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g4rvez-r3id · 6 months ago

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I’m Here, Now

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!Fem Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Spencer gets released from prison and you’re his first stop after dealing with Cat Adams and her schemes. And all he wants to do is see you and love you.

Category: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established relationship, prison arc, spoilers of season 12 of Criminal Minds, it’s a lil sad tbh but it only lasts for a second, reader’s in disbelief, spencer and reader being cutesy, crying, kissing, mentions of bruises, threats, sappy speeches, fluffy ending, lowkey not true to 12x22/13x01 so this could be an au! smut warnings: soft!dom spencer (firm believer here🙋‍♀️), a lil body worship from reader to spencer, oral sex (m receiving & reader receiving), facefucking, cum swallowing, “good girl”, riding, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, creampie, overstimulation, spencer lowkey being a munch- that should cover it 😃

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, i can’t stop writing smutty oneshots ahhhh i can’t help it, i just love my man 🤭 i hope y’all enjoy this because i’ve had my mind on prison arc reid bc i’m watching s12 rn and oooo he so fine in 12a and in 12b 😩 anyways hope y’all like this <3

You worried that maybe he’d never come back. Upon hearing he was in jail in Mexico, you worried you’d never see Spencer again.

If your past self could tell you that your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid, who was a nerd at heart, who spent his free time playing chess and reading and watching Doctor Who with you under your fluffy blankets and wore mismatched socks because he believed it was good luck, that he would one day end up being framed and sent to prison, you would’ve laughed in your face.

You never would’ve expected this to happen. But then you heard why. He was framed for murdering a woman named Nadie Ramos, who was helping him get his mother medicine that seemed to calm her from her episodes. If there was anyone he would’ve risked everything for besides you, it was his mother.

And to be honest, you were a little mad at him for lying to you. He told you that he was going to Houston to talk to some of his mom’s doctors. You’d been together four years now and not once did he ever lie to you until now. When he got transferred to the Milburn Correctional Facility, due to overcrowding, he’d requested to see you and only you.

It wasn’t until Spencer wrote you a letter, practically begging you to come and see you. The first time you’d gone to see him, you actually didn’t even recognize him, skipping over him and almost staring at him in confusion when he walked over to the other side of your plexiglass.

And you tried to play it off like you expected him, even while looking like he did, but he knew deep down you didn’t recognize him. He chose not to acknowledge it but you both knew.

And you visited him frequently, until he decided to cut you from the visitor log with no warning. You were hurt, to say the least. And you ended up avoiding everyone after that. You even ignored the many fruit baskets Garcia kept sending over but you kept sending them back.

But then a miracle happened.

They proved his innocence. And he was out.

You would’ve found that out if you’d checked your phone but you spent the entire day in bed, away from society and sobbing at the fact that he was gone and he wasn’t here, comforting you like he did so well.

You hated him, you hated him for putting you in this position, for making you deal with the aftermath, for pushing you away. But you loved him. You would never stop loving him, no matter how much you hated him right now.

You’d been laying in bed, tossing and turning all day as the TV played some random sitcom you watched every now and again. And you’d heard something. A soft knock coming from your front door.

You almost missed it but it was faint. And you heard it. Choosing to finally get out of bed, you opened your room door and walked to the front door. You opened it without checking the peephole, because at this point you’d had enough and just wanted death to get you over with already.

But death may have stopped your heart only for a moment when you open the door.

Because standing there, in the suit he’d gotten arrested in when his bail was denied, his hair outgrown and his stubble framed nicely on his face — was your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, in the flesh.

You gasped softly as you backed away from the door and stared at him, almost as if you were disbelief. You’d had a dream like this before. Where he came back and promised he was here to stay. (But it was another one of God’s cruel jokes and you cried when you woke up the following day).

He walked in and closed the door right behind him, standing tall in front of you. You noticed the bruises on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and stared at you.

“Hi.” He said softly and all you can do is stare at him. “Am I dreaming?” You find yourself asking out loud and his heart breaks. He can see that you’re scared. Scared that if you go up to him, he’ll disappear like smoke. And he hates that.

“No.” Spencer shakes his head and he waits for you to approach him and you do, walking slowly towards him as the floorboard creaks beneath your socked feet.

He waits as you first grab his hands, and interlock your fingers together. When that seems not to be enough for you, your hands move to his face. You caress the sharp new grown stubble on his face and drag your index finger to his plump lips and stare into his hazel eyes and they’re full of wonder and love.

You don’t even register the tears until you hold him in your arms and you hold onto him for dear life. He holds you tightly in his arms as you find yourself wrapping around him like a koala and all he can do is hold you back. And it grounds him, you ground him.

Your head moves towards his and you kiss his lips, like you’ve longed to do for three months. And part of you still couldn’t believe this, that he was here, holding you like you were going to break.

You kiss him a few more times before you pull back and ask with tears in your eyes, “Are you okay?” Spencer nods toward your forehead, “I’m okay, now that I’m here.”

“You’re here, now.” You look him in the eyes as you say this and he nods at your words, repeating them to himself. “I’m here, now.” It’s as if he’s reminding himself that he’s here with you because he’s worried he’s gonna wake up any minute and he’ll be back in that cell. You weren’t the only one who had a hard time believing this was real.

Spencer’s lips catch yours and he pushes into the kiss and you get back on the ground, your hands (or mouth) not leaving him for a second and making their way up to his hair and pulling. You whine into his lips as he you pull him by his belt and walk backwards to your bedroom with him following you.

With your strength, you twirl the two of you around and straddle him as you continue to kiss him. You rock your hips into his growing bulge and he moans into your mouth and you smirk in the middle of the kiss.

You begin to unbutton his suit and successfully get his blazer off and now next is his dress shirt but he’s quick to grab your hands and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You ask, willing to put a stop to this if he wasn’t ready. “Nothing, I just…” Spencer looks down as he lets go of your hands and seemingly now growing insecure all of a sudden.

He stands up from the bed and you look up at him as he holds his arms over his stomach. “I just… I got hurt pretty bad in there. You’re gonna see some bruises. I just don’t want you to freak out. He admits and your heart breaks, “You don’t have to take your shirt off. Or we can just stop entirely and—”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’re gonna see them eventually.” With that, he begins to unbutton his dress shirt and you give him all the time in the world to do so, not wanting to rush this at all.

When he takes off his dress shirt successfully, you finally see it. He has bruises everywhere on his ribs and some near his belly button and on his stomach. Some are still in the process of healing with yellow and gray hues and some are purple and mucus green.

“Oh, my love…” You whisper to yourself as you stand up and you turns him around and find more on his back and there’s just too many of them. You find yourself tearing up but you know you need to keep it together for him. Who could hurt your sweet boy? Was this why he didn’t want you to see him anymore while he was still in there? How long did this go on for?

It’s then that you register the bruise near his eye. You thought that it was due to the lack of sleep he’d been getting and assumed it was the bags under his eyes he so often got but it was a bruise. How did you miss that when he walked in?

He almost wants to hide himself, like a turtle under its’ shell and you look down at his body. “Baby…” You start but he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at you as you guide him towards the bed and he lays back and you go back to straddling him, but this time, you’re careful as you hover over him.

You kiss his lips before making your way down to his neck and then to his body and it takes a second for him to register that you’re not just kissing his body, you’re kissing the bruises.

He feels himself getting choked up as you kiss every visible one and his heart swells for you. What did he did to deserve you?

You begin to unbuckle his belt but he rests his elbows on the bed and looks down at you. “You—You don’t have to…” He trails off but you quickly shake your head. “I know. But I want to. It’s your first night back. This is about you tonight, baby.”

Spencer doesn’t interfere, just stares as you unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock through the hole in his underwear and it springs into action, dripping pre-cum from the head. “Oh, my sweet boy. You must be so pent up.”

You kiss the tip of his dick and he shuts his eyes tightly as if he’s trying to hold back from already cumming. You lick up his shaft and fit his cock inside your mouth and he curses to himself as he grips your bedsheets as tight as he can.

You notice this, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers together, as if you’re telling him and giving him permission to touch you as you bob your head up and down.

He takes this opportunity to caress your face as you take him into your mouth. He ties your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he pushes deeper onto his cock and even lifts his hips to ensure that you’re taking all of him until you’re gagging.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Spencer tells you and you nod to the best of your ability until you begins to fuck your throat, using your mouth for his pent up pleasure. “Fuck… God, you’re so good at that. Letting me fuck your throat like the good girl you are.”

His words could make you cum on the spot without him even laying a finger on you. He rarely cursed in your domestic setting but he did it often when you two were in bed.

All you can do is take it as deep as it can go in your mouth. He whines into the ceiling as he says your name until you feel his hot cum dribble down your throat and your nose is buried into his crotch as he holds you there and makes you take all his cum into your mouth.

He pants as he releases your head from his cock and you swallow the rest of his cum. He looks at you with worried eyes, concerned that maybe he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks, like he didn’t just cum into your mouth and call you a “good girl”.

You shake your head at him with a small smile. “That was just about the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” (And everything he did was always hot). He blushes and crooks a smile.

“Are you willing to keep going?” You ask him and he nods with an immediate answer, “Absolutely.” He’d never let you go to bed without making you cum at least twice.

You climb on top of him with a smirk and look deeply into his eyes. They’re filled with lust, love and adoration for you and for you only. “You’re so beautiful.” You say to him in a whisper but Spencer chuckles a bit, “I should be saying that to you.”

You look down as your pussy catches the tip of his cock and you sink down into him carefully. He moans at the feeling and you gasp. He fits perfectly.

“God, I missed you. Missed this…” Spencer catches his breath. “Perfect pussy.” You chuckle and looks into his eyes as you rock back and forth. “It was so lonely without you, Spencer.” You whine. “I missed you so much.”

You lean down as you kiss him on the lips. “Did you…” He pauses, not wanting to be crude even while he was inside of you. “While I was away?” It took a second to figure out what he was talking about. And then you realized that he was asking if you’d masturbated while he was away.

“A few times,” You admitted shyly, despite suffocating him with your pussy. “I thought about you every time. It just wasn’t the same. Missed your body.”

Spencer smiles darkly, “Maybe I should punish you for that.” He says, half-joking. You lean forward as you smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

And without a second thought, it was as if a switch flipped as Spencer was quick to flip your bodies over and he hovers over you, both hands on either side of your head, gripping the pillows. “You really wanna test that theory?”

You bite your lip and smirk once more as you pull him in for another kiss and he glides himself into you and you gasp at the feeling of his dick inside of your pussy. It’d been such a long time since you felt him like this, here, in your arms. God, you love him.

He rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your body as leans his head in your shoulder, mumbling sweet obscenities and how good your pussy feels and how responsive you were. He dreamt of the day he’d have you like this. And since being in prison, he longed for it more.

He reached down in between your legs as he found your clit without even looking down and staring deeply into your eyes and your moans reverberate through the walls as keeps his eyes on you and you only.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I need to cum— where? Where?” He asks and you shut your eyes tightly as you shout, “Inside! Oh, god, inside!”

He pushes himself hard into you as you finally cum, your legs shaking as you moan his name into the ceiling and he collapses on your body, still sheathed inside of you.

You both lay there, panting and reveling in the feeling of each other. Eventually, Spencer does pull out of you and you feel as he lowers himself, eyeing your pussy up close and you look down at him sleepily. “Baby, you don’t have to. This was about you.” You assure.

“Nonsense,” Spencer tells. “I need to clean up my mess and even the score, might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He jokes, diving face first into your pussy and you whimper at the contact he makes, especially with the way his stubble is rubbing against your thighs, cleaning his own cum out of your pussy and relishing in the way you both taste.

His mouth captures your clit and he twists his tongue around the bud in that delicious way you love and he moans into your pussy. “We taste so good together, baby. Cum again on my tongue, this time.”

You tug at his messy hair as you hold his head to you pussy and you use him, rocking your hips into his mouth. You feel as your legs shake once more and you let go of his head for him to take a breather.

That breather lasts only a second before he dives back in and you whine at the contact. “Spence… baby, I’m sen—sensitive.”

“You can take one more, baby. I know you can. You can cum again.” Spencer says, his pupils are blown as he looks at you and he’s commanding you to cum again. “Just one more, baby.”

You nod at him and Spencer grabs your hands. “Here,” He interlocks your fingers with his and somehow, the pleasure is so much and yet not at all as makes you cum for a third time tonight. If he could spend forever eating your pussy, he would.

You close your eyes for a moment and when you finally open them, he’s right next to you and holding you. (He’d cleaned you up properly with a warm rag and left your favorite snack and water bottle on the desk next to your bed whenever you were ready to wake up). You remembered the loving words he whispered to you as you drifted off into a heavy slumber.

And you’ve finally woken up. You look up at him, still in awe of him being here. You take the chance to check the time. It’s already 5am and the sun is still shy away from rising but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because you have your boyfriend right next to you, holding you for dear life and loving you the way you deserve to be loved.

You worry that he’s still up, but you figure that after all those months in prison, maybe he has trouble sleeping every now and again. You find yourself holding him tighter as you look down at the bruise near your head. You can’t believe he was hurt. How did he manage to survive in there? You’re still wondering why he’d taken you off the visitor’s log.

“Spencer?” You ask and he looks down at you, your voice surprising him. “Yeah?” You sit up and look at him, face to face, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Why did you take me off the visitor’s list?” You decide to ask.

He’s about to respond and you don’t want to hear another lie. You’d been through plenty of those already. “I mean, I didn’t even want to see you at first and then you begged me to and then all of a sudden, I wasn’t allowed to. I feel like I have the right to know.”

