tell things to. Especially when those things have to do with both me and you. And when I say first person, that doesn’t mean wait almost three fucking weeks to tell me-”

“Okay-”

“No. No, not okay.” He continued his ranting, cheeks turning red. “None of this is okay.” He emphasized with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was confused.” You snapped, brows furrowing for a brief second. JJ was raining down on you. Hard. You felt overwhelmed.

“...Confused?” JJ got out. “About what exactly? About who you wanna be with?” He asked incredulously.

“No!” You immediately shut down his questioning. “No. I want to be with you. I am in love with you, whatever Kiara feels for me… it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Then answer my question.” Your boyfriend damn near demanded. “What are you confused about?”

You just sighed, throwing your hands out to the side. “Everything?” You offered an answer. “I know how I feel about you, okay? Nothing has ever been more clear to me than that. But Kie has been my best friend longer than I can remember and I wanted to give her space and time before telling you. You know you have a tendency to be explosive, J. I wanted to give her time before you possibly went off on her for something she can’t control. I may not be in love with her, but I will always have love for her in the sister-ly way I always have.” You tried to clarify. “I’m trying to navigate our relationship and Kiara’s feelings in a way that doesn’t tear apart two of the most important connections in my life. Tell me you at least understand that.”

“I understand that.” He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “...But did Kiara think about you before she kissed me? Did she think about me before telling you how she felt?” He asked, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeking an answer. “No. So why did you consider her feelings before mine?”

“That’s not even fair.” You countered. “You never even told me about the kiss. I saw it for myself and confronted you. So, don’t even use that against me because it’s just gonna come full-circle right back around to you.”

“And why didn’t I tell you about the kiss?” He asked, straightening his posture and towering over you. “Tell me.” You remained silent, staring the boy in his eyes. “Fine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt us. Me not telling you had nothing to do with Kiara and her feelings-”

“That doesn’t make it better-”

“I didn’t say it did.” He cut you off. “But you wanted me to understand, right? So, now I want you to understand.” He said simply. “I didn’t tell you to spare your feelings but I should have. I was wrong. You didn’t tell me to spare Kiara’s feelings. You were wrong.” He said. “Maybe I would’ve taken it better if I had heard it from you when it happened. But hearing it from Kiara weeks later? It feels like you had something to hide. Like you were trying to give yourself time.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.” JJ shrugged, shoulders tense. “Tell me you didn’t tell me because you were trying to consider Kiara and not because you have feelings for her too.” He requested, edging closer to you. “Tell me you’re in love with me. Just me.” You never expected this from JJ — someone so independent and closed off with any and almost all emotions. This was raw. This was real. This was him.

“...Kie was one of my best friends.” You started, staring into his eyes and never wavering. “So, yes I was trying to protect her. And yes, I made a mistake in considering her over you.” You admitted, sliding your hands over JJ’s shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. “But I don’t have any other feelings for her. I am in love with you. Just you. And only you. So, I’m sorry.”

JJ looked between your eyes for a few moments, not returning your touch — hands stuck at his sides under the water, the only sound being the rush of the waterfall behind you both. 

“...You swear?” He asked, blue eyes slowly returning to their soft state.

You nodded, pulling yourself in closer and using buoyancy of the water to wrap your legs around his waist as his hands found the back of your thighs. “I promise.”

The blonde fought back a smile, hiking you up higher onto his frame before locking his lips with yours — one of your hands going up to thread into his soaking strands, tugging on them lightly. Your lips moved back and forth in a soft harmony until it gained tension, turning into a feverish exchange. His hands traveled upwards, squeezing the flesh of your ass between his fingers, pressing you even further against him.

It was only then did you realize the both of you were naked — fully naked. His length pressing harshly at your entrance. It was at this moment that you realized you were completely comfortable.

Ever since Rafe, every sexual movement beyond kissing sent you into a spiral. You remember the very first time you tried to do anything after that — it was mortifying.

But in this moment, with JJ. You felt completely safe. You felt ready.

JJ moved his kisses down to the length of your neck, walking you backwards in the crystal blue water until your back hit a stone wall, the coolness of the rock and the warmth of his fingers causing you to let out a small moan.

Without much thought, you found one of your hands reaching down in between the two of you to grab his dick, lightly stroking it in the water. The male above you let out a soft moan, the warmth of his breath fanning out across your neck.

You were two seconds away from putting it in yourself when one of his hands gripped the wrist of yours that was tugging on his cock. 

“...I don’t wanna do this here.” He breathed out, pulling from your neck with swollen lips and lust-blow eyes. “I wanna make all of our best memories back home. Wherever that may be.”

You didn’t protest or push any further, simply accepting his wishes and releasing your grip, leaving a peck on his lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry for not letting you talk earlier.” He whispered.

You offered a small, light smile. “It’s okay. I know you.” You reassured, knowing his small dramatic exit was nothing compared to his usual emotional outburst. Even if he didn’t realize it, JJ was improving in small but amazing ways. Being on this island seemed good for him. 

And now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

[chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise]

sleepless nights

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

(REQUEST): Hiii!!! First of all i hope you're doing good🫶🏻 This idea just popped in my mind and I was wondering if you could write it. So sister!reader has trouble falling asleep so brother!jj let her hang out with the pogues for a little while so she'll maybe drift off easier but nuh uh that girl is still being restless then once she's tucked to bed, she keeps calling jj to come and sleep with her, because she only feels safe by his side♡ Thanks you!! I love your account so much mwahh💋

warning(s): N/A

a/n: thank you so much for being my very first request, my dear. i took a few liberties with your prompt but i hope you enjoy it all the same. i am very grateful for your support!

JJ had tried everything.

He'd tried bedtime stories and back rubs, he'd hummed old Disney songs and offered mugs of warm milk. Hell, he'd even tried good old fashioned bribery, promising all the sweets and plushies her tiny heart desired in exchange for a good eight hours of shut-eye—but to no avail.

This kid just would not sleep.

JJ watched dejectedly as Y/N plucked at the strings of Kie's ukulele, curiousity shining in her large eyes. She'd been at it for a few long minutes now, her tongue poking out of her mouth from the sheer intensity of her concentration as she composed a grating, pitchy version of 'music'.

In hindsight, bringing a very lively Y/N around his very wasted group of friends wasn't one of his better ideas, but the blond had grown desperate. Nothing was working—for whatever reason the five-year-old just wouldn't go down. He'd hoped that being around the Pogues would pacify her somehow—that their late night conversations around the fire could serve as a comfort to Y/N's reeling mind—but, unfortunately, lady luck just wasn't on his side tonight.