“No, no, you do,” Spencer knows that much. He hates the fact that he’s lied to you and has forced you to deal with this when all you deserved was the best from him. He sits up next to you he knows he’s gonna need to tell you, even though he doesn’t want to.

“The last time after you came to visit me,” Spencer started. “I got cornered in my cell. A lot of the guys there were asking about you. And they said that it’d be a shame if something happened to you when you came to visit again.” You look down as he talks about it. “And I didn’t want to risk that. And I wanted to tell you, really, I did.” He grabs your hand assuringly. “But I didn’t have any way to. And I didn’t want you to get hurt. I would’ve died if something happened to you and I didn’t do everything in my power to stop it. I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

You shake your head. And you finally understand. Because if the roles were reversed, you would’ve taken him off the visitor’s list, too. If it meant protecting him. “You were just trying to protect me, I understand.”

“I just…” Spencer looks at you, holding your face in his hands. “I love you, so much.” He looks deeply into your eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He reveals and your eyes widen. “What?”

Spencer closes his eyes and holds his index finger up. “One second.” He stands up and grabs his blazer from off the floor and digs into one of the inside pockets and pulls out a red velvet box.

Your eyes widen as you cover your body with the sheet and he kneels down on one knee in his boxers and opens the velvet box to reveal a ring. “I didn’t want to do it like this but I’d rather do it now than wait for the right time to.” Your eyes glance down at the box for a mere second and then to the love of your life.

“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make my days better, hell, you’ve made my life better. And no matter what we’ve gone through, you’ve stayed by my side and you never ran. I love that you sing off-key, I love that your nose twitches when you get mad, I love that you like… pineapple on pizza, oddly enough.” You chuckle at this. “I love everything about you. And I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you. But… but true love, it fosters a connection that goes beyond the superficial. It's a bond that often involves understanding each other's core values, beliefs, and life goals. And you’ve made me believe in true love.“

You stare at him in disbelief as he continues, “Will you marry me?” You feel tears spring into your eyes as you nod vehemently, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” You smile widely and he smiles at you, slipping the ring onto your ring finger as you continue to mutter a million yeses.

When you finally get the ring on, you pull him in for another kiss and he holds you to his heart’s content. It wasn’t the way he envisioned it going, but with you, you knew you didn’t want big and bold ways of him saying he loved you and wanted to marry you, you were content with something small and sweet because it was coming from him and that was the biggest gift of all. You were one for grand gestures, you liked it just the way it was. It was perfect. He was perfect. And you’d spend the rest of your life reminding him he was.

So, you laid back in your bed with your fiancé and talked and talked about sweet nothings until the sun came up. And all of the ache you felt the night before, the pain you endured was long gone and now replaced with something beautiful and sweet.

#criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x fem!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #post prison spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #g4rvez-r3id

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wheresarizona · 7 months ago

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but he’s the one I want

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound.

pairing: DBF!Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller/College Student f!reader (no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

word count: 11.5k+

a/n: Alexa, play “But Daddy I Love Him” by Taylor Swift. I don’t know where this came from (daddy issues), but I hope you enjoy it! Reader is freshly 21 in my head, Joel is 35 (it’s months before his birthday), and Tommy is 29. Let me know what you think! Big shoutout to @devineconjuring for going on this journey with me and betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s a Friday night; the sky is dark, but the porch light is on. You hug your jacket a little closer to your body to stave off the chill in the air as you wait outside the front door for someone to answer it. A masculine voice calls out, "Comin’!" Footsteps thud on the hardwood floor as they head your way.

Seconds later, the door is cracked open, and you’re met with the home’s owner, Joel Miller. Just the sight of him in his jeans and navy blue t-shirt has your heart rate picking up in speed, the man looking as handsome as ever.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you.

"Hey," he greets. "What are you doin' here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

You smile. "Three-day weekend—I have Monday off. I thought I'd surprise my dad since it's his birthday."

The confused look doesn’t disappear. "I coulda sworn he told me they were goin' to Vegas to celebrate a few days ago." ‘They’ being your father, stepmother, and your teenage half-brother.

“Well, I guess it slipped his mind to tell me they were going out of town. He must be getting forgetful in his old age.”

The relationship you have with your father is… complicated. It’s not bad by any means—you get along and love each other. He just wasn’t very present when you were growing up—he lived in Austin while you were with your mom in Houston, only seeing him a few times per year. Now that you have a car and your mom moved out of state last year with her new husband, you occasionally made the three-hour drive to your dad’s to visit and do your laundry free of charge. It was also where you now stayed on your breaks from school.

Joel opens the door a little wider and crosses his arms over his chest, your eyes moving from his face to admire the broadness in his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms. Having his full attention on you makes the nerves in your belly flutter around like a bunch of butterflies were let loose.

“He’s not much older than me,” Joel says. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you callin’ me old?”

The man in question happens to be one of your father’s best friends—or so you’ve been told. In all of the visits to your dad’s growing up, you could count the number of times you saw Joel on one hand. Over the past year that you’ve been coming to Austin regularly, you’ve had much more interaction with him, which has led to you developing a little bit of a crush. Who can blame you, though? He’s gorgeous—the chocolate-colored eyes, the hair that looks so soft, that perfect nose, and those kissable lips.

“If the shoe fits,” you reply with a shrug and a smile.

“Kids these days,” Joel grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “Did you come by just to call me old?” he asks.

“Oh, no. I was expecting at least one person to be at my dad’s, so I didn’t bother bringing my house key. I’m here to see if you possibly have a spare I could borrow—I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.”

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.”

Hot and a sweetheart—how is he single? Is he single?

You frown, feeling annoyed that you drove all this way to Austin for no reason. You should’ve called ahead, but that was your mistake, assuming your family would stay in town for your father’s birthday. “This was a waste of gas,” you muse. “Love that for me. Well, it looks like I’m heading home, or maybe I’ll get a cheap motel room. Thanks anyway, Joel. Have a nice rest of your night!” You do a little wave at him.

You start to turn, but stop when he says, “Wait,” and you face him again. He opens the door wider. “It’s too late for you to be drivin’ all that way, and there’s no reason you should pay for a motel when I’ve got a guest room you can stay in. You can get a good night's sleep and leave tomorrow mornin’ when the sun’s shinin’.”

Again, a sweetheart—why hasn’t anyone snatched him up? Or have they?

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He finally offers you a friendly smile and moves to open the door all the way. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I was feelin’ lonely anyway with Sarah gone at a sleepover. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t my brother.”

Lonely? Nice to have some company? That sounds pretty single to you. Your night just got a lot more interesting. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be better company than your brother.”

With that, you make your way inside, toeing off your shoes next to a pair of his work boots.

“That won’t be too hard,” Joel says as he shuts the door.

You stop in the entryway because you’re not quite sure where you should be going since you've never actually been inside his house. You only know where he lives because your father once asked you to drop something off here.

“Let me get your coat and bag.” You hand him your small purse, and he moves behind you, helping as you shrug off the long jacket you’re wearing, which he hangs up on a nearby coat hook with your bag. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks, and you look at him, seeing his widened eyes staring at your body. “Were you plannin’ on goin’ out tonight?”

You glance down at your outfit, and you can understand why he’d make that assumption at the sight of the cute little black dress you’re wearing—it only reaches mid-thigh and has a V-neckline to show off your breasts.

“Not going out—it’s laundry day. I do my laundry when I come to Austin, and this was literally the last clean thing I had.” Your eyes lift to see his glued to your chest, and you think that’s an interesting development. “I have spare clothes I keep at my dad’s that I planned on changing into.”

It’s the truth, and you’re a little thankful this was your last clean outfit. You can only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been coming over here in a ratty old T-shirt, granny panties, and your Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants.

He clears his throat and looks away. A rosy blush appears on his cheeks as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I can put my jacket back on,” you tell him, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

“No, no.” He meets your gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine—do you need to use my washer and dryer?”

“You’re already being nice, letting me stay over. I can wash my clothes at the laundromat when I get home.”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

“Okay.” His hands go in his pockets, and he seems to get very interested in the short console table against the wall, staring at the contents lying atop it—a stack of unopened mail and what you assume are his keys and wallet.

“So, what were you doing before I interrupted your evening?”

“Oh—” He looks at you again. “—I was watchin’ a movie. Would you like to join me?”

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.”

He takes you to the living room, where a movie is paused on the television, and lets you know you can sit anywhere. Your choices are one of two armchairs and a maroon leather sofa, and you choose the sofa while he heads for the kitchen.

“Would ya like a beer?” he calls out on his way to the other room. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because a second later, he’s back at the doorway to the living room with a confused expression again. “Wait, are you old enough to drink…?”

The question makes you smile. “Yes, Joel. I’m old enough to drink.”

“Legally…?”

You giggle. “Yes. I can legally drink. You wanna card me?”

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Beer?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.” He nods.

As you sit on the couch waiting, you become very aware of the situation you’re in. You’ve spoken to Joel one-on-one a handful of times over the last year, but it always happened at a barbecue or a holiday party—places where there were other people around—you’ve never been alone with Joel. This is new territory, and you’re not entirely sure what to expect, especially considering how he was staring at your chest.

Would you fuck him if given the chance? Yes, zero hesitation. Do you think you have a chance with him? Maybe, and that thrills you. Just two things are working against you: your age and the fact he’s your father’s best friend. Those are two hurdles you’re not entirely sure how to get over, but you’re definitely game to try.

Your conversations were always friendly in the past, and you’re proud to say you’ve made him laugh a few times. You think you could possibly charm him. What you know for sure is he’ll need to be very aware that you’re interested; otherwise, he won’t even fathom trying anything with you—thank god you’re wearing this dress. Nerves are swirling in your tummy at what could happen tonight, and you’re eager to see where things go.

Joel returns with two open bottles of beer, handing you one, and you thank him as he takes a seat right next to you. He leans forward to grab the remote and hits play before sitting back and taking a drink.

He’s so close to you that you get a whiff of his cologne—it has a spiciness to it and some citrusy notes that, when combined, smell amazing. It makes you think he took a shower when he got home from work today—and, suddenly remembering he’s a contractor, you imagine him shirtless and sweaty while using a hammer. The thought causes your mouth to go dry, so you lift your bottle to your lips for a sip, focusing on the TV.

It’s easy to figure out what he’s watching when you see Josh Hartnett in clothes from the 1940s.

“Pearl Harbor?” you ask, now holding your drink on your lap, picking at the label with your fingernail.

“Yeah.” His head turns your way, his beer resting on his thigh. “Have you seen it?”

Meeting his eyes, you answer, “Oh, yeah.”

He frowns. “Because it’s a girly movie?”

“Um, kinda? The guys are pretty easy on the eyes, and the story is interesting. I wouldn't say it’s super girly. Sure, it’s a romance, but there’s so much action and drama about the war in it.”

“The back of the DVD said nothin’ about it bein’ a romance.”

“Are you enjoying it, at least?” you ask.

He sighs and looks back at the television. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then enjoy it! If anyone asks what we watched, I’ll tell them Die Hard.” You lightly pat his thigh closest to you, feeling the muscles tense under your palm.

His gaze returns to you. “You’ve seen Die Hard?”

“Yes. A few times.”

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie.

His upper body slightly turns your way, his arm going behind you on the couch. The closeness and the attention he’s giving you make your skin heat.

“I want you to settle somethin’ my brother Tommy and I disagree on—have you met Tommy?”

“Once.” At a barbecue. He didn’t catch your attention like Joel did. “What am I settling?”

“Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

“What…?”

“Tommy is fuckin’ convinced that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and I say it’s just another action flick. A good one, but definitely not a Christmas movie.”

It takes you a second to process what he asked.

“I mean,” you start, “it takes place on Christmas Eve, at a Christmas party, and I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that John McClane happened to be there to save the day. So, yeah, it’s totally a Christmas movie.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me. Just ‘cause it takes place on Christmas Eve at a Christmas party doesn’t mean it’s a Christmas movie.”

You point the neck of your beer at him. “You forgot John McClane being a Christmas miracle. Makes sense to me that it’s a Christmas movie.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, are you tellin’ me that—what the fuck is that movie called?” His eyes leave you as he thinks, trying to remember the name. “Lethal Weapon!” He looks at you again. “So, you’re tellin’ me that Lethal Weapon would also be a Christmas movie? Have you seen that one?”

Yep, with your father.

“I have, and yeah, it’s a Christmas movie. You’ve got drug dealers using a Christmas tree business as a front, Christmas is mentioned all throughout, they use a bunch of Christmas songs, and it ends at Christmas dinner. Absolutely a Christmas movie.”

“Say you’re messin’ with me, darlin’. You know what a Christmas movie is, right?

“Yeah, you’ve got the heavy hitters—It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, A Christmas Carol—then those stop-motion ones that are delightful. I’d put Die Hard and Lethal Weapon in the same category as Home Alone.”

“Why the hell do you think Home Alone is a Christmas movie?”

“It’s set during the holiday season, and there’s a ton of Christmas imagery and music. Plus, you’ve got Kevin going on a similar journey as the main character in It’s a Wonderful Life where, in the end, he realizes how much he loves and needs his family—sounds pretty Christmas-y to me.”

His jaw clenches, and it’s seconds before he inhales deeply and looks back at the TV.

“Son of a bitch,” he sighs, shaking his head. “They’re fuckin’ Christmas movies.” He takes a long drink of his beer.

You grin. “They are indeed,” you reply and pat his thigh again.

His bottle lowers, and he looks over at you. “Even though you somehow made a dumbass like Tommy make sense, you’re definitely better company than him. He’d never let me live this down.”

He’s visibly relaxed, and you have, too. The fact he’s enjoying you being there has calmed your nerves, and you’re having a great time talking to him. Plus, he’s nice to look at.