John B whooped and hollered as Y/N teased her final note, clapping exaggeratedly at her lacklustre performance. "Nice goin', Poguie! You've got some crazy skills." Y/N beamed from where she sat propped up in Kiara's lap.

"Encore!" Pope exclaimed in support, but JJ intervened before the young girl could start in on her next 'song'.

"No. No encores." He put a hand out to stop his sister from assaulting the ukulele any further, motioning that it was time to make her way back to him. The initial agreement of her staying with the Pogues was that she not stray from JJ’s lap, but it hadn’t taken long for that expectation to fly out the window. "It's getting late, Y/N. C'mere."

“Just a little longer, JJ, please?”

“We passed ‘a little longer’ fifteen minutes ago.”

Y/N pouted, slumping back into Kie's arms. “But Jay—"

"Now, Y/N. I'm not playing anymore." Y/N huffed. She knew not to fight with her brother when he got that severe edge to his voice, even though she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her night treating the Pogues to their very own VIP concert.

The young girl shuffled over to her big brother with a sour face, sinking into his arms without a fuss. She could tell that JJ was annoyed with her—he'd been too busy dealing with Y/N to have had the privilege of drinking, and without the alcohol to boost it, every minute he spent awake further weighed on his mood.

"Boooo!" Kie heckled. "You're such a party pooper, JJ."

"Big papa's mad," John B continued, earning a chorus of drunken laughter from the rest of the Pogues. JJ only rolled his eyes, adjusting himself so that Y/N could reluctantly rest her head on his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up JB. See what happens the next time you need me to fix the Twinkie's engine." John B only pouted in response.

"Oh, come on, dude! You wouldn't let the ole girl die now, would you?" JJ cracked a smirk.

"Keep laughin' and y'all are gonna find out."

Y/N felt her eyelids growing heavier as she listened to the Pogues lose themselves in rapid-fire banter and shoulder-shaking laughter, the warmth of the fire caressing her back. She found comfort in the way her brother's stomach would tremble with the occasional chuckle, breathing in sync with the steady beating of his heart.

She'd spent the past twenty minutes playing with JJ's fingers, spinning the rings on his digits as he spoke, and the boy looked down at his sister with a smile when her hands eventually fell limp against his palm.

"Close your eyes, peanut," he whispered, though she might as well have been asleep already. Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, clearly losing the battle she'd been fighting with sleep. "I've got you."

"Mm-mm," She mumbled, burying her head in JJ's t-shirt. He couldn't help but smile despite her defiance. Whether or not the Y/N was being difficult, she was pretty damned cute. "I wan’ stay up."

"I promise you're not missin' much, kid. Pope's jokes really aren't that funny."

"Hey!" The boy interjected, having now abandoned whichever one of Kie’s stories he'd been enthralled in only seconds before. From what JJ had gathered, it had something to do with Rafe Cameron and a golf buggie.

Y/N joined in with the Pogues as they mocked Pope’s now wounded ego, emitting quiet giggles that just barely stifled a yawn. JJ sighed. Though it was a pain, he would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed with Y/N’s determination to stay conscious. "How 'bout we get you to bed now, hm?"

"No," Y/N persisted, fighting not to shut her tired eyes. "I wanna stay with you."

The older boy patted his baby sister's back, pressing a long kiss to the top of her head. "How about this, kiddo. If you promise to shut your eyes and keep 'em closed, you can stay right here. That sound good?"

He barely had to tell her, it seemed, because Y/N's small body had gone limp against him before the words had finished leaving his mouth. JJ chuckled lightly, brushing a few hairs away from her now closed eyes.

"Finally," He breathed, kissing her head once more as he wrapped Y/N in a protective embrace. It had taken four long hours, but the small girl had finally given in to rest. "Y'all better quiet down. If Y/N wakes up it's on your goddamned heads."

"I don't think she's waking up anytime soon, Jay," Kie chuckled. She was right, JJ thought—Y/N would be having one Hell of a late morning tomorrow.

"Gotta hand it to her, though. Kid put up a good fight," John B said, raising his drink and saluding to Y/N before taking another swig of beer. “She’s one Hell of a Pogue if I’ve ever seen one.”

“You gonna bring her in?” Pope asked, and JJ considered it for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nah, man.”

He watched attentively as Y/N’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, her small hand fisting a handful of his shirt. It warmed his heart to know that through all of her fussing and restlessness, all Y/N had really wanted was to stay by his side.

In that moment, JJ swore to never let her go.

“I think she’s good where she’s at.”

[fatty-lit]

September 30th, 2024 9:05pm

Swiping through hinge. Her prompts are funny, but thoughful. She's definitely cute, but most of her pics are cropped or taken from such an angle as to not totally reveal her body type, but there is one less guarded picture taken at what looks like a friend's wedding that reveals a bit of chubbiness in the arms and maybe even a little roundness in the mid-section.

I do my best to think of somethin witty for an opening line.

October 3rd, 2024 2:03pm

While casually perusing the shelves, I check my phone, and there's a text saying she's here. I look around and towards the romance section - that's what she said I should stop her from buying.

There you are. Tight blue jeans and an over-sized cable knit sweater. Even though it was on your profile, you're taller than I expected.

"Is it you?"

Your head turns around, and once you see me and register recognition, your body follows. Your curly, bobbed hair frames the exact radiant smile advertised on your profile. Your deep blue eyes are magnified by your oversized glasses. Your face is just the slightest bit fuller than I remember from your profile, however, the sweater shrouds any conclusions I might be able to make about your body type.

Coffee chat is great. There's great banter right off the bat. You're very easy to talk to, but also hard set in your opinions, which makes for fun and challenging converstaion. Many of those opinions are about food. I'm new to town, so you give me a complete and detailed run-down of every restaraunt worth trying within 20 miles. The way you talk about food is so sensual, so passionate. It's captivating. One of the restaraunts you recommend is only a block away. It's not quite 5 yet, but the conversation is going well enough and we both seem to be enjoying eachother enough that I hazard an "Are you hungry?" then a "Do you wanna get some food?"

It's a ramen place and you get yours fully loaded. I love watching you strategically slurp, swallow, and savor every last noodle. It's so cute watching you try to talk through a mouth full of ramen. Broth dripping down your chin. The self conscious giggle when it dribbles on your sweater. Yours goes a lot faster than mine and the conversation keeps flowing.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Your eyes light up, and you make it very clear that you're never going to turn down ice cream. As we walk to the shop, you adjust your jeans a couple times. They're obviously not fitting as well after the meal. It's just a split second when the sweater gets lifted just enough that I catch the smallest flash of soft white flesh being bitten by a tight denim waistband. There's some surprise, unadvertised softness there.