“Then it’ll be our secret,” you say. “Like how we’re totally watching Die Hard right now, and not—” Your eyes go to the TV, and they widen. “—the one sex scene in Pearl Harbor.” It’s nothing too risque and honestly kind of lame.

Joel looks, too. “They’re just rollin’ around on the ground…”

“It’s PG-13, Joel. I don’t know what you’re expecting from a movie where they can only say fuck once, and titties are prohibited.”

His head turns your way. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, and when your eyes land on his, you find that he’s smiling—your heart skips a beat.

“A good something or a bad something?”

“A good somethin’.”

You share his expression. “You’re something else, too.”

“A good somethin’ or a bad somethin’?”

“A very good something.”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, his attention returns to the movie. Joel clears his throat, then chugs the rest of his beer, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

When he sits back, his arm is still behind you on the top of the couch, and he scoots the tiniest bit your way to have your bodies touching.

It’s clear that there’s a shift to the energy in the room, and the tension becomes palpable—he likes you, and you think there’s a possibility he more than likes you with how close he is. The thought has your heart pounding, and you’re unsure what to do next. You’ve only been with boys your own age, and Joel is so much older and more experienced.

The panic has you blurting out, “Are you seeing anyone?” Then, backpedaling, “Not that it’s any of my business, so don’t feel obligated to answer.”

He looks at you, and you keep staring at the TV, almost wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m nosy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You only wanna know ‘cause you’re nosy?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No other reason?”

“Can’t think of any.”

“Okay—no, I’m not seein’ anyone. What about you? You got a boy back in Houston worryin’ about you?”

“Nope.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise in his voice has your head turning to see the matching expression.

“What’s so shocking about that?”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon, darlin’. It just doesn’t make much sense that someone as pretty and fun as you doesn’t have a line of boys waitin’ their turn to take you out.”

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again.

“Not really.” You shrug. “Plus, the guys my age usually only want sex but aren’t very, um, giving, if you know what I mean.”

Now he looks grumpy. “Selfish boys,” he grumbles, and it makes you smile.

“So, not an issue with someone older like you. Good to know.” You squeeze his thigh and keep speaking so he can’t reply, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you single?”

For some reason, he can’t look at you now, focusing on your hand. He reaches across his body to grab yours with his larger one, staring at your fingers. He lets out a long, weary sigh, his thumb rubbing against each of your dark blue-painted fingernails.

“Women don’t particularly like that Sarah is the most important person in my life and my top priority…”

“But she’s your daughter, she should be your top priority.”

“That’s the logic, but they want me all to themselves and don’t like sharing.”

“Joel?”

His face lifts to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.”

He smiles. “I guess I have. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve given up on datin’. It’s just a waste of time.”

“That is such a shame.”

His dark eyes get even darker. “You’re trouble.”

“Why am I trouble?”

His eyebrow arches. “Your daddy would kill me.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second as you take in the statement—he’s into you, he’s really into you. Now, what are you going to do?

“Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask and move to put your beer on the table. When you sit back, you cuddle a little closer into his side. “You were worried about me driving home in the dark, so you offered me your guest room—we watched Die Hard, then turned in for the night. You’re a stand-up guy for keeping your friend’s daughter safe.”

His eyes move from yours to your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face—his palm is so big his fingertips almost reach the back of your head. He starts leaning in, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought that he’s going to kiss you, and you stop breathing when his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours.

And then he pauses.

“Tell me why you really came here tonight,” he rasps.

That confuses you, your brows pulling together, and you sit back to see his face. “I did? I needed to see if you had a spare key to my dad’s house.”

His eyes are on yours. “Bullshit—there’s no way this just happened to be the last outfit you had.” He looks directly at your tits.

“It is if you wait super last minute to do your laundry, and I told you, I have other clothes at my dad’s. Why do you think I came over here?”

His gaze goes back to yours. “With that dress you’re wearin’ and how you keep lookin’ at me, for a lot more than needin’ a key.”

“You thought I came over here to seduce you…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Wow.” You gently pat his cheek. “You think I’m way bolder than I actually am—me coming here and the outfit was not premeditated.” You shake your head.

His eyes round, and you’d think he was burned by how quickly his hand leaves you and how he moves away a little to put space between you. “Fuck, have I been readin’ this wrong?”

You scoot to have yourself against him again. “The assumption I came here specifically to seduce you was very wrong. But you’re right that I definitely want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Shit,” he breathes out and scrubs a palm over his face. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Turning his way, you rub your hand along his jeans-covered thigh. “No, I’m not,” you tell him. “Stop thinking, and kiss me.”

His hand lowers. “Not thinkin’ is gonna get me killed.”

“Not thinking is going to get you a blow job and pussy.” You press your palm between his legs over where you can feel he’s already hardening. “Hell, I’ll sweeten the deal—you can come anywhere you want.”

His eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you smile. His reaction makes you brave.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll go back to watching the movie and pretend nothing happened. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and we’ll go as far as you’re willing to go.” Your hand moves up to hold his cheek, and it’s a good sign when he leans into your touch as you stare into his eyes. “But I’m going to make myself crystal clear, Joel. I want you—badly. You’re beyond sexy, and the fact you’re older and have a lot more experience than me is a big turn-on. I’d love to know what good sex is like for once and maybe have you teach me some things.” You shrug your shoulder. “It’s up to you, though. Just know I’m more than willing.”

This kiss is unlike any you’ve experienced before. You’re used to overeager boys practically shoving their tongues down your throat the first chance they get, yet here’s Joel claiming your lips—you can feel his every want and his desire for you with how thoroughly he kisses you. The soft pillow of his mouth moves with yours, his scent filling your nose—hints of the beer he drank and his spicy cologne imprinting this moment in your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head goes dizzy from the arousal igniting in your belly.

Just one kiss and you know you’re ruined for anyone else.

His arms go around you, and he mouths at your chin. “Come here,” he says against your skin. “Get in my lap.”

You do as you’re told, bunching up the bottom of your dress at your waist and moving to straddle his thighs. His hands go under your clothes to grab your ass, and he’s so surprised to feel bare skin he leans back with the confused expression you’re becoming intimately familiar with.

“You really didn’t come over just to fuck me?” he asks. His palms wander, and you know he’s discovered your thong when he hooks a thumb under its stretchy waistband—they were the last clean pair of underwear you had.

“I really didn’t.” You’re curious about something. “But if I had, what are the chances that I would’ve succeeded…?”

“With this dress and a little convincin’? Pretty good.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart. I know this is a bad idea, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass later, but I’m so fuckin’ lonely, and you’re just too damn temptin’ to pass up.”

The truth is clear in his eyes and makes you kiss him—your fingers comb into the hair at the back of his head, finding it softer than you thought it’d be. It starts off slow and tender, just lips to lips, until Joel deepens it, the tip of his tongue making it past your lower lip. Hearing that he’s lonely tugs at your heart, and you want to do everything you can to make that loneliness disappear. Things start to heat up, and all you can do is follow his lead, moaning as he explores your mouth with his tongue. With his palms on your backside, he helps you rock your hips, grinding yourself against his hard cock beneath his jeans, rubbing your clit just right to fan the flames growing in your core.

When you finally need to come up for air, his hand grips your chin to turn your head as you pant, Joel kissing and nipping at your skin from the base of your neck up—tingles wash down your spine when he nibbles on your jaw. He gently bites your earlobe, and you gasp when his hot breath tickles your ear.

He huskily whispers into it, “You want me?” His hand fondles your breast.

“Yes.”

“I can touch you?”

“Anywhere.”

“I need you to be a good girl and tell me when you do and don’t like things—understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

The way those two words make your cunt clench has you moaning, ”Fuck.”

He easily unzips the back of your dress, tugging the garment up and over your head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re sitting astride his lap, the dark pools of his eyes taking in your mostly naked body, his big hands massaging your bra-covered breasts. It’s surprising that being under his gaze, you don’t immediately feel self-conscious, and you think that has to do with how he’s looking at you—the desire and appreciation clear as he admires you.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nodding towards what he’s touching.

“Yes.”

He sits up straighter, and it’s quick work for him to get your bra off, it landing on top of your dress. He’s focused on your tits, holding them in his palms, weighing them. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and the sudden shock of pleasure has your breath catching in your throat, your fingers grabbing handfuls of his shirt for something to hold onto. When he grazes his teeth over the stiff bud, your entire body shivers—your panties have a wet spot from your pussy leaking your arousal for him. He gives your other breast the same attention, leaving your skin shiny from spit when he comes off of it with a wet pop to look at you.

“Lie down on the couch, baby.” He pats the empty seat next to him. “Your head all the way at the other end.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You scramble out of his lap, the couch’s leather creaking as you crawl over to where he instructed and sit back on your elbows to see what’s happening. Joel grunts as he gets up to stand, watching in interest when he squeezes the noticeable bulge at the front of his jeans. His arm goes behind his head to grab his shirt, pulling it up and off of his body to bare his torso.

At seeing so much of his golden skin, your jaw goes slack—his freckled chest is so broad, tapering down to his trim waist, his abs showing a little bit of muscle definition you think is from doing manual labor and not working out. Your eyes fixate on the happy trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Sure could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.”

That has your attention snapping up to his face, where you find him smirking, and you close your mouth.

“Sorry,” you apologize, your eyes darting away from him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about the shape I’m in.”

You look at him again. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re in great shape and so hot—you’re really down to fuck me?” You point at yourself.

He kneels on the sofa by your feet, his hand on the back of it to steady himself.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know your daddy, and you were a stranger I met in a bar, I’d bring you home in a heartbeat. I feel like a real lucky son of a bitch that someone as young and pretty as you has any interest in an old guy like me.” He lifts one of your legs and gently kisses the inside of your ankle, the sweetness of it making you melt a little.

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.”

“Is that so?” he asks and spreads open your legs. He crawls over you, and you lie back, Joel nestling his hips between your thighs for you to feel how hard he is as he dips his head, kissing up the column of your throat—the nerves in your stomach flutter wildly.

“Yes,” you whisper and need to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso to press your palms against the warm skin on his shoulders—his body shudders, a rumbling groan coming from his chest.

You squeak in surprise when his lips are suddenly on yours, kissing you hard.

He takes over all of your senses—he’s all you see, he’s all you feel, he’s all you taste, he’s all you hear, he’s all you smell. It’s him, and him alone—his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his weight on top of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, moaning as he takes over your very world, reveling in this feeling of being wanted.

His lips leave yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His teeth gently sink into your chin before kissing along the underside of your jaw.

He speaks into your skin, his words muffled, “I’m very interested in you, too. I shouldn’t be, but I am.” His mouth ends up at your ear, and he quietly asks, “Can I eat your pussy?”

“Oh.” The question surprises you. “I’m usually the one who asks. Do you want me to blow you first?” There was always a quid pro quo when it came to oral.

His head lifts to look you in the eye.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

“You’ve been with some truly shitty boys.”

It makes you laugh, and he smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply.

“It should always be ladies first—may I?”

What a gentleman.

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he says and pecks you on the lips.

He doesn’t immediately move off of you, and it catches you off guard. Instead, his mouth blazes a trail, kissing down your body—your neck, your chest, and your belly. This is when your self-consciousness rears its ugly head. Joel is getting up close and personal with your imperfections—your scars, stretch marks, cellulite, all those little details you normally kept hidden in the safety of dark rooms or under shirts when you hooked up with someone. Now, you’re basically naked, the lamp is on, and he can see it all, which makes you feel uneasy.

He kisses just above your belly button, then below it, going lower and lower until he places one last kiss on your panties, over your mound. He sits up on his knees, tracing the lines and curves of your thighs and hips with his large palms while he drinks you in as you lie there—you have to fight the urge to cover yourself, unable to meet his gaze.

The silence is broken when Joel speaks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your eyes seek out his face where you don’t find any deception, but you have to ask, “Really?”

“Really.” He nods. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His attention goes to the apex of your thighs, and the pink of his tongue swipes along his bottom lip as if he’s imagining how you’ll taste. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the visible damp spot on your underwear, his other hand squeezing his cock that’s straining in his jeans.

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, too,” he says, and gets his fingers under the elastic waistband on your panties, pulling them down and off your legs, the air cool against your now bared skin. He shuffles back a little, then bends forward, spreading your lips open with two fingers as his face hovers over it. You think your heart might beat out of your chest with how fast it’s thudding, your skin feeling so hot. “I fuckin’ knew it, such a pretty pussy,” Joel murmurs. He circles your clit with his thumb, and the pleasure has every muscle in your body tensing and your eyes closing. “You’re gonna taste so good.”

He loudly groans as he drags the flat of his tongue along your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your body squirming at how good it feels.

Joel has to pin down your hips with an arm across them to keep you still, his face buried in your pussy. He goes straight to the source, lapping at your entrance to taste your arousal while the tip of his perfect nose rubs against your bundle of nerves, his facial hair prickling your skin.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re fucked.

It’s not even a minute in, and you can already feel your orgasm taking shape low in your belly, the muscles beginning to wind up. If you thought the first kiss ruined you, you know you’re ruined by how eagerly he’s eating you out—who knew this could be so good? You have to wonder how you’ll ever be able to fool around with anyone else when Joel is all you’ll be able to think about or compare it to—this is the only moment doubt invades your mind. You feel like this is all a mistake, but it’s quickly squashed by how unbelievably horny and curious you are.

His mouth lifts, and you whine at its loss. “Gimme a second,” he pants. “I gotta see how tight you are.” That’s when one of his thick fingers presses to your soaked opening, and he slowly starts to push it inside.

The slight stretch makes you gasp his name, your fingers clawing at the sofa’s maroon leather.

“Christ,” Joel says. “You’re squeezin’ me. With how fuckin’ tight you are, I’d think this is your first time.”

You sit back up on your elbows and open your eyes to look at him.

“You just have massive fingers, and it’s been a while.”

His gaze meets yours as he smirks. “Well, I’m gonna loosen you up with my massive fingers, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. His head dips, flicking his tongue side-to-side against your clit when you feel the sudden pressure of his second digit pushing into you—there’s even more of a stretch and the delicious feeling of being full. You fall back on the couch, tangling your fingers into the brown waves of hair on his head, moans falling unbidden from your lips. His digits crook as they pump in and out of you, sliding along your upper wall when they press into something that elicits white-hot pleasure, making you keen and wiggle under the hold he has on your lower half.

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked.

He’s relentless with his mouth and fingers as you careen toward your end, free-falling in the throes of pleasure. He’s really going to get you off, and you think you might be in love with him. Is that crazy? Falling for the guy you absolutely should not fall for—that you can’t even have any kind of future with—because it’d ruin both of your lives, especially his.

Why does that make you want him more?

You definitely understand now why Eve ate the forbidden fruit—the temptation leads to such sweet gratification when you give in.

He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, and you can hear the wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into your cunt. Your thighs are trembling—you’re so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re coming with an unintelligible cry. Your body seizes up, euphoria exploding out from your center, radiating to your fingers and toes. Joel removes his digits, his tongue taking their place to catch every bit of your slick he can get, groaning as he lets no drop go to waste.

You’ve never come so hard, feeling a little floaty as you ride out your high, your chest heaving heavy breaths. With how shaky your arms and legs are, you’d think you were out in the freezing cold.

Joel’s mouth comes off of you and he sits up, rubbing his hands along the outside of your legs.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says. “Was it good?”

“Was it good?” you parrot back at him and push yourself up into a sitting position. “It was more than good, Joel—oh my god, it was amazing.”

The bottom half of his face glistens in the lamplight, his shiny lips turning up in a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?”

“I think I will die if you don’t fuck me.”

He chuckles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He’s off the couch instantly, and you watch as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and gets his jeans undone, shoving them and his boxers down his legs so fast it makes you giggle. He’s balancing on one foot, peeling off his sock, and you finally get a good look at his dick—it’s hard and bobbing between his legs, the tip flushed red and shiny from precum, and your eyes round at how big he is.

“Second thoughts?” he asks, taking off his other sock.

Your gaze rises to his, seeing he’s frowning. “No.” You shake your head. “It’s more, ‘I sure hope that thing fits inside me.’”

He crookedly smiles, his chest puffing up a little. “It’ll fit—I promise.” And he has the audacity to wink at you.

Just as quickly as he got off the sofa, he’s getting back on it, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. His attention is on your pussy, rubbing the tip of himself against your swollen clit and through your wetness. Nerves swirl in your belly, along with arousal, his free hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before he’s spitting on his fingers and slicking up his cock. He notches himself at your entrance, and your heart is in your throat as you hold your breath.

“Just relax, baby,” he says. “You can take me.”

He slowly starts feeding his hard length into you, making you gasp when the fat head breaches your slick cunt, your eyes squeezing shut, your fingers digging into the couch’s leather cushions. A groan rumbles from his throat, and you answer with a drawn-out moan as he burrows his thick cock deep inside you, your tight walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. Full doesn’t even begin to describe how stuffed you are—he’s hot inside you, almost searing, and you can feel him pulsing. He bottoms out and goes completely still, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “You okay?” His thumbs stroke circles on your skin.

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a squeak. “I just need a second.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Darlin’, baby, and now sweetheart when his dick is inside you? Is he trying to make you fall in love with him?

He bends at the waist, one hand on the couch holding up his weight while the other massages your breast, his lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the sparks of pleasure going straight to your pussy. Your fingers wind up in his hair; what he’s doing to you has you whimpering at how good it feels and only makes you wetter where you’re joined. He pulls each of your legs up to rest on his ribs while his mouth moves higher, kissing your sternum and up the arch of your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you squirm underneath him.

His hands end up on either side of your head, his lips leaving behind a wet streak of kisses along the hinge of your jaw to finally ghost over yours—you can feel his breaths and smell your musk. He’s so close it wouldn’t take much more for your mouths to meet.

His nose nudges yours. “Need more time?” he whispers.

Enough has passed that you don’t feel as overwhelmed. You slide your palms up his back to his shoulders.

“No,” you answer just as quietly. “You can move.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in as his mouth claims yours, muffling your sounds when he sets up a rhythm of long, hard strokes. You’re gone—all rational thoughts go out the window, and the only thing you can think about is how his cock is moving in and out of you. It’s so distracting you’re having trouble kissing Joel back because your brain keeps screaming, ‘so big, so full, so good.’

You’re feverishly clutching at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving crescent moon imprints and scratches you’re sure will bleed on his golden skin, Joel moaning into your mouth. It surprises you when you feel the familiar tension of another orgasm making itself known deep in your core, the pressure rising with each thrust, the angle of them causing him to slide against spots you never knew existed, and you don’t ever want this to end.

His lips leave yours, pressing his forehead to your cheek. He’s breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead on his skin as he keeps the same pace.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Just wanna stay inside it until my dick is all it knows.”

Your legs are quivering, your body is burning up, and you can’t get enough of how fucking good this feels. One time—one time—and you’re addicted, you’re drunk on the pleasure and will do anything—anything—for this to happen again.

“It’s yours,” you gasp. “Oh, god, it’s yours!”

His lips move to your ear, huskily asking, “It’s mine, baby? Your pussy is mine? I’m fuckin’ ya that good?”

You’re so out of it and lost in the lust you start babbling, “Yes, it’s yours—fuck, ruin me,” you whine.

“That’s what you want, for me to ruin your perfect little pussy?”

“Please—make me feel it. Make me ache to have your cock inside me again. Make me yours.”

He growls, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing because he’s immediately pulling out, your eyes springing open in time to see him sit up on his knees.

His big hands grab hold of your waist. “Flip,” is all he says, and you find yourself getting manhandled onto your front, Joel tugging you up onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time sheathing himself back inside you, pushing in so deep that your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.

Joel’s hips are flush against your ass, the full length of him seated all the way inside of you—you can’t think, your mouth open in a silent cry. He’s filling you to the absolute brim, and it becomes evident your cup has truly runneth over.

He was right, though. It did fit.

A shuddery breath escapes you. He only allows you a moment to get used to the new fullness before he’s pulling out until just the tip of him remains and snapping his hips forward hard enough it knocks the air from your lungs—this is how you learn what it’s like to really be fucked, and fucked good.

His fingers dig into the skin on your waist, pulling you back as he thrusts forward at a pace that has you lightheaded, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids each time he presses against that heavenly spot inside you.

Warmth grows in your belly, the sounds from the TV overshadowed by the filthy cacophony of skin hitting skin and the audible wetness of his cock working in and out of your used cunt—he’s grunting with each stroke, your moans stuttering from the onslaught.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust.

It’s a struggle to gather your thoughts and form a response with how good he’s fucking you.

A palm lands on the side of your ass in a loud smack, the sweet sting causing you to clench around him and whimper.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he says. “Is this what you wanted?”

All you can gasp out is a single word. “Yes!”

“Am I fuckin’ you good?”

“Yes!”

He’s pounding into you at a near-brutal pace, the fire inside you only getting hotter as each second passes.

“Look at me,” he orders.

It takes everything in you to turn your head and look over your shoulder. Joel is a sight to behold—a flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, the sweat on his skin making it glisten under the lamp’s light, and his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over, his jaw clenched.

He slows, his gaze on yours.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The moment your answer leaves your lips, he’s blanketing your back, holding himself up with a hand on the couch, the other going under you to palm your breast and tweak your stiff nipple with his fingers.

He lightly bites your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your cheek when he kisses it.

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says through heavy breaths. “Then I’m gonna fuck you full of me—you want that?”

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His hand smooths down your front over your stomach to between your legs, where he starts circling your clit with two fingers. It’s like a live wire along your spine, electricity sparking in your core—that added to the sensations of his cock splitting you open and pushing in and out of you has you rocketing toward your release.

“You gonna come for me?” His hot breaths fan over your ear. “You gonna let me feel you come all over my cock? Come on, let me have it—come for me.”

Joel’s bent over you, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers deliciously swirling around your throbbing bud as he grunts in your ear with every thrust, all of it driving you higher and higher to your end.

You’re so worked up that it doesn’t take much to have you falling over the edge—the muscles in your belly pull tight, your orgasm ripping through you, gasping Joel’s name. He sucks in a breath when your pussy clamps down on him, then loudly groans, continuing to fuck you through your high, and doesn’t stop—his fingers keep up their assault on your clit, and his hips snap into you in quick, short bursts that extend your high. You come, and come, and come to the point your arms give out, and your body shakes and twitches from all of the pleasure coursing through it.

When you think you can’t take any more, relief washes over you that Joel follows suit. With one last thrust, he buries himself all the way to the hilt inside you as he falls forward, his front framing your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. He comes with a dirty, rumbling groan—you feel his dick thicken and pulse, hot spurts of his spend filling you. He grinds his hips, fucking it as deep as it will go, then stills.

The movie’s ending credits are playing, hearing the music and your and Joel’s ragged breaths as you both come down. He’s at the same awkward angle as you, with your hips up and your faces down—his sweaty chest is pressed to your back, your bodies sticking together everywhere they touch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with how your limbs tremble, you’re not entirely sure you can even move.

You asked him to ruin you, and oh boy, did he deliver—you’re absolutely, positively ruined. It kills you that after whatever this night is, you’ll have to go back to subpar sex with guys who couldn’t find the clit if they were given a map and detailed directions. This is the second time tonight that you fear you’ve made a grave mistake hooking up with Joel, and the post-sex clarity is not helping the situation at all.

What were you thinking?

That’s easy; you weren’t. Or, at the very least, you weren’t thinking with your brain. Your pussy took the lead on this one, and it looks like she’s gotten you into a bit of a situation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Joel’s arm wraps around your middle, and he turns you two onto your sides, the couch just barely wide enough to fit you both.

“Tha’s better,” Joel slurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. His hand over your stomach feels around until he finds your smaller one, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest—oh, he’s cuddling with you. It’s unexpected and nice. You close your eyes and enjoy this taste of intimacy.

Many minutes pass before he mumbles something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry,” you start and are immediately embarrassed by how hoarse and scratchy your voice sounds from all the sounds you made tonight. You clear your throat and try again, “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

He turns his face so it’s out of your hair.

“I asked if you wanna stay over,” he says.

You smile. “Are you getting forgetful, Joel? You said I could stay over when I got here.”

“Fuckin’ smartass,” he grumbles, and you giggle. “What I meant was, do you wanna stay in my room? With me,” he clarifies.

“Only if you’re okay that I sleep naked—I’m not wearing my dress to bed.”

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d be naked.” He kisses your shoulder. “But if you’re more comfortable wearin’ somethin’, I can get you one of my t-shirts—it’s no big deal.”

“It baffles me that you’re single.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re incredibly sweet, amazing in bed, a great father, very handsome, hardworking, and just an all-around catch. If I had the opportunity, and you know, there wasn’t the elephant in the room—” The fact he’s much older than you and one of your dad’s best friends. “—I’d date you in a heartbeat. If you ever give dating a shot again, you’re going to make one lucky woman very happy.”

“Fuck,” Joel groans, letting go of your hand to press his palm to his face. “What the hell am I doin’?”

That makes your stomach drop, and you frown—he’s regretting everything, and you can’t blame him. The post-sex clarity is a real bitch sometimes.

“Stressing for no reason,” you reply. You’re pretty sure you can walk, so you get up from the sofa, ignoring how wobbly your legs feel and his come leaking down your thigh. “Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask, looking toward the floor for your clothes. “You let me stay the night ‘cause you were worried about me driving home in the dark.” You carefully bend down to pick up your thong, followed by your bra and dress. “We watched Die Hard,” you continue, straightening to stand. “Then turned in for the night to our respective bedrooms. You’re a real stand-up guy for caring so much about your friend’s daughter’s safety.”

You can’t even look at him, focusing instead on the TV where the Pearl Harbor DVD’s menu is on screen.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.”

“You clearly wish nothing happened, so nothing happened—where’s the bathroom?” You need to clean up, and you’re tempted to just leave altogether.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right—when the hell did I say I wished nothin’ happened?”

“You didn’t have to. Your ‘what the hell am I doin’?’ was enough for me to get it.” You hug your clothes closer to your body. “Anyways, thanks for tonight. I think I’m just gonna use the bathroom and get out of here. I don’t want you to worry, so I’ll stay at that cheap motel by the highway.” The sign said it was twenty-something dollars a night, and you can swing that. You start heading toward the stairs.

“Hey, stop.” You don’t. You keep walking, willing the unshed tears in your eyes not to fall.

Why are you so upset? You’re well aware that this can only be a one-time thing. It was something fun and sexy where you got to fuck the older, unattainable guy you’ve been crushing on for a while. It wasn’t anything serious, and couldn’t be anything serious, because there’s no future for you two together. Not when he’s a good friend of your father’s. That kills any chance of having a relationship with Joel.

What hurts is he regrets it and wishes it never happened—you’re a mistake, and who wants to be someone’s mistake?

His heavy footsteps sound behind you. “Darlin’, stop,” he says again, and you continue ignoring him. Fingers latch around your bicep and lightly tug. “Please, stop for a second. Talk to me.” Finally, you do as he’s requested, standing still in front of the staircase. He turns you to look at him in his big brown eyes, his hands holding your arms.