It's getting dark and it's a Sunday, so I offer you a ride home. Outside your house I give you a single long kiss. We promise eachother we'll do it again.

November 9th 2024 6:31pm

Dinner was great. You weren't shy with the appetizer and cleaned your plate. Plus two beers before dinner and another during. A girl who can put things away. The ice cream gambit somehow passes again. You weren't lying when you said you'd never turn it down.

Back to your place and this time I'm invited in.

Making out on your couch and I finally start to get a sense of your body. Not a big girl by any means, but under the sweater I can feel some evidence that you enjoy your indulgences. Round arms with some softness and just enough tummy to make me understand why you love your baggy sweaters. The beers, the appetizers, the dinner, and the obligatory ice cream certainly haven't minimized anything in that area.

Then the sweater's off and I can see how much strain is being put on those jeans. I get the impression that they fit a lot better in the not-so-distant past. I can tell your sucking in while I work on the button and once it's undone I hear and feel you exhale your relief. There's an angry red impression of a waistband circumnavigating your abdomen.

As my lips make their way down your body, they linger on your belly. Undoubtedly bloated but still with a seductive outer layer of softness.

November 10th 2024 10:13am

It's not until you finally get out of bed that I get the privilege of taking in your body as a whole in the soft morning light streaming in through sheer curtains. Smooth thighs and a modest but soft ass. Wide hips. A soft pooch significantly less pronounced after a night of digestion. Tits are a perky B cup and your round face is just as radiant first thing in the morning.

January 2nd 2025 5:54pm

The door is unlocked because you're expecting me. Knobs creak and the hiss of water quiets and then stops. You holler from the bathroom a greeting and that you'll be out in a minute. I take the opportunity to set the bags down on the coffee table and slip the pint of Ben & Jerry's into the freezer for later.

When you emerge, you're already in your PJs getting fully equipped for a night in. We go through the usual motions. You tell me how long your day was. How excited you are to relax tonight. How happy you are that I was down for a low key evening. I'm waiting for you on the couch listening and nodding and occasionally commenting on your words as you crack a couple beers and finally come join me. Once plopped down, you lean in to kiss me. Your hair is still wet from the shower and I feel a cold damp curl brush against my face. Then without missing a beat you open the laden take-out bag. "Oh my God YES! Thank you for grabbing this on your way over" as you heft out a full-sized burrito. "I'm *starving*! I've been looking forward to this all day!"

The opening credits roll across the TV and you start tearing into the fully-loaded burrito. Extra sour cream and guac just as you like it.

"My buddy recommended their carne asada quesadilla. You're welcome to try it" I offer, non-chalantly.

"Babe, you got a burrito and a quesadilla? You must have had an even longer day than me." But it's not for me. I'm trying a bit of an experiment, and I feel a tinge of guilt about it. All of our encounters center around food. Even if the main event of the date isn't supposed to be food, it always ends up circling back around to a big meal, and with each meal I've become more and more obsessed with watching you eat. It's so passionate, so unrestrained. You've always cleaned your plate with ease, and I just have to know how much you can fit in that belly before it starts to slow you down.

So the quesadilla is not for me. I just have to see if you'll eat it. I feel sneaky conducting an experiment on you like this, but I just can't take it. I'm obsessed. I have to know. So when I see you're just about to finish your burrito, I set the trap. I lay out the 12" quesadilla on the coffee table with a side of sour cream to entice you. It's cut up into six sections and I break the seal by taking the first one myself. It's dense and greasy. I know you'll love it and let you know. Your burrito is gone before long and you avow fullness, but sure enough after not-even-a-minute has passed, you idly slather a dollop of sour cream on a slice and start munching. You moan with pleasure and side eye me with an approving look and nod. In 20 minutes you're cleaning the last of the sour cream out of the cup with the last bite of the last slice.

That's my cue to grab the ice cream out of the freezer.

"Are you serious? A whole burrito, a quesadilla, and you're going for desert?" Aparantly you've kept the illusion that we split the quesadilla. "You're on your own, babe. I'm absolutely stuffed... And please, don't let me eat any of your quesadilla next time." You let out a performative groan and place your hands on your belly to show just how full you say you are.

As I sit down you lay back with a more sincere groan and rest your head on my lap. I take the first couple bites to myself to entice you, and sure enough, you catch my eyes and look up at me with your mouth open expectantly. Obediently, I spoon you a lump of rich, fatty cream. We alternate bites until about halfway through - as per usual - I stop eating my share and feed the rest to you.

By the time the movie's over you've eaten and entire burrito, all but a slice of a carne asada quesadilla, and appoximately 3/4s of a pint of ice cream, and you're feeling it. "Fuck, babe. You can't let me eat like that!" you whine "mmm... I'm so bloated."

I couldn't tell you what happened in a single scene of that movie, but I could recount in detail every single bite you took during that feast. Your head is still in my lap, so I know you're aware how hard I've been this whole time.

"Don't be mad, baby, but my stomach is too uncomfy to have sex tonight." Your breathing is strained and the occasional whimper escapes your lips.

"I need to go lie down" you say rubbing your distended belly under your loose, flowing nighty. "Will you cuddle me?" You pause as you waddle towards your bedroom and turn back to me. "And seriously, babe... sometimes you gotta take the food out of my hands."

I oblige the first request, but I've already decided that the extra servings are now a permanent part of the routine.

March 5th 2025 12:14pm

Social media reveals more to the story. Scroll back a year and we find a rail thin runner with toned muscles. A girl with medals and scholarships. Great distances on foot at impressive speeds. A girl with a strict workout regiment and extremely limited diet.

Then sometime around last spring there's a gap and when pics resume being posted in the fall the tight running outfits are no where to be seen. No pictures of you crossing finish lines with a drained expression. The focus is more on friends and food and beer. Smiles with a much less chisiled jawline. No more pictures in sports bras, but it seems a safe bet that those toned abs might a bit more hidden from here on out.

April 9th 2025 9:43pm

Conversation fills the story in even more. Growing up in an athletic family. Finding a knack for running in middle school and authority figures latching onto it. Keep working out. Eat right. Win. Years of praise for athletic acheivement and a toned body. Scholarships to go run in college. More pressure to push further. Run harder. Maintain. Extra weigtht only slows you down.

College ends and so does the competition, but not the conditioning. You're valued for your physique and athleticisim. What would you be if that was gone? What else is there? Just you?

What do you actually enjoy? How does your body want to be treated?

June 23rd 2025 10:58am

"Babe! The pancakes are ready!" I shout from the kitchen, but get no reply. You're supposed to be getting ready for the first beach day of the season with some mutual friends. "Babe? Everything okay in there?"

I see you there standing naked in front of the full length mirror. You're looking absolutely plump these days. We've been hanging out almost constantly. Most nights I'm either staying at your place or you're staying at mine, which means I'm either bringing or cooking you a feast most nights of the week. And everytime you eat until you're groaning. You're not even shy about it anymore. The little game we played at the beginning where I pretend to share the desert with you is dated. I just hand you the ice cream and you go to town. The donuts I bring to your house in the morning are all for you. The transition has occurred unspoken.

The bodily changes to this point have only been spoken of at a distance. An offhand remark about some pants no longer fitting. Another about a dress being too tight. No more than a handful in the months of constant growth. But it's been much more than a handful of pounds added. Smooth and supple thighs turned into large wobbly trunks of squish and cellulite. A cute shapely - if tastefully soft - ass widened out, made flabby and covered in dimples. That cute almost-pot belly made round, prominent, and unobscurable through near constant engorgement. On the verge of hanging any day now, but kept round by the newness of its fat and how fast it has all accumulated. A true wonder that pregnancy questions have yet to be proffered. A slightly pudgy, sorta curvy girl turned into a wide and round pear through her own ignorant gluttony.

The changes are all too obvious and prominent. The epitome of desirability to me. I tell you everyday, multiple times a day how beautiful I think you are, and how attracted I am to you at all times, but I haven't found the right moment to get into certain specifics of my attraction. This is partially because your feelings about your changing body have not been made known. It's created a strange tension. It's impossible that you're as ignorant as you seem. There's going to come a moment when you have to address it. When you're going to have to ask how have you gotten so fat and what are you going to do about it?

. . . Or you secretly love the changes. You love fattening yourself up *and* the changes that come with it. I mean, obviously you love what goes into making yourself this fat: copious amounts of rich and decadent food meticulously shoved into your ever greedier gut. But maybe you also love the result? Maybe you also love the soft sensuality. The evidence of pure gluttonous hedonism. But then why not be more open about it? Maybe your in the same position I am? Unwilling to share for fear of the other's reaction? Ashamed of actually liking being fat.

You don't notice me staring at you. You're too caught up with what you see in the mirror. I pause a moment to take in what I'm seeing. From the doorway I get a perfect profile view. It's truly impressive how far your gut is protruding today. Out past the tits - which, while definitely growing larger and softer, have been decidedly outpaced - and gradually curving until below the belly button where a particularly soft mound of fat curves quickly down and in to the subtle crease that separates your proturding gut from your deliciously fattened pubic mound. Looking up toward you face, you have the cutest round of fat below the chin, which wraps around obscuring your jawline completely and blending perfectly with your signature round chubby cheeks and greedy lips.

But then I see your eyes. Those usually radiant blue beacons are pink and puffy and I realize whats going on.

Without saying a word, I walk up behind you and wrap my arms around you. My body pressed comfortably into your soft ass and my arms sinking into your plump curves. A kiss on the neck "What's wrong baby?"

"Look at this" your voice shaky and you trace with your pudgy fingers faint pink parentheses forming on either side of your belly button. A sob escapes. "I'm a fucking pig" *sob* "I used to have abs!"

I knew this conversation was inevitable and imminent, but I never prepared, and now I'm choking on my words. How much do I say? Do I deny the obvious? Minimize? Just tell you how hot it's been watching you become a pig? Watching you stuff your growing body day after day? That those faint stretch marks are some of the hottest things I've ever seen? I try to give a little bit of space between us, because I don't want you to feel how hard I'm getting from you referring to yourself as a pig. It seems like an inopportune moment for an erection. "Baby, I . . ." Nothing comes.

"I'm so sorry!" *another sob* "You must be so disgusted with what I've done to myself!"

"No, baby! I'm more attracted to you now than the day we met. I find you sexier every single day. I tell you that all the time and I always mean it. You've put on a little weight, but you know I love your curves." It's the best I can manage, and it seems to have mitigated things, but I know I've only delayed what I should have come out with right then.

"You don't have to say that . . ." The sobbing has stopped but your face is still red and puffy and you're still sniveling as tear slide down your round cheeks. "Nobody is attracted to this," and you grab the roll of your lower belly and shake it. We both watch in the mirror as ripples roll up the curve of your gut and bounce your tits. I'm fully cocked beneathe my jeans and finding it even harder to think.

I grab you by your wide, soft hips and spin you around away from the mirror to face me. One hand reaches up to your puffy pink face to wipe a tear off your soft cheek. "You know how sexy I think you are. Haven't I told you enough times? Don't I show you every day?" My other hand slowly makes its way up. Gently tracing your curves and delicately fingering your side rolls before abrubtly heading back down to your spacious, fat ass and pulling you in tight to me. Your soft belly squishes up against me before anything else, and the area right below your belly button presses right into my crotch and I know you can feel me pressing through my jeans.

The look in your eye changes from sorrow to lust as you take your queue to start unbuttoning my pants. "Good girl."

. . .

You decide to go for less pancakes than usual, but it's followed by a particularly heavy lunch and above average amount of snacking before dinner.

July 6th, 2025 11:37am

You return to the couch with a long slice of leftover pizza from the night before, dangling the tip above your head and lowering into your mouth for the first bite. It's only been an hour since you cleaned a couple plates of french toast - I didn't keep track of slices of bacon this time - but this isn't out of the ordinary.

The twist comes when you climb up on top of me to straddle my lap. Another bite of pizza. You're not usually much of a lap girl. You've gotten to be a big girl as I've remained fairly lanky. You don't even take the top during sex very often. This was the case even before the bulk of the weight gain, but now you get visibly winded from that sort of exertion. The weight is a lot to handle, but I'm not complaining.

You pull your robe back to display every roll. In a distracted tone you say, "I think you like fat girls," and take another bite of pizza as if you're trying to underscore how decietfully nonchalant your last statement was.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out as I feel my face get flush. This is not how I expected the morning to go, but I'm getting the feeling that this has been in the chamber for a few days. I'm exactly where you want me.

"I've been thinking a lot since my little break-down last weekend about what I want to do. I know I've gotten fat." The hand not holding the pizza finds its way to your soft belly and idly carresses it. "Ever since I quit track, I've been gaining weight. I felt so limited for so long, and it felt so unhealthy even when I was young, but I was told it was necessary. I did really enjoy competing, but it came at a cost I never took the time to consider. I felt distant from my own body, and everything in my life was structured around the time it took me to run around the track. The thrill of competition had subsumed everything else I used to enjoy. I wasn't even sure what those things were anymore."