“I don’t wish nothin’ happened,” he says. “You were talkin’ about how if things were different, you’d date me, but since they are the way they are, you won’t. I was thinkin’ to myself ‘what the hell am I doin’ wishin’ you’d change your mind,’ when I know it’s for the best.”

“Oh—really?”

Hope swells in your chest, butterflies fluttering around in your tummy.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Tell me you want nothin’ more to do with me, and I’ll grab you a towel and some of my clothes so you can wash up and retire to the guest room unless you’re truly set on stayin’ in a motel. In that case, I’ll pay for your room somewhere safer and much nicer, so I know you’ll be okay. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and I’ll take you up to my bedroom so we can shower, either together or separately, whatever you’re comfortable with. Then we can get into my bed where we can talk and figure things out.”

It sounds like he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, and that makes you so happy you let your clothes fall to the floor to throw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. Joel groans, his arm sliding behind your back, hugging you closer to him, his other hand cradling your cheek. Suddenly, he’s backing you up until your heels hit the first step, and he guides you to sit on a higher one, Joel kneeling on a lower stair to be at the right height that his hips slot between your thighs when he lays you back. He licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

With how good he made you feel tonight, how wanted, you need more of him. There’s a looming fear in the back of your mind that this is too good to be true—that you’ll never be with him like this again, which makes you desperate for him. Your hand snakes its way between your bodies, taking his half-hard cock into your palm, slowly stroking it—a low rumble comes from the back of Joel’s throat. He gets his hand to the juncture of your thighs, sliding his fingers through the puffy lips of your sex, gathering your arousal and his come on his fingertips to rub at your swollen clit.

“You’re mine,” he says into your lips.

“I’m yours,” you answer.

This is how you end up fucking on the stairs, Joel thrusting into you at a pace that has your toes curled and your fingers gripping his ass—your spine tingles from his mouth exploring your neck, mapping out the spots that make you gasp and moan, and you’re in heaven.

A door slams shut on the other side of the railing, and your eyes fly open.

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls.

Joel’s hand covers your mouth, and you watch the intruder walk through the dining room to the kitchen without seeing you.

“I brought over pizza so you can stop bein’ a sad and lonely sonofabitch!”

Joel immediately pulls out and gets off you, using his strength to help you flip over. “Upstairs,” he whispers, tapping you on the hip, and you go as quickly and quietly as you can with Joel following.

You make it to the second-story landing, and he grabs your hand, tugging you all the way down the hall into what you know is his bedroom by how it smells like him. He closes the door and locks it before beelining to his dresser, roughly pulling out one drawer from which he grabs a burgundy t-shirt, then another that he gets a pair of stretchy gray sweatpants.

“Is this a dress?!” Is yelled from downstairs. “Do you have a girl over?! Who’d wanna fuck your sorry ass?!”

Surprisingly, the clothes in Joel’s hands are not for him; he shoves them into your arms and ushers you over to his bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he says, flicking on the light, the fan automatically turning on. “It’s Tommy. Stay in here, and I’ll kick him out.” Obnoxiously loud footsteps are coming up the stairs, and he has to take a deep breath, his eyes to the sky like he’s praying God will smite his brother right this second. “Lord, give me strength,” he breathes.

“Where would you even meet a girl?!” Tommy asks from the hallway. “All you do is work—you never go out.”

Joel pecks you on the lips. “I’ll be right back—stay in here,” he tells you again, and this time, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

There’s banging on the bedroom door, and your ears perk up as you put on the clothes.

“Go home, Tommy,” he says.

“Not until I know who this pretty dress belongs to.”

“Give me that—it’s none of your fuckin’ business. Leave.”

“Come on, Joel—we know the same people. Did you finally give in to Nikki? She’s wanted to go out with you for a long fuckin’ time.”

“No, and it’s still none of your fuckin’ business who I have in the house I pay for. So, get goin’, or I’m gonna make you go.”

“You can be a real dick, Joel. Why are you bein’ so fuckin’ secretive?”

“Do I ask about who you take home from the bar?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” Joel interrupts. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you what I do in mine, so leave, Tommy—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“With how fuckin’ grouchy you are, I don’t think you got laid at all—I’m gonna get goin’ ‘cause you clearly need the company of a woman. Bye, mystery woman with the pretty dress hidin’ in Joel’s bathroom!” he yells. “Hopefully you can cheer this fucker up! Enjoy the pizza!”

It goes quiet, and you think Joel left the room, too. You can’t go anywhere, so you decide to take in your surroundings—the bathroom is cleaner than you’d expect from a single man, you have to put the toilet seat down when you pee, and as you’re washing your hands, you notice there’s only one toothbrush in a cup.

You know you shouldn’t snoop, but you pull open the medicine cabinet and find an extra tube of toothpaste, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, a thing of pain relief cream, then a shelf with a few medicine bottles that intrigues you—prescription pain pills, antidepressants, and heartburn medication. No red flags, but you’re a little worried about how much pain he’s in. You close the cabinet, and soft knocking on the bathroom door makes you jump.

“You can come out,” Joel’s muffled voice says. “He’s gone.”

Walking over to the door, you open it, Joel leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants he must’ve put on before talking to Tommy.

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.”

“Seems nice—if I remember correctly, he’s younger, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains how annoying he is.”

He smiles, and an amused huff leaves him. “Yeah, he’s annoyin’ alright.”

“We have the house to ourselves?”

“We do—I walked him out myself.”

You grin. “Wonderful.” You grab a fistful of his shirt. “Because I think you said something about us showering together, and I’d like to do that right now, then go eat pizza—I’ve somehow worked up an appetite,” you tell him and pull him forward; he happily comes your way with a smirk.

“Worked up an appetite, huh?” he asks, his eyes on your mouth.

“Yes. No clue how.”

He closes the distance, his lips almost touching yours, when he replies, “Let me remind you how,” and kisses you.

An hour later, you’re walking down the stairs clean and in your borrowed clothes.

“Can we eat then go to bed?” you ask, through a yawn. “I had classes today, and that long ass drive, plus all the sex. I’m so damn tired.”

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, too. That sounds good to me.”

The only lights on downstairs are the lamps in the living room. You walk into the dark kitchen, Joel flipping on the light as he follows, and you head for the stove where the pizza is, popping open the box to see it’s pepperoni.

“I’ll grab us some plates,” Joel says, rubbing your upper arms. He kisses the top of your head before stepping over to a cabinet.

Turning around, you’re about to ask Joel where the cups are when the dining room light comes on, Tommy standing by the switch. You gasp in shock; Joel’s immediate reaction is to grab a knife from the knife block and get between you and the unwanted visitor—it takes him a second to recognize it’s his brother.

“Goddammit, Tommy!” Joel shouts and slams the butcher knife onto the countertop. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?!”

“No,” his brother answers, shaking his head, and he looks a little too amused. “But you sure the hell are! Her?!” He points at you and has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, god, Joel,” he says through his glee and grabs the back of a chair, his other hand on his chest as he chuckles. “Her daddy is gonna kill you—you’re fucked!”

Joel sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, perching a palm on his hip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’m a dead man walking.”

“You are!” Tommy calms down, and his shit-eating grin annoys you. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asks. “I mean, I know what you were thinkin’. I just can’t get over you not only robbin’ the fuckin’ cradle, but bangin’ your best buddy’s daughter. How long has whatever this is—” He gestures at you both. “—been goin’ on?”

“It just happened tonight—I don’t need you lecturin’ me on right and wrong. I know it’s a fucked up situation.”

A fucked up situation? Ouch. The comment has you crossing your arms over your chest, staring at the floor.

“Fucked up is right, and I’ve got no fuckin’ idea how you’re gonna get out of it. Her daddy finds out about this, and he’s gonna shoot you deader than dead.”

“I told you I didn’t want you lecturin’ me.”

Tommy puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m not lecturin’. I’m just statin’ the facts. I wanna make sure you know this thing between you two could get you killed. You’ve got a daughter, Joel—what would you do in this situation?”

“Woah,” you interrupt, moving to stand beside Joel—Tommy’s comment about Sarah is a fucking nuke you need to try and hopefully defuse. “First of all, I just want to point out that I am a consenting adult and can fuck whoever I want. Second, I need to set the record straight and say that my dad isn’t going to kill anyone. He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out, but he isn’t going to commit murder because, truth be told, he’s never given a fuck about my life choices. I’d also like to add that this is kinda his fault for not having me visit more often because now Joel and I are pretty much strangers, and this whole thing isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“It’s still pretty bad, honey,” Tommy replies, his attention turning to you, smiling.

“Maybe, but it’s also nobody’s business who I fuck.”

“Sure, but this person you fucked is one of your daddy’s best friends whose—no offense—way too old for you.”

“Why does everyone keep callin’ me old?” Joel grumbles.

Tommy looks at his brother. “‘Cause you are, you old man.” He suddenly looks like he just realized something. “Wait a goddamn minute,” Tommy says. “Joel, are you havin’ a midlife crisis? You’re around the age people have those, right? It’d make sense why you’d risk your life to fuck her.”

“Get out, Tommy,” Joel replies, pointing toward the front door. “I’ve had enough of you.”

His younger brother pouts. “‘Cause I called you old?”

“Out.”

“Fine.” He slowly starts walking toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair so the two of you can enjoy the rest of your night. Bye!”

The door loudly closes as he leaves.

Well, you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen now. Between the comment about Sarah and the other things that had been said, you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel ends this. You might as well cut your losses and get it over with to save yourself from more heartbreak.

Your eyes are on the ground, the first tear falling down your cheek. “After all that, I know whatever this is is probably over,” you quietly say. “But is there a chance I can still sleep in your bed with you tonight? And if you’re willing, have you hold me?”

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” he answers and kisses your hair. “But I’m gonna need you to stop.”

You lean back to look at him with watery eyes. “Stop what?”

A sad smile is on his lips. “Jumpin’ to conclusions without talkin’ to me. You’ve already got one foot out the door, and I haven’t even opened it.”

“It’s just everything Tommy said.”

He lightly squeezes your biceps. “Tommy was bein’ a little shit. You were right when you said this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but you gotta be honest with me about somethin’.”

“What?” you ask.

His hands come up to hold your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Are you positive your daddy won’t kill me? I’ve got Sarah to think about, and even though I like you a lot, I’m not gonna risk dyin’ to be happy.”

The sweetest man and the best father.

You think about it for a second, and the sad truth is you can’t imagine your dad killing anyone for you—he doesn’t love you that much. He doesn’t love you to the same degree that Joel loves Sarah. With how easily Joel grabbed a knife to protect you, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d kill for his daughter without hesitation.

“He’ll be pissed off, but he isn’t going to kill you. We also don’t need to tell him anything unless this turns into something. We can keep it to ourselves for now.”

He hums in agreement. “You know, if you wanted, you could start comin’ here to do your laundry...”

You smile. “How will you explain that to Sarah?”

“That I’m helpin’ you out, which is true. Plus, I’ve got the guest room.”

“Uh huh, the guest room that I’ll sleep in?”

“Yes.” He nods.

“Alone?”

“I sleepwalk.”

You snort. “Stop it.” You playfully push his chest. “Sarah is not gonna believe you sleepwalked into the guest room.”

He snatches your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. “Who said anythin’ about Sarah knowin’ I’m in the guest room, or you bein’ in my room for that matter, while she’s sleepin’? There are also nights like tonight she spends with friends.”

“You really want me to hang out here?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have company that isn’t Tommy.”

“I believe that. As long as I’m not a bother, I’ll do my laundry here.”

He smiles. “Not a bother, and you can wash your clothes tomorrow and stay another night. You could even stay over Sunday, too, since you have Monday off—you’re more than welcome.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, Joel. I will spend my long weekend with you.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours. “Good.”