Another bite of pizza before continuing slightly muffled through a mouth full of food. "After I quit, I wanted to rehabilitate my relationship with my body, with food, and with myself in a healthy way. I made the conscious decision not to think about it, follow what brought me joy, and see where it goes. I was rail thin - that was only a few months before you met me - so of course some weight started to come on. I got to a 'healthy weight' in basically no time, and it felt great. It didn't cross my mind to stop there."

Another bite, and now you're rambling. You seem lost in your own thoughts; letting loose the pressure they've built up inside your head. My eyes are fixated on you but your eyes are off somewhere else. "By the time I met you I was feeling pudgy and just getting back into dating. I was honestly feeling pretty insecure, but you immediately made me feel beautiful. I felt so free with you. I had gotten so good at not thinking and following joy and pleasure, and you were bringing me so much of both. You really felt like the embodiment of what I had been calling into my life."

More pizza. A little bit of sauce on your chin gets wiped off with your free hand before returning it to rest on your stomach. "I know it's kind of your fault." A little smirk flashes on your face as you take a pause to look at me for a moment observe mine getting even redder before returning your gaze to the distance beyond the walls of our living room. "But not completely." I audibly exhale. "You just facilitated - and maybe expedited - the process I was already in the midst of. I was the one constantly making the unconscious decision to keep eating everything you put in front of me. Your main contibution to all of this," and you trace the curve of your belly with a light stroke of your finger to make sure there was no confusion of what 'this' referred to, "was reinforcement. You kept reminding me I was beautiful, and I could feel you meant it with every look and every enthusiastic night. And as embarrassed and insecure as I've been feeling, I actually was feeling beautiful in a way, in large part thanks to you. Maybe I feel it now more than I ever have . . . I feel so femine with my soft curves after feeling so hard and mechanical during my life as an athlete. I feel like I'm really in my own body." This last remark makes your eyes start to well up as they continue to stare off into nothing.

Another bite, and it's almost gone. "But my favorite part - the part I always come back to - has been the freedom of indulgence. I've been able to just eat and eat anything and everything I want at anytime, and because I'm with you, without judgement. I just *looove* the feeling of having my belly filled to the brim with delicious food. I feel so decadent and nourished. It's a feeling I was never allowed to have or allowed myself to have for pretty much my entire life. I just can't seem to get enough of it. Everytime I've gotten lost in my insecurities and think about stopping or slowing down, I just think about the joy of free indulgence, the safety and satisfaction of a full belly, and she begins to grumble," and you softly circle your round hanging paunch with the palm of a pudgy hand. "I just don't think I want to stop . . ."

You shove the remaining hunk of crust in your mouth and slowly come out of your revery and look down at me, face flush and looking up at you with mouth agape. I'm starting to really feel your weight crushing my legs and impeding blood flow.

Now your face gets flushed after you realize the extent of all you've just shared. You're feeling shy again all of a sudden and avert your eyes from my star struck gaze. The two seconds of tension feels like an eternity for us both.

"Baby . . ." I pause trying to process everything I've just heard while my thighs scream at me to get this massive load off of me. "I . . . I don't want you to stop. And for my part, I couldn't stop feeding you if I tried. My greatest joy is spoiling and pampering you. Watching you indulge the way you do is the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed. I want nothing more than to help you continue to fulfill your desires for the rest of my life. I love you. I love everything about you, and I love every inch of you, and I love you even more with every added inch. I do like fat girls, but I love you, and I'd love you at any size." Now my hands are beginning to explore and grope and squeeze every delectable roll they find. "But I am glad your are the size you are. I've always only ever wanted to spoil you: to give you everything you desire, and the way your gorgeous body has developed if just a bonus." I pull the robe off your shoulders to reveal the whole mass of your big blubbery body, then I pull you in closer to me feeling my torso sink into the squish of all your accumulated lard and kiss you on your greedy, greasy pursed lips.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 3

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You scoffed, “Are you willing to wait until school is over? As you can see, I have to teach my precious students.”

Bucky smirked. This was the first time you had seen him smile. You had to admit he was handsome. Victoria must be proud, as Bucky was way out of her league.

But you didn't want to get close to him since he was already your step-sister's fiancé. Perhaps he had the same character as her.

Bucky interrupted your thoughts, “You don't have to worry since the principal has given you permission to leave after this class.”

Unbeknownst to you, before he entered your class, Andre had brought him to the principal's office. Bucky had bribed the principal with cigars.

For the first time, Andre saw his principal, who usually wore a flat expression from the stress of dealing with delinquent students, laugh heartily as he picked up the cigars. “Haha… of course. Miss Sinclair needs a day off.”

Clueless about Bucky's deal with the principal, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, not expecting the principal to give you a day off so easily.

Half a day without dealing with the delinquents wasn't a bad idea. As you rose from your seat, you issued a directive, "Fine. Let's go."

You pointed towards the hallway and added, "And stick close to me. It's like a jungle out there."

As Bucky followed behind you, he soon realized the context of your warning. The students erupted in cheers, though the intent behind their vocalizations remained ambiguous, potentially constituting either catcalls or attempts to provoke offense.

"You've got a rich sugar daddy, miss," one student jeered, while another offered unsolicited advice, "Dude, run while you still have the chance."

A misguided attempt at physical interaction occurred when one student attempted to bump into Bucky, prompting him to sidestep, causing the student to stumble and fall.

"Dude, what the heck?" the surrounding students exclaimed in confusion.

"Pardon me," Bucky politely interjected as he maneuvered away from the scene.

Observing the exchange, you addressed the student, Mark, with a pointed remark, "That's what you get."

In response, Mark displayed a gesture of defiance, raising his middle finger, to which you reciprocated in kind.

Witnessing the interaction between you and your students, Bucky noted your lack of fear, interpreting your demeanor as assertive and resilient.

“RINNNGG!”

Break time was over, and it was time for the students to return to their classrooms. However, none of them made a move.

You understood the reason; they knew you were leaving.

Standing near the school door, you raised your right arm and held up three fingers.

“If I count to three and you guys are still here, I'll make all of you fail my class,” you warned them, your tone firm and commanding.

“We'll make you viral, b*tch! This is unfair,” Mark protested.

“Try me. One…” You began the countdown, your voice echoing through the hallway, your expression steely.

Before you could even say “two,” the students scattered, rushing back to their classrooms in a panic.

Bucky watched in awe, though he didn't verbalize it. Instead, he gave you an impressed look, admiration evident in his eyes.

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Like I said before, devil spawn.”

Bucky chuckled and held the door open for you, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment of your authority.

💋💋💋💋💋

He brings you to a luxurious café, seemingly inspired by Moroccan design. The place features intricate tiles, arched doorways, and rich colors. Elegant furniture, soft lighting, and comfortable seating create a warm atmosphere.

It had been a long time since you visited a place like this, reminiscent of times before you were kicked out by your stepmother.

Opting for the cheapest drink on the menu, you ordered a cold brew, not wanting to owe him anything more than necessary.

Your drink arrived promptly, and you tasted it. The taste of the coffee made you forget about the shitty cafeteria coffee you just had. Compared to you, who ordered a simple drink, Bucky's was unique.

His coffee was prepared right before him, with the server announcing, “We have prepared your coffee cup, sir.”

Bucky nodded graciously. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome, sir,” the server replied before departing. “Enjoy.”

Bucky savored his coffee with an air of elegance, his movements precise and refined. You couldn't help but notice that he had been wearing leather gloves this whole time.

Taking a sip of your drink, you asked, “So… What do you want to talk about?”

Bucky set down his drink and met your gaze with his calm, cold demeanor.

“It's about last night,” he began, his expression unreadable as he spoke.

You grumbled, “Oh my god. Are you going to sue me for sexual harassment? I'm sorry. It's a bad habit of mine, doing something without thinking. Please don't sue me. I don't have the money to hire a lawyer.”

Bucky struggled to follow your rapid speech. “No, calm down. I won't sue you. It's just…” He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

Or did Victoria cry to Bucky and ask him to teach you a lesson? You couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say next.

“I have this disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). The symptoms include being overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch,” he explained, his gaze shifting to observe your reaction.

“No judgment here. I've encountered various cases of trauma from my students,” felt relieved a bit you reassured him, trying to offer some comfort.

“Thank you for understanding,” Bucky replied gratefully. “When someone touches me without my consent, I will vomit or I will faint.”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Shit.” Guilt washed over you as you began to fully comprehend the impact of your actions.

Bucky confessed, “The weirdest thing is, when you touched me, kissed me, my body didn't have any reaction.”

You lifted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“I went to different psychologists, tried many medicines, doctors, meditations, but none of them worked. Except you. A stranger that I've never met,” Bucky elaborated.

“Are you sure?” you asked, still trying to process the revelation.

Bucky then removed his leather gloves and called the waitress over. “You. Come here.”

The waitress approached, curious about Bucky's request. “Yes, sir?”

Bucky extended his bare hand. “Shake my hand.”

The waitress, unsure of the situation, complied and shook Bucky's hand.

In an instant, Bucky grabbed a nearby bucket and began to vomit.

The waitress and you were both shocked. Bucky, who had been calm and composed moments ago, now appeared pale and sickly in just a matter of seconds.

Could what he said really be true?

Bucky wiped his mouth and apologized to the waitress, his tone sincere. “I'm sorry. Please don't be offended. It's not because of you. I hope the tips my secretary will give you could cheer you up.”

The waitress, still unsure of what just happened, responded hesitantly, “Ah, thank you?”

Bucky's secretary appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began conversing with the waitress, diverting her attention.

Left alone with Bucky, he raised his hand again, as if asking for your right hand. Confused, you offered your hand, which he gently took and held in his.

You thought it might have been a mistake, but Bucky showed no reaction. He closed his eyes, seemingly waiting for something to happen. There was no rapid heartbeat, no sweating, and no urge to vomit.

He opened his eyes and saw you looking thoughtful. “Thank you for your patience and trust.”

You replied, “Ehm, glad to help.”

“My predictions were correct. You could be the answer to my disorder. I will make you a generous offer,” Bucky stated. His voice tone sounded like happiness is in it.

"Really?" You could ask for money for your grandmother's surgery. After you were kicked out of the house, you lived with your grandmother from your mother's side. After your mother died, your father stopped sending money to your grandmother.

Bucky nodded, his expression serious.

You hesitated. "Wait. Does Victoria know about this?"

Bucky shook his head. “Besides my parents, only you know about this.”

“Both of you are going to get married, and you didn't want to share the truth?” you questioned. Poor Victoria, the man she will marry, has a cold heart.

You were supposed to be the bad guy, glad that she would receive her karma. But why did this remind you of something?

He went silent. The thought of marriage with Victoria irked Bucky. He pulled on his leather hand gloves again and rested his hand on the table. He looks like he's discussing a business deal worth billions.

“The truth is, I saw this marriage as a business deal. I don't have the desire to have a heart-to-heart conversation with your stepsister. And from what I've seen of her, it's better if I don't talk to her about my disorder,” Bucky explained.

His tone was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. No wonder the Barnes family had been successful conglomerates for so long—they knew how to get what they wanted.

But there was something you didn't agree with. “I want to help you,” you stated.

Bucky visibly lightened up at your words.

You crossed your arms tightly, a frown creasing your brow. “But after what you said to hide it from your fiance, you reminded me of my father. A man of few words. A hero in business, but a failure in family.”

Your father, Jonathan, lived and breathed for money. He left everything about the household to your mom, while the families’ businesses thrived. But after your mother died, her family's business went bankrupt, and he didn't offer much help.

You didn't want to assist another man who reminded you of your dad.

Placing a dollar bill on the table to pay for your drink, you stood up abruptly. “I hope you find a cure, but I won't be the one to help you. Thank you and goodbye.” You grabbed your coat and started walking away.

Bucky hadn't expected you to reject him. And what's more outrageous is you're comparing him with your father. Bullshit.

He scoffed, his fingers tapping the table in frustration. No one had ever said no to him before.

He turned around and saw your back. “What if I raise my offer? Your childhood home and Velari into your hands?”

Your foot stopped before you reached the door. How did he know your deepest desire? The home you got kicked out of was the treasure from your mom. That beautiful home was designed by her; she was a designer.

And Velari, the fashion brand built by your mother, was now occupied by Celestial Enterprises, owned by Genevieve. It was your birthright to inherit your mother's work, but that other woman and her devil spawn were able to kick you out.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't realize Bucky was standing before you. “Do you like that deal?”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a hint of mischief in your eyes. A sly smile played on your lips as you reached out and gently took his hand in yours.

Bucky felt a sudden surge of heat as your fingers intertwined with his.

You lifted his leather-clad right hand and brought it closer to your lips. Gently, you pressed a kiss against it. "With an offer like that, I might just be tempted to give you more than just my hand."

The gesture made Bucky shiver, though he didn't feel any disgust. This feeling was completely different from what he experienced last night.

From this moment, he knew you're a natural seducer, and he was playing with fire.