Main Masterlist

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#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #joel miller fanfiction

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bitchy-craft · 2 months ago

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PICK A CARD: Song lyrics that describe your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you song lyrics that describe your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here the 18+ version is here

Pile 1:

“You’re still the one I run to, the one that I belong to / You’re still the one I want for life.” – Still the One – Shania Twain

“I’ve loved you for a thousand years / I’ll love you for a thousand more.” – A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

“I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets / To carry love, to carry children of our own.” – Perfect – Ed Sheeran

“I never thought I'd be in love with you / But I guess that it was meant to be.” – You and Me – Lifehouse

“You are the one, I will love forever / You are the one, I will never leave.” – I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston

“And I can't help falling in love with you.” – Can't Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley

“The more I think about it, the more I think about you / I just want to be with you.” – Everything – Michael Bublé

“You are my best friend, but I also love you / I love the way you look at me.” – I’m Yours – Jason Mraz

“When I look in your eyes, I see forever / And I know I don’t have to go anywhere.” – All of Me – John Legend

“I knew I loved you before I met you / I think I dreamed you into life.” – I Knew I Loved You – Savage Garden

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Pile 2:

“And I’ll be your friend / I’ll help you carry on / For it won’t be long / ‘Til I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.” – Lean on Me – Bill Withers

“When I fall in love, it will be forever / Or I’ll never fall in love.” – When I Fall in Love – Nat King Cole

“You’re the one that I want / You are the one I want / Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey.” – You're the One That I Want – John Travolta & Olivia Newton-John

“And I can’t help but wonder, how much you love me.” – I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You – Elvis Presley

“The way you look at me / The way you touch me / The way you love me / It feels so good.” – I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing – Aerosmith

“I’ll be your shelter / I’ll be your armor / I’ll be your strength / I’ll be your love.” – I’ll Be Your Shelter – Taylor Dayn

“No one ever loved me like you do, / Oh, you’re the only one I see / You’ve got to keep me by your side.” – Only One – The Chainsmokers

“I’ll be right here / I’ll be right here waiting for you.” – Right Here Waiting – Richard Marx

“You're my only reason, you're my only truth / I was born to love you.” – I Was Born to Love You – Queen

“I don’t need a lot of things / I can get by with nothing / But all I need is you.” – I Don’t Need Anything But You – From Annie

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Pile 3:

“We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight / We don’t have to talk, it’s alright / Just be my woman tonight.” – Let's Stay Together – Al Green

“Love is all around me, and so the feeling grows / It’s written on the wind, it’s everywhere I go.” – Love is All Around – Wet Wet Wet

“The harder I try to forget / The harder it gets / I will be here.” – I Will Be Here – Steven Curtis Chapman

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been, I’ll make it right / I’m sorry for the times I haven’t been the one you need.” – Sorry – Beyoncé

“And if you’re feeling scared, you can take my hand / And we’ll fight through it together, you and me.” – Fighter – Christina Aguilera

“We fight, we laugh, we make up / We cry, we laugh, we fall apart / But we’re still standing here.” – You’re Still the One – Shania Twain

“There’s no place like home, you’re where I want to be / So don’t fight it, baby, just be with me.” – Home – Michael Bublé

“I’ll be the one to hold you tight / The one to make things right / After all the times we’ve tried.” – Make It Right – Backstreet Boys

“I’ll never give up on us / I’ll never give up on love.” – Never Give Up On Us – David Soul

“We’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other.” – Perfect – Pink

extended reading > 18+ version > paid readings

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burymagdalene · 3 months ago

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Heat Lightning: Part I – Smyster - S. Reid x Reader

When the team joins another behavioral analysis unit in an attempt to help them track down a serial killer attacking throughout Texas, Spencer finds himself drawn to the new profiler aiding in the investigation. Working alongside her, Spencer begins to feel a deeper connection, both professionally and personally as he yearns to know her more intimately.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Angst (Criminal minds thriller themes) & fluff tags: Spencer Reid x bau!female reader, bloodsplatteranalyst!reader, reader has bruises from a case, a tad suggestive, Spencer is horny and scared, murder, kidnappings, graphic depictions of yearning, dangerous heat wave, reader is a little cold and misunderstood… not by Spencer though! wc: 6.2k a/n: Part 1/2 of my bau!reader duology! I really wanted to give myself enough space to be able to write all the build up and the longing and the pining that I wanted and that Spencer is capable of!

Smyster

Scots; to smile to yourself while you daydream.

The first time Spencer saw you was when you exhibited a brutal beauty– a bloody nose and black eye as you walked out of the room he had just entered with quick feet as you rudely bump into his shoulder upon your exit.

The BAU was called in to help alongside your team in a case in Texas, though the department you worked for had credible merit, whatever psychopaths you were working with needed the folks in Quantico for extra help.

Only slightly vexed (overdressed for the unrelenting sun), more confused, Spencer does a double take at your unit chief in his bewilderment.

“Don’t worry. She’s fussy about needing extra help even though her face looks worse than the unsub’s partner, and he’s dead.”

“A profiler?” Spencer mutters and looks behind him through the small glass window of the door to see you sitting on a desk talking to someone else on your team, arms crossed.

“Yeah. Came from forensic science, blood splatter analyst, decided to keep her around. Weird chick, definitely a hemophiliac.”

“Hm. I think you mean hematolagniac.” Spencer makes eye contact with you through the window. “Do you usually criticize your team behind their back?”

“Whatever, kid. You’ll get it when you talk to her.”

Head aching, and sweat prickling his hairline, Hotchner interrupts their strange first impression.

“SSA, Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid, our expert on well- everything. SSA Morgan, Greenaway, and our communication liaison Jennifer Jareau. We understand that these mass serial murders are being enacted in a killing team, but the dominant partner is yet to be found?”

One last up and down at Spencer and the other unit chief replies, “Correct. Seems like they were working as a pair in serial-turned-spree killings all over Houston. Caught the submissive earlier today and nearly wiped out a couple members of our team. We barely have a handle on the media, it’s absolute pandemonium all over Texas. Too much for us to handle alone, so we called you in.”

Hotchner nods curtly, Spencer can tell by the way his eyebrows pinch that he’s already overwhelmed. "We'll take a look over the behavioral profile you’ve begun. Let’s get the details on the submissive’s history, who they’ve interacted with, and what we can learn about their relationship dynamic. We need to understand what keeps them tethered to the dominant. We’ll also help control the media fallout. Get ahead of the narrative before it spirals further. JJ, meet with the folks with the Texas Tribune, we need to stave off mass panic.”

The door swings open, Spencer can feel eyes on the back of his neck before speaking, “I’m guessing the ‘spree’ part is the hard part. The submissive may be trying to protect the dominant. Any intel on him?”

The unit chief exhales sharply, eyes narrowed. "The dominant? They’re careful. Smart. And best believe the submissive may be the key to finding them. But he was shot before he gave us any information. We need leverage.”

Hotchner looks at each of them, then turns back to the chief. “We’ll start with your submissive. They’re our first lead.”

After setting up shop, Spencer has heard enough gossip from his team and yours to have his interest increasingly heightened and to be thoroughly frightened. Fifteen men and women have died in the past three days, bodies scattered in no recognizable pattern, and five currently missing. The missing persons billboard was enough to churn his stomach.

Battered and bruised, he looks at you pouring coffee from the corner of the office. He now has more of an explanation for your crudeness, not that it even affected him. He doesn’t know you. Once cornered, unsub number 1, Darren Hawthorn, responded with immediate hostility, butcher knife in hand approaching you before being shot by another member on your team.

A clusterfuck of a case.

Not that he’s profiling you, but he is. Your self confidence is shot after your boss called the Quantico BAU in. Shell Shocked by the attack and humiliated by the call for help- you had no desire to talk to this new team that is making you feel less than adequate.

But if he was going to help with this case, the two teams are going to have to trust each other. Spencer is going to have to understand the person with the most interaction with Hawthorn before his passing, you.

Tapping his fingernails anxiously on the wooden desk, Spencer stands to approach where you’re languidly sipping the black coffee.

“Ahem. Excuse me? I’m Dr. Reid. Um, Dr. Spencer Reid. I thought to introduce myself and ask you a few questions about Darren Hawthorn, if that’s ok?”

With a brutally slow turn, you look over your shoulder with a scowl, albeit, one that was smaller than the scowl you gave him when he first walked in. The sensitive skin under your right eye is bruised, matching the bruise on your cheek. Lip swollen and cut.

“I don’t really think we need any help.” You settle on after a beat of silence.

Tell that to your black eye, he thinks.

“Um. Regardless if you do… we’re here and I’m willing to help. You’re hurt pretty badly too. Is there anything specific you noticed about the manner Hawthorn attacked, he used his fists, which was obviously different from the butcher knife wounds on the victims. He was armed with one too, right?”

“Yeah, well he wasn’t trying to kill me. Kicked my ribs really hard too. Some sort of humiliation ritual, I think. Now there’s a whole new team here, and we have to spend precious time explaining the details to you all when we can handle it. Embarrassing.”

You turn around to face him, placing your mug on the table.

“Ha, hot coffee is an interesting choice, it’s so hot out here.”

Spencer is met with two wide eyed and expressionless blinks. He has a desperate nagging feeling to start off on a good foot with you, he tries again.

“I don’t think you should be embarrassed. A-actually. A few months ago we were working with um, an LDSK, a long distance-”

“I know what it is.”

“S-sorry, of course you do. Um. A LDSK, and he held me and my unit chief hostage. In order to manipulate him, SSA Hotchner had to pretend to have all these grievances towards me. Asked to kick the crap out of me so I could grab his gun from his leg. Anyway, I got a faux belittling session and a few hard kicks to the ribs. We all go through embarrassing stuff.” He punctuates his story with a tight-lipped smile.

She smiles!

A small up-turn to the corner of your cut lip after he finishes. He feels himself getting uncomfortably nervous. Spencer realizes he finds you incredibly beautiful.

A wince– the smile you cracked making your cut lip sting. You bring a finger to touch the wound lightly, checking for blood.

“That make you feel better?” Spencer can’t help but continue. The conversation ending is stressing him out, words coming out in an unconscious stream.

“It did. I can imagine that. Vividly.”

“Okay. Well I’m going to try to not take offense to that.”

You smile again, awkwardly, trying to keep one side of your mouth from turning up and sequentially wincing another time while laughing. It makes Spencer’s heart flutter.

It makes him laugh.

“W-what?” Your brows furrow to their defensive default mode again.

Spencer fumbles. He’s not sure what to say. Hurting your feelings is the exact opposite reaction he wants from you.

“You just- um. I hope your lip heals quickly.”

He’s forgetting he’s also talking to a profiler. You read him quickly, social cues sharper than Spencers by a long shot. Like bells ringing in your ears, you know what he was smiling at.

“It kind of makes me look tough. Um. Ha, searing pain still though.”

“Well, lips heal relatively fast. They have a rich blood supply-”

You cut him off with a laugh.

“You’re singing to the choir, Dr. Reid. I know.”

Shame creeps up his spine. Twice now he’s rambled off on things it would be considered foolish of you not to know, he can’t help himself from running his mouth. Forensic science, Spencer. Blood splatter analyst, Spencer!

“Your unit chief did mention forensic science, I apologize.”

“That’s alright.” you move and pick up your mug of coffee again, “It tastes better when it’s incredibly hot out.”

“I don’t- that can’t be true, it’s unbearable in here.”

“Because you’re wearing a shirt, vest, and blazer. Try it.” Your hands push out your cup as an offering. Spencer's gaze flickers over your knuckles rubbed raw before anxiety settles in his limbs about what was happening before him.

Spencer takes your mug. The rim has a small chip that makes him think, just like its owner's lip. He lifts to his mouth and takes a scalding sip. The flavor is what offends him first, no sugar either. The warmth is second to it, Spencer just wanting to chug water after to rinse the murky taste out of his mouth.

He must’ve been wearing a disgraced look on his face as you start laughing at his reaction. He’s never had much control over his facial expressions. Before he can reply, Derek has sauntered over.

“He usually takes about a gallon of sugar in his coffee. I wonder why he’d be so open to sharing like that. Complex guy.” Voice coated in sarcasm, Spencer’s embarrassed pink flush develops at the top of his chest.

“It- it’s just two teaspoons usually!”

“Two teaspoons, where?”

Unnaturally offended by Morgan’s teasing in the face of somebody he was trying to impress, he shifts his gaze over to scan your face for judgment. A small exhale of relief through his nose when there’s not. Just your fingers pressed slightly to your cut as you smile a wide grin looking over to him.

“Dr. Reid, you have to stop making me smile or my cut is going to reopen.”

𓆱

Spencer is cursing himself for his attire as he’s posted in a junkyard with an uncompromising sun shining down on him. As he looks into the distance he can see the heat moving against the air in small swirls and currents.

There was a report from the junkyard's owner that a car model that matched the unsub’s license plate was dropped off earlier today to be crushed. Since the junkyard might be linked to the suspect in some way, Spencer and Derek are watching for any suspicious activity around the junkyard to see if the unsub returns, attempts to retrieve something, or communicates with anyone.

While Derek and another member from your team are looking at the car for any evidence left behind; blood, weapons, fingerprints, Spencer sits on an old lawn chair from the yard as he squints through his sunglasses for any suspicious activity.

The second day on the case trumps the first in terms of heat. Spencer picks at the skin of his thumb to avoid focusing all his attention on the inescapable summer heatwave clogging his lungs.

His mind feels heavy and hazy. Waiting is the worst part. Beside him plays an old radio that’s reporting live news updates, he’s listening through the static to hear if any confidential information gets released after JJ’s meeting with them. Damage control playing the role of short form entertainment.

“Hey! Come here, we found something!”

Rolling out of the chair he was sitting on painfully stiff as the percentages of germs on unused junk rattle off in his brain like atoms bouncing off each other’s repulsive electromagnetic forces, Spencer makes his way to the pried open trunk.

“Yeesh.” Is all he can make out upon first glance. Different patterns of wet to dry splotches of blood adorned the fabric upholstery and rusted metal of the roof. There must have been way more victims than what he anticipated.

So the unsub has never even been bothered to clean where he has stored endless wounded bodies. Interesting. This clearly showcases how blasé it all has been to him, how certain he is in never being caught.

“Let me call Hotchner, he can notify any medical examiners on sight.” Derek adds with an affronted groan. He turns away from the trunk, avoiding its Pollock of gore.

The other profiler Spencer has yet to be introduced to speaks up, “No need,” a slight laugh forming in his tone, “We can handle this ourselves. We’ve got forensic pathology on our team.”

Spencer’s head snaps to your teammates fingers dialing your number. His heart starts pounding. He hasn’t seen you since yesterday, Spencer nearly forgot that he went up to you to console you about his being there. This is indeed that being there.

With a few items left on the floor of the car being placed into plastic baggies for evidence, Spencer’s skin flushes underneath his rubber gloves as he hears the tell-tale sound of a car grinding over compacted dirt as you enter the crime scene.

Riddled with nerves, when he looks over to the sound of the door closing, he keeps his head low as if not to seem too eager to see you. Backfiring immediately, Spencer is met with brown boots and jean shorts that make him move his eyes up to your face in fear of staring too long and seeming inappropriate.

“Hey.” you start, walking briskly over to the trunk, shooting Spencer a look from above your sunglasses that makes his stomach tumble over itself.