Author Note: I had goosebumps writing the last part. I hope you like this chapter. 💓💋

Taglist:

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@buckitostan

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[honeydippedfiction]

LSU Frat!Joe with a volleyball girlfriend? Maybe with the prompts 'A tries to hide their blush from B by turning their head away, but the latter doesn’t let them.' (blushing list), and "I love you." "Damn, that's crazy." (established list) - 🐯

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

‘A tries to hide their blush from B by turning their head away, but the latter doesn’t let them.’ & #17. "I love you." "Damn, that's crazy."

LSU Frat!Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The frat house was alive in the way only college houses could be on a Friday night—too loud, too packed, too chaotic for comfort, but buzzing with that electric, anything-could-happen kind of energy. A spilled drink here, a bad dance move there. Laughter ricocheted off the walls and down the hallways. Someone was already passed out in a bean bag chair wearing sunglasses, and someone else was trying to freestyle over the aux cord.

This was Sigma Nu territory, and Joe Burrow? He was their crown jewel.

Star quarterback. Frat favorite. The guy everyone either wanted to be or be with.

But in a room full of people calling his name, Joe had tunnel vision.

He leaned in the kitchen doorway with a red Solo cup in hand, a calm center in the storm, casually surveying the crowd. His body language said laid-back, but his eyes? They were already locked in on the one person who actually had his full attention.

Y/N.

She stood at the far side of the kitchen, leaned slightly against the counter, mid-conversation with some guy who was clearly overstaying his welcome. Joe could tell by the way her arms were crossed, her weight shifted on one leg like she was seconds from pulling the “my friend needs me” card. Her smile was thin and polite, her posture closed. She wasn’t rude—never was—but Joe knew that stance. She was over it.

And honestly? Joe couldn’t blame the guy. Y/N was magnetic tonight. Hell, she was magnetic every night. But tonight, she looked like a problem on purpose—a white crop top that made his brain short-circuit every time he caught a glimpse of the skin beneath it, tight black leggings that molded to every curve, her LSU volleyball windbreaker tied low around her waist, and a delicate gold chain catching the light at the base of her throat. Her curls were pulled into a high, messy bun, the kind that looked like it took two minutes but still made his breath catch. 

She looked every bit the confident athlete she was, but right now, she was mid-eye roll as some frat guy tried way too hard to impress her with a story about “almost getting drafted” to a rec league.

Joe didn’t even pretend he wasn’t staring.

He reached up and adjusted the backwards snapback on his head—her favorite look on him, she once admitted, because it kept his curls off his face and let her see his eyes. He didn’t wear it for just anyone. The rest of his outfit—black tee clinging just right to his chest and arms, worn jeans that sat low on his hips—had been a calculated move too. He might’ve looked chill, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

Drink in hand, he slid through the crowd, slipping behind her at the counter like he belonged there. And he did. Always had.

His shoulder brushed hers, his voice low and casual.

“Need rescuing?” he murmured, lips curved into a knowing smirk as he reached around her for a bottle on the counter.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She turned slightly, eyebrow raised, already grinning like she’d been waiting on him.

“Maybe. You offering?”

Joe smirked, planting one hand flat on the counter beside her hip, his body shifting just enough to trap her there without making it obvious. His presence pressed in, warm and unmistakable.

“Always.”

The guy she’d been talking to caught the shift instantly. One look at Joe—the snapback, the smirk, the shirt stretched over muscle and confidence—and he backed off, offering Y/N a nod before disappearing into the crowd. Joe didn’t even acknowledge him. His gaze never left her.

“You wore this just for me?” he asked, tilting his head toward her outfit. His voice was playful but low enough to make her shiver.

“Funny,” she said, sipping from her cup, her expression unreadable. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Joe lifted a brow. “This?” He tugged slightly at the hem of his shirt. “You like this one, huh?”

“You know I do.” Her eyes swept over him, lingering just long enough to make his chest warm. “That’s why you wore it.”

“Guilty,” he said, shameless. “Had to give you something to look at while you were pretending not to miss me.”

She tried to bite back her smile, but it betrayed her anyway—and her cheeks, traitorous as ever, turned the softest shade of pink. She turned her head quickly to the side, pretending to glance at the chaos in the living room—but really, she just didn’t want him to see the blush he’d pulled out of her.

But Joe wasn’t letting her off that easy.

He reached out, gentle but sure, and placed a hand on her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. His fingers curled just slightly under her jaw, tilting her head back toward him with a kind of tenderness that made her stomach flutter.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Look at me.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching as their eyes met—his blue, intense and unwavering. The noise of the party blurred behind them, the music and voices fading into something distant. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips, in the space where his hand touched her.

And if she’d been blushing before, now she was glowing.

Joe caught it immediately.

“Aww,” he teased, leaning in a little closer. “Is that a blush?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, dipping his head to meet her eyes as she tried turning away. “Don’t hide that from me. I like seeing that.”

“You’re such a problem, Burrow.” she muttered, flustered but still smiling.

“You keep saying that like it’s gonna make me stop.”

“You love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“No,” he said, voice dropping an octave as his thumb traced lightly across her cheekbone. “I love you.”

Y/N blinked at him again, her witty retort caught somewhere behind her throat. He didn’t mean it in the heavy, serious way—not yet. But he meant it in the way he always looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room that made sense.

The party raged around them—someone yelled “YOLO” from upstairs, and the bass thumped hard enough to vibrate the floor—but inside that little pocket of kitchen space between the counter and his chest, it felt like they were somewhere else entirely.

“You love it.”

“Do I?”

He just looked at her, like he knew every answer she hadn’t said out loud.

The party roared around them—someone yelling about a pong rematch, music bumping through the floor—but in that pocket of space between the fridge and the counter, it was just them. Joe leaned in, close enough that his cologne wrapped around her like a secret. Her hand slid up, instinctively pressing against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to create space. It didn’t work.

“Joe,” she said, soft but warning.

He leaned even closer. “Y/N.”

They stood like that for another few beats—her trying not to smile, him enjoying every second of her pretending not to.

Eventually, she found her footing again and shoved him lightly with a laugh, stepping out from the cage of his arm. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m not dragging you into the laundry room right now.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d stop you.”

That earned her a grin that was all teeth, dimples, and trouble.

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.”

.°•.♡ ️ッ☁✧•. • °.°•.♡ ️ッ☁✧•. • °

The party thinned out sometime after midnight, that hazy hour when the drinks started tasting more like regret than fun and the music, once pulse-pounding and contagious, faded into a dull hum beneath the buzz of half-sober conversations and the occasional off-key singalong. Empty cups littered the counters. Someone spilled something sticky near the front door that no one planned to clean. The whole house smelled like sweat, cheap vodka, and worn-out college dreams.

Joe had just finished helping one of his frat brothers lug an empty keg out onto the porch, his shoulder damp from someone else’s spilled drink. He wiped his palms on his jeans, already thinking about how good a warm shower would feel—and how badly he wanted to leave.