He tries to blink away the stars in his eyes at your personalized greeting towards him. Spencer does not need you to think he’s the freak on the team who grins ear to ear next to a car trunk covered in blood.

You step forward, leaning over the trunk briefly, carefully eyeing a particularly grotesque smear that leads to a dark corner of the space. The layers are thick, chock-full and stacked upon each other, creating shadows of different shades etched everywhere.

The darkest areas are so thick that there is a noticeable protrusion due to the layering that juts out from the wall. Dark and oppressive, the red bleeds so inky that they appear to be holding secrets– secrets about the victims' last moments– secrets like dark corners closing in around Spencer. A deep red akin to the darkness he stares into at night that mobilizes his fears and plays tricks on his eyes.

Spencer’s gut tightens, woozy and sweaty from the suffocating heat and dreary images in front of him.

Trying to focus through the dizziness swirling in his head, his throat tightens, but he forces himself to speak. “What do you think happened here?”

A soft hum, a gentle noise that acts as a soothing cool across his warmed forehead– “Yeah. This suggests they were either dragged or forced to move here after the initial injury, look. The pooling blood… it’s like it didn’t just happen all at once. It layers overtime. The peeling here shows that it’s not new. It could be a week or days old, it’s hard to tell because it’s so hot out, that could impact the drying process.”

Spencer forces his burning gaze off your cheek to the protruding splotch on the wall, where the blood has dried in almost mutilated ridges.

“It looks like something was… lodged there. Like someone fell against it.” He takes a slow breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. “Sorry.”

“Right,” you comfort, “So obviously his drive to take victims to their specific drop off points to die entails there’s significance in the different locations. Even though they’ve all been different.”

Derek clears his throat, “What do you make of the really dark places? It’s like there’s intention in having the wound bleed out over the same spot, nowhere else looks like that corner. Surely it’d be difficult and out of his way to position them to be bleeding out in identical areas of the trunk.”

You exhale softly, your tone dry. “Mhm. And it's not just about the blood. It’s about what the blood’s telling us about what happened before. Whoever left this, they didn’t just hurt the victim… they tried to erase something, cover something up in my opinion.”

Spencer picks anxiously at his skin again, “So, they wanted the victim’s last moments to disappear. Have every ending the exact same way to remove individuality.”

Meeting his eyes, you smile softly, seeing through this inopportune moment of weakness for Spencer. “Nasty stuff. That's what we need to figure out. What they were hiding in this before the blood.”

𓆱

Both teams called in, the junkyard is swarming with agents and police officers. Spencer’s back on the longchair he wished he’d seen the last of, but with this heat he has no other choice but to sit down.

Standing, no, looming over where his bad posture droops him over his knees, you cast an observant and protective eye on him.

“You alright?”

Despite the swelling in his throat, he has no qualms with responding to you.

“I’m really hot.”

“It gets pretty dangerous being outside for extended periods of time in this heat wave. How long have you been out here?”

“Hm. Four hours and twelve minutes.”

You smack your lips at him, “You’re going to get a sunburn.”

Spencer's eyes crack open then. He wasn’t even thinking about that.

“Actually,” you begin, a teasing voice beginning to take over your usual cadence, “I think I can see some pink already on the back of your neck.”

Before Spencer can retaliate, mutter something along the lines of: No! I’m just blushing! or No! A sunburn on top of everything would send me spiralling!, he feels the gentle pressure of your nail pointing, grazing, against the back of his neck.

Out of a flustered reflex, he brings his hand to swap away your finger. Instead of getting offended, you giggle at him, the same finger checking your lip again. Within 48 hours you’ve developed a nervous tick– checking that cut religiously. Spencer is reminded that just the other day you could’ve been killed, he feels guilty about whapping your hand like a stuck up cat.

“Sorry. I didn’t hurt you did I?” He mumbles to his feet, too shy to meet your gaze all of a sudden.

“Are you kidding? You’re fine, I’m not made of glass.”

The tone of your sentence decrescendos into a smaller, less confident delivery. Halfway through realizing the irony in your statement being muttered through battered lips. You sigh gently, reminded how indicative your bruising is of what you went through, walking around with a scarlet letter that demands unwanted remorseful attention.

Trying to change the topic as soon as you are able you start up again, “I have some. In the car. Would you like-”

“Yes. Yeah, please.” Spencer does a gentle laugh in return. He does not know how to act around you, it pains him like for the first time he has no knowledge on a subject that he deeply longs to– you.

Spencer’s tongue runs languidly over his bottom lip, as a balm or as an anticipatory reflex, could be anybody’s guess, as he watches you speed walk to your car.

He starts to roll up his sleeves, sacrificing sun protection for the release of built up heat that seems to engulf him more as you’re around. It’s frustrating, he thought living through the childhood crushes he’s had on girls damaging his esteem would be enough to release him from these encompassing thoughts of touch. Of skin on skin contact.

That’s what it is too, childish. The way he’s fawning and fidgeting with tension around you— it’s taking him back to being fifteen and irritable with hormones. Yet here he is, unprepared and floundering once again in the presence of a pretty face, pretty mind, worst of all.

Spencer, like it or not, is back where he promised himself never to be again after he was tied to a goalpost and humiliated for believing a girl had a crush on him.

Indeed back, he scratches his arm and curiously eyes you under the hidden confines of his dark sunglasses. If he slips, the staring could be seen as a gaze towards you as if you were a popsicle that he could be licking to placate his whirling sun kissed skin. Maybe it would be mango? No, lime. Sour and sweet that not everyone has a taste for. Licking and licking as it melts under the woozy rays of sun, dripping down Spencer’s fingers.

But that’s definitely not what his staring is about…

Just before Spencer’s thoughts can get into uncharted territory you’re walking back over to where he’s sitting, SPF 50 shining in front of him so confrontational he gets awkward thinking about everyone on site seeing his unfortunate need for it.

Making eye contact with it momentarily, he shifts his eyes up to your face, your eyebrows raised slightly. Hand still holding it out for Spencer to take.

A second passes, then, “Are you going to take it?”

Shaking his head to reset his social battery, Spencer laughs at himself and takes it from your hand. “Sorry, thank you, I just…”

“Dr. Reid, did you think I was going to put it on for you?”

“What? No!” His voice raising in pitch, maybe he was waiting for that. “It’s just- too hot to think straight. It’s Spencer. Ahem.”

“Huh?”

“Um, it’s Spencer. You should call me Spencer. Not Dr. Reid.”

“Okay, Spencer.”

Then, something strange happens. For the first time since you’ve met, Spencer notices a dip in your steadfast manner. A small glimpse into a shy response that gives him a sense of hope that he can’t quite identify.

He can make you nervous?

𓆱

Out of harm's way from the steady calefaction in which the temperature has been loyal to all day, Spencer and his team are sitting inside a muggy office eating sandwiches. Your team is paralleled and eating across the room, a less personable and warm way about them.

Placing his sandwich down, Spencer rattles off more of his thoughts on the case that have been plaguing him, “The unsub’s apparent desire to control and avoid leaving traces of himself could indicate a need for perfection, but also a desire for power over life and death. This could be a psychopathic personality with deep narcissistic tendencies.”

Spencer’s not the only one sensitive to the incapacitating heat, he gets nods and hums of acknowledgement in return.

Elle breaks the silence, “Look at that. Don’t you think it’s weird that we’re not all sitting together? Aren’t we supposed to be working as a team?”

With a nod of agreement JJ confirms some of her suspicions, “I’ve never seen a unit work together like this. They don’t work well with each other, or some do and some don’t. I can’t imagine having to work in that environment.”

He casts his eyes across the room, seeing the group of men give each other the cold shoulder. Eyebrows furrowing, he realizes you’re not with them. Like his thoughts manifested you, there’s a soft yet unmistakable clatter of your boots as you approach their table, lunch in hand.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

As if you had asked Spencer directly, and not the entirety of the table, every member turns and looks over to Spencer.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

“Thanks. They’re tough to be around sometimes.”

Sitting down next to Spencer you begin to eat. A slight brush of your knee against his has him slowing his eating to not choke and die in front of everybody he knows.

Elle smiles, “I can imagine. I noticed the all-male team. How’s that?”

Groaning around your sandwich you roll your eyes, “Miserable. You are so lucky I swear-”

Breaking any illusion of teamwork and solidarity, your unit chief appears with a deep frown. He clears his throat to interrupt you, “When this is over we need to have a discussion about your attire.”

“W-what?”

Eyebrows around the table shoot up in disbelief at the public scolding. Spencer recalls earlier, your unit chief describing you as weird. He definitely has a one-sided reservation towards you, oozing misogyny.

“We’re working on a murder case. There needs to be professional boundaries to follow. Shorts and a tanktop do not qualify.”

“Sir, it’s 110 degrees out, if I wore pants I could pass out when I’m on the field.” Spencer watches you fall into yourself, demeanor and confidence dwindling.

“Well. I’m not making a scene in front of these lovely folks here. Just keep that in mind, please.”

With a spin of his heels he retreats back into a smaller office, discusses with police officers working the case as they shake their heads, probably in reprimand.

“S-sorry. Wow. I don’t know what that was. I apologize.” Your eyes fall to your hands on your lap, embarrassment creasing into your previously bright eyes.

“That’s absolutely ridiculous. Do not apologize to us, please.” Elle supplies with a wave of her hand trying to dissipate the tension.

Spencer knocks his knee into yours again, “He seems like he doesn’t understand how important you are to the team.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that-”

“I would. They’d be utterly lost without your help. Seriously.” Spencer finalizes.

Without a second thought, he gets an idea. A stupid, smitten, and gooey with intent idea that pulls the strings to make his fingers move without his brain consenting fully. With idle fingers he begins loosening his tie, fingers smoothly pulling it down and over his head as he removes it fully.

A small smile tugs his lips as he places his tie around your neck. A silence falls at the table that flies over Spencer’s head– his focus stuck on cheering you up. Quickly, he fastens it around your neck again, trying to avoid brushing his fingers against your throat, but failing a couple times. The electricity from the miniscule contact intimidating him.

“There. Professional enough now.”

Slight goosebumps raise on your neck, as you laugh with a shocked expression. Way too much attention towards you in the past five minutes to know what to do with.

Spencer’s tie is now properly fixed around your exposed neck, your tanktop and shorts are completed into pseudo-professional garb, alerting the ridiculousness of the situation. More important, alerting the team of Spencer’s infatuation towards a certain blood splatter analysis.

Running a soft hand down the expanse of his tie you speak through your grin, “Yeah, I definitely feel more status-quo. Thank you.” Finishing with a giggle, you look away from Spencer and towards the widened eyes around you.

Not able to contain himself, Derek finishes sipping his drink and blurts, “Man, you really aren’t hiding anything.”

“Well, I... it’s just...” Spencer starts, before cutting himself off with a deep breath. “I mean, it’s not…look, it's just a tie, okay?”

He can barely even move let alone glance at your face, though he can feel your eyes looking at him.

“Sure, loverboy.” Derek adds, leaning back in his chair with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just a tie. Keep telling yourself that. Never seen you so affectionate.”

Embarrassment gripping his throat and strangling him, Spencer knows he’s overreacting but he can’t help the feeling of betrayal, even if it was teasing. So he can avoid spilling a defense or risk another trembling response, Spencer gets up silently to go to the bathroom. Through the ringing in his ears he hears Elle’s simple scolding, “Derek.”

Turning on the faucet he splashes freezing water over his skin, hoping that this can possibly wash away his feelings over the past few days. His obsession, his yearning, all the fascination and disgust. Spencer wants the chrysalis he’s developed during this case to peel off and roll down with the droplets of water to spiral into the sewage drains. Leaving who he was before meeting you, before coming to Texas.

Face framing pieces of his hair are becoming increasingly more wet as he continues his washing, face pink from the bitterly cold water repeatedly splashed.

Spencer gets only a few moments with his face in the sink before the bathroom door swings open. He sees the tie first, a mocking symbol now instead of a cute peace offering as he expected. Then,

“Spencer?” Your soft voice echoes off the walls in the empty bathroom creating a sensual reverberation, it’s painstaking for him.

“Wh- what? You can’t be in here. This is the men’s-”

“Are you being serious?”

You make eye contact through the mirror.

“I’m. I don’t know what I’m being.” Spencer acquiesced once catching your eyeline.

“You’re being silly.” You maneuver yourself so your backside is pushed against the sink where Spencer is leaning over.

With how the vulnerability of showing his feelings has led him to punishment in the past, Spencer can’t help but feel a looming cloud over him at his twice removed confession of enamorment. He feels like he’s crossed a professional boundary, like he’s made you uncomfortable. Spencer could’ve gone the rest of his life hiding these feelings that have lit a fire in his stomach, and now they’re out in the open.

“I’m sorry. I am- I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He settles on as a response.

“Oh. You’ve misread the situation. You haven’t made me uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, maybe I’ve-”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable. I mean, you do. But in a way that feels good.”

You laugh briefly and cover your mouth with your hand, you don’t think laughing in his face would serve him any good right now.

“So, that’s settled. Truce?”

Spencer’s grin comes back, shakes his head while muttering, “Truce.”

You stretch out a hand- “Oh come on, we have to shake on it.”

Without noticing how this moment would be Spencer’s point of no return, he brings up his hand and wraps it in yours. The spark that he’s gotten small flickers of while brushing against you or staring in your eyes when you explain something widens enough to engulf him fully.

The handshake lingers longer than any “truce” handshake in all of history, Spencer thinks. The air shifts in a way he’s not ready for, and suddenly, the playful tension you’ve been riding on seems to have deepened.

You flash him the same smile you’ve always given him, full of expression he’s never been exposed to before. An adoration he’s been too scared to dwell on but now something’s changed. You both know it. Neither of you address it, but its presence is unavoidable now, hanging between you now like a concaving sinkhole.