When he ducked back inside, weaving past a couple making out near the stairwell, he spotted her instantly.

Y/N was at the far end of the living room, slipping into her jacket, curls frizzing slightly from the heat and her bun a little looser than it had been earlier. She looked both tired and beautiful, like a calm note in the middle of chaos.

She caught his eye, nodded toward the door.

“Let’s bounce,” she said simply.

He didn’t even answer—just pulled his keys from his back pocket and followed her out without hesitation.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been earlier, crisp in a way that hinted fall was on its way. Y/N tugged her sleeves over her hands as they walked across the lawn, gravel crunching under their feet. Joe glanced at her once, then twice, then reached over and took her hand without a word. She didn’t say anything either, but the corners of her mouth curved upward.

Since Joe still lived in the Sigma Nu house—crammed into a room with two other guys who couldn't remember to do their laundry or keep their music down after midnight—his place wasn’t exactly the ideal escape. But Y/N’s apartment, just a few minutes from campus, had become their unofficial hideaway. It was warm, quiet, and hers—though he’d slowly but surely started to leave pieces of himself there. A pair of Nike slides by the door. His extra toothbrush in her bathroom. That hoodie she never gave back.

By the time they pulled up to her complex, the wild energy of the night had melted into something slower, steadier. The kind of stillness that only comes when the world outside is still spinning, but you’ve stepped off the ride.

Inside her apartment, the lighting was soft and golden, casting a warm glow across the wood floors. She kicked off her sneakers in the entryway, exhaling as she dropped her keys in the bowl by the door. Joe followed her in, silently shedding his own shoes, watching as she made her way down the short hallway into her bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world—because by now, it was.

He lingered in the doorway a moment, just taking her in.

She peeled off her leggings in one fluid motion, replacing them with a pair of soft, worn LSU shorts. One of his old t-shirts—faded black and oversized—was already tugged down over her frame. She moved through her wind-down routine like a dance she knew by heart: hair gathered up, bonnet tied neatly, lip balm swiped on without even needing a mirror.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching her with a faint, easy smile.

She caught his gaze in the mirror.

“What?” she asked, one brow lifted.

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Nothing. Just… every time I think you can’t get any more beautiful, you do.”

Y/N groaned. “You are so corny.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping inside and flopping onto her bed, “you keep me around.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that followed. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hand me the lotion.”

She tossed it to him over her shoulder, then bent one leg and began rubbing the cream into her skin. Joe propped himself up on one elbow, watching with a lazy kind of admiration.

“You always do that little nose wrinkle when you’re focused,” he said casually.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. It’s cute.”

“You’re obsessed.”

He shrugged. “And?”

She glanced over her shoulder, the playfulness in her eyes softening. “You’re so obvious.”

Joe let out a quiet laugh. “Only with you.”

She turned back toward the dresser, reaching for her lip balm again. The moment was quiet but full—comfortable in the kind of way that doesn’t come easy in college, where everything was loud, fast, temporary. This wasn’t. This was theirs.

She didn’t hear him move until she felt him—his arms slipping around her waist from behind, his chest pressed gently against her back, chin settling on her shoulder. His warmth folded around her, steady and grounding.

“I love you,” he said, quiet and steady like the words had been waiting for the right silence to land in.

Y/N froze—not in fear or uncertainty, but in that way you do when your heart jumps before your brain can catch up. Her eyes found his in the mirror.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t nervous. He was just there, all in, like he always was with her.

She held his gaze for a beat. Then two.

And then—

“Damn,” she said, lips curving into a wicked smile. “That’s crazy.”

Joe blinked.

“…What?”

Y/N snickered, sliding out of his arms and darting across the room toward the bed.

“Oh, nah.” He stood up, shaking his head. “You really said that? That’s how you respond?”

She laughed harder, already halfway under the covers. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying nothing,” he said, lunging at her.

She squealed as he tackled her onto the bed, his body heavy over hers in the most familiar way. Before she could scramble away, he had her pinned, fingers digging mercilessly into her sides.

“Take it back!” he demanded, laughing right along with her.

“Joe! Stop! I’m sorry!”

“Say it.”

“I—can’t! I’m gonna pee—!”

“Say it!”

“OKAY, OKAY! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”

He finally stopped, laughing as he caught his breath, the two of them tangled in a mess of limbs and bedsheets. He hovered over her for a second, letting the silence settle again.

“Say it again,” he said, this time quieter.

Y/N’s breath evened out. She reached up, her fingers curling around the fabric of his t-shirt, anchoring him to her.

“I love you,” she said again, softer now. Real.

Joe dipped his head, kissing her slow—like he had all night, all weekend, all year to do it again. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still on hers, his smile lopsided and pure.

“Damn,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. “That’s my favorite thing you’ve ever said.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though the way her fingers were still twisted in the hem of his shirt gave her away. “You’re so dramatic.”

Joe smirked, settling more of his weight onto her as she squirmed beneath him.

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Joe, get off of me.”

“Nope,” he said, resting his full weight across her body like a human blanket. “This is my spot now.”

“You’re heavy!”

He gasped, sitting up slightly like she’d slapped him. “Did you just call me fat?”

Y/N grinned, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Not fat. But that dump truck back there definitely is.”

Joe narrowed his eyes in mock offense, but before he could respond, she slipped her hands around his waist and gave him a firm squeeze right where she knew he’d feel it.

“Hey!” he yelped, laughing as she reached up and smacked his butt with a playful little slap. “Ma’am! Hands to yourself!”

She was laughing now, full and bright, that sleepy post-party energy turning into something new—something warmer.

“You said it’s my favorite shirt,” she teased, motioning to the same black shirt from earlier still on his body, voice laced with amusement, “but I think this is my favorite part.”

Joe collapsed onto the bed beside her, tugging her into his arms like it was second nature. “You’re outta pocket.”

“You love it.”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, still grinning. “Maybe.”

Y/N ran a hand through his curls, fingers slow and absentminded. “You always act brand new when I touch your butt.”

“Because it’s mine, Y/N. My sacred QB asset. You can’t just go around squeezing greatness like that.”

She giggled again, curling closer into his chest. “I already told you I love you. You’re stuck now.”

Joe kissed the top of her head. “Damn right.”

They laid there in the quiet for a while, the kind of stillness that only came after a long, loud night—bodies tangled, laughter fading, hearts beating a little slower but steadier. The world outside buzzed with deadlines and practices and whatever drama waited for them on Monday. But in that room, in that bed, in that moment?

It was just them.

And neither one of them was in any hurry to leave it.