Both of your eyes glimmer with the raw intimacy of sharing an unspoken secret.

𓆱

The following day a pressure washer was used on the inside of the car trunk after the blood covering everything was properly analyzed, a process in which he watched you perform with wide eyes across the brutally air conditioned lab.

The rubbery smack of medical gloves being removed from your skin breaks the silence of the room, “It’s incredible that all the different splatters match the victims, and he never managed to leave one drop of blood from himself. Crazy odds.”

“Could be a clean freak, or just meticulous. The odds of him not leaving any fingerprints in a controlled space where they’ve been actively moving around and committing murders is extremely low.”

“The chances go up too when working with this much blood, a fingerprint would be bound to show up with all of it spread around, especially if he’s maneuvering them into a specific area.”

Before the five missing bodies could even be found, you were able to discern a match of blood between them and all five people vanished. Though this may point to their return being shot to shit, before locating the bodies, all bets are still on.

With an abrupt swing of the lab door, Hotchner is walking in with printed photographs of the contents in the trunk.

Deep engravings of various symbols and a repeated latin phrase hidden under the soft carpeted trunk:

Daemonium Imperium, Fides aeterna

Seemingly carved with a knife or some other metal tool, the trunk devoid of blood incites the same amount of fear as it did bloodied.

You gaze over the photographs intently, speaking first, “Is that latin? Do you know what it means?”

Spencer nods, “The Devil's Dominion, Eternal Faith.”

Your eyebrows raise, impressed and scared at the underlying message alike. “So we’re dealing with a religious cult now?”

Hotchner nods curtly, “We need to expand the profile. Two unsubs is not nearly enough, which is why there’s so many drop off sites and why they all have a meaning to the collective group.”

“What, like a twisted hazing ritual?”

Spencer looks up from the photographs, his brow furrowed as he considers your question, “A-almost, yeah. It seems more like a form of symbolic initiation or perhaps a purification ritual. The ‘Daemonium Imperium’ could represent a kingdom or reign of darkness, while ‘Fides aeterna’ could signify an unwavering faith in something beyond this world. I think I recognize this symbol- it’s common in occult practices, specifically in some of the more obscure, pre-Christian traditions. There’s a connection to ancient rituals, especially those that involve sacrifice or the offering of blood.”

Your eyes shift to Hotcher as he begins again, “You recognize this?”

“Yeah… I think I read about a Texan theology professor a while back causing a disturbance in one of his classes when introducing occult themes to his study. That was in… Jefferson.”

“Well, if he’s in Jefferson we’re going to have to leave as soon as possible, it’s almost a four hour drive.”

Hotchner collects the photos together again, “You need to notify the rest of the teams, we can take a few cars and head out in 15.”

Luck seemingly against him, (understandably) the cars were separated by the two teams working the case, meaning that the duration of the car ride to Jefferson Spencer was stuck looking at the back of your car instead of you in it.

Squished in the backseat Spencer grimaces as the radio shouts it's eerie weather report that silences the car as they listen in quiet bewilderment.

Watch out Texas, today will be the hottest temperature in recorded history, with highs up to 120 degrees fahrenheit. Stay inside today folks, heat exposure at these temperatures can lead to heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

“They can’t be serious. What are we going to do?” Elle mutters behind the steering wheel.

“We’ll do what we can when we get there, discuss with local police. Obviously we want everybody in good shape for us to properly help potential victims.” Hotchner replies with a deep sigh, outwardly frustrated with the nonstop trials and tribulations of this case.

They arrived around 3:00 pm to the Jefferson police department. Though it’s a small town, the building usually holds more than two people, who are only here because of the urgency for this unsub. The chief of police and the lieutenant debrief everyone on locals that might’ve been in contact with the professor and of other strange occurrences that might have been happening around town; two missing people of their own.

After being filled in on important parameters by both teams the chief of police gives a sullen face to Hotchner as he explains the difficulty of performing anything in this heatwave.

“We’re trying to keep people inside with these temperatures and with a curfew after those girls went missing, there’s going to be nobody outside, that includes your killer.”

Your unit chief replies, “What do you suggest?”

“Well. I suggest that you stay at my buddies motel until tomorrow morning. You mentioned they’re killing on a schedule- you still have time from what you’re telling me.”

As if crows were cawing in an attempt to scream “turn back” at kids walking into the wrong neck of the woods, a sharp bright whip of heat lightning from a far away storm emphasizes your need to hunker down.

“Alright. We can set up shop at the motel till morning,” Hotchner relents, “Does he know we want to stay there?”

“Called him about it when you were driving up. Said he had six open rooms with how little people are travelling today.”

Spencer's demeanor changes at this- “But there’s ten of us here.” He offers like it wasn’t apparent.

Shooting him a glance, Hotchner’s face has a bit of amusement in his expression now. “Looks like we’re doubling up.”

An instinctive reflex pulls Spencer’s eyes to meet yours, which were already glued where he was standing. Tilting your head to the side, a simple acquisition that tightens Spencer’s throat and sends electricity through his bloodstream.

All his life, the concept of looking at someone and knowing what they were thinking without saying any words seemed like an overrated notion to Spencer. Words were his everything, they drive his life, they’re the foundation of his passions.

While he’s reading paragraphs in your eyes from across the room, Spencer understands now how the intimate words he’s been missing out on were those unspoken, only comprehended through a coalition of hearts.

Which is his exact reasoning for closing your car door behind him later.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds

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stclaretarot · 6 months ago

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PICK A CARD ⭒ A SURPRISE IN THE NEXT SIX MONTHS!

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards pulled · seven of cups, page of pentacles, five of cups, eight of cups (reversed), spellcasting oracle: career, beauty, passion.

channelled songs · i know him so well by whitney houston. love me by 112 & mase. you’ve got the love by florence + the machine. regular - english version by nct 127.

my dear group one ♡ in the next six months, you will receive a surprise in your career! this is a new job based on looks -- others looks, if not your own.

this may be a career in modelling, acting, or sales. it is something where you are as much the product “being sold” as you are the seller. or this may be a career where you are focused on beauty, on bringing out the beauty of others, such as a beautician, makeup artist, or stylist.

for some in this group, you may be getting the opportunity to work with a celebrity client or as part of a truly MAJOR campaign. a national or international campaign.

while this may not lead to a life of fame and renown, or make you an overnight success, but it will be a point of turnaround in your career as it will set the foundation for your future. it will lead to better things, introducing you to better opportunities, and helping you in establishing a brand new clientbase.

GROUP TWO

cards pulled · seven of swords, five of wands (reversed), knight of pentacles, spellcasting oracle: wellbeing, truth, trust.

channelled songs · white xmas by sabrina carpenter. jiu by lay. starry eyes by the weeknd. forget her by jeff buckley.

my dear group two ♡ in the next six months, you will be surprised the places that your impulsive decisions take you! these are quick, last-minute decisions that will lead to an abundance of (good) consequences.

this may be with regard to impulsively taking a job, or going on a trip, or moving somewhere you, or starting a relationship. even just accepting an invite or attending an event you suddenly felt like attending. just something you do on a whim that you would likely not usually do.

this decision will be as unnerving and overwhelming as it will be fun, as if you are unsure of why you even made this decision or chose to do what you chose to do. you may find yourself saying things like, “what am i doing? i can’t handle this. i need to return to my normal life.”

but you need to put your trust in yourself, and in the divine, and know that these decisions are all good ones that you have made.

honestly, in short, this surprise is one in which you will be surprising yourself!

GROUP THREE

cards pulled · two of cups, the moon, eight of pentacles, spellcasting oracle: love, beauty, answers.

channelled songs · nightmares by the sea - original mix by jeff buckley. dive into you by nct dream. applause by lady gaga. the way things are by fiona apple.

my dear group three ♡ in the next six months, you will be receiving a surprise in love!

this love that is coming towards you is love that is happening an extremely unexpected way. there are things happening behind the scenes, with several people working to bring you and another person together. there are several people who want to see you and a particular person in a relationship with each other, and so they are pulling strings to get you two to meet each other and go on a date.

this may be somebody you meet at work or through a co-worker, or, in a similar vein, may be someone a close friend knows through work.

for some, this surprise in the next six months will be two-fold as this person is going to be revealed as a soulmate.

GROUP FOUR

cards pulled · six of cups, the emperor, the sun (reversed), seven of wands, spellcasting oracle: boundaries, peace, love.

channelled songs · flaming hot cheetos by clairo. dead of night by orville peck. dream run by nct dream. wonderkinz* by poptropicaslutz!

my dear group four ♡ in the next six months, you will be surprised with a reconciliation.

this is a reconciliation you may, at one point in your life, have prayed and begged god for. but, now, at the time of the reconciliation, it holds no power over you -- to such an extent that, in some regard, you may have completely forgotten about this person, this relationship, and what they meant (or could have meant) to you.

for some, this may be a romantic connection, but for most of you, this is a reconciliation with a parent/parent figure. particularly a father/father figure.

this is a reconciliation that will act as more of a point of closure, of saying goodbye, than of starting things anew. and, with this reconciliation, you may receive proof that this person truly holds no place in your life, and choose to once and for all cut this person out of your life. to once and for all, free yourself from this connection and the hold this person had on you.

you are setting boundaries and committing to it. you will be surprised how your life will blossom when you do so; when you commit to yourself and your highest good.

#**#tarot #pick a card #pac #tarotblr #tarotonline #tarotcommunity #tarotcreator #witchblr #witch of color #divination #channelled messages #channeled messages #spiritualism #spirituality

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aphrodicci · 1 year ago

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ᴘɪꜱᴄᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL MY WORK. IS A FAME POST.

PROPERTY OF D4RKPLUTO.

READ THE MAJESTIC VIRGO, well if you want.

PAID CHART READINGS, whoever is my 125 client gets everything cheaper than usual.

this knowledge has come from doing over 100+ chart readings, this is not pulled out of my ass..

♇ this post centres around pisces, neptune and the twelfth house, and how it is an underrated home of fame.

♇ neptune rules over cameras, glamour, paparazzi, stalking, projection and film, all strong themes of the realer side of fame, specifically paparazzi, stalking and projection.

♇ [in my opinion, i think the 12H, Neptune and Pisces are the most alike compared to the other signs and their rulers.]

♇ on the other hand, ten houses from the 3H is the 12H, 10 in astrology ruling over fame, career and publicity and the 3H governs over magazine and marketing, things celebrities have to be involved in to attain fame.

♇ to understand this post, we need to get into the symbolism of pisces, and hold on tight for this for you to understand! as pisces does represent neptune/poseidon, the sign pisces also represents is Jesus. the most known man, the most known person specifically.

♇ and even though social media does joke about it now and then, he is the most known "nepotism" kid. people with pisces placements especially in their big three or those who have jupiter in pisces are known for something specific, because Pisces gives it a boost because of the connection it has with Jupiter. [in traditional astrology, Jupiter ruled over Pisces], and Jupiter is supposed to symbolise God. and in shorter terms, it gives the nepotism boost to Pisces.

♇ before i go deeper, i am going to use examples of celebrities, their twelfth house and how fame was for them and how it impacted them.

CELEBRITIES WITH PISCES IN THEIR BIG THREE OR JUPITER. [can work with the rest of the big six, but im focusing on the big three].

⟶ examples

PISCES ASCENDANTS ⬎

MICHAEL JACKON.

WHITNEY HOUSTON

ELLEN.

PISCES SUNS ⬎

RIHANNA.

CINDY CRAWFORD.

GRIMES.

PISCES MOONS ⬎

MICHELLE OBAMA.

MARTIN LUTHER KING.

KIM KARDASHIAN.

PISCES JUPITER ⬎

MEGAN FOX.

AMBER HEARD.

LINDSAY LOHAN.

SHORT EXAMPLES OF THE 12H AND ITS IMPACT WITH SOMEONE'S FAME ⬎

MARILYN MONROE

had cancer in the 12H, cancer is moon ruled and the moon rules over audience, and its clear that marilyn monroe had a big audience, like the moon, she was worshiped, and due to hollywood, she represented what a woman, "should be".

marilyn also had pluto in the twelfth house, and this points to her being exploited, sexualised and abused in the industry.

her twelfth house ruler is in the seventh house which conjuncts the moon, and she had a known relationship, [jupiter conjunct moon], this insinuates her known relationship was with a man in power, the moon symbolises country and jupiter can symbolise politics and leader-ship, and she had a known affair with JF Kennedy.

BEYONCE

had virgo in her twelfth house, and people always have continuous critique with her, this can also imply she has much critique for herself, but with her twelfth house having the planet jupiter, it helps her having a giant and loyal fanbase.

beyonce also has saturn in the 12h, and this implies of longevity in fame, saturn doesnt always mean something is going to be cut short! on the other hand, her 12H ruler being in the 12H can point to the distant energy she has with her, she could have fun with her fans but there is still an out of reach essence she has to herself.

the 12H ruler being in the 12H can also indicate to why people might've picked up that she might be doing drugs. this could also insinuate another way of how people are nit-picky when it comes to beyonce.

on the other hand, her 12H ruler being in the 12H shows she only shows a part of herself she wants people to see.

MICHAEL JACKSON

aquarius in the twelfth house, and was known to be erratic and unique, he also used his platform to spread awareness.

his 12H ruler being in Leo points to his excessive amount of fame, the uranus being in leo implies on how he was known everyone where in the world. his uranus in the 13°, a degree which means the first to do something; which conjuncts venus the planet of dancing insinuates of his creation of the moonwalk.

his uranus is also in the sign of children, and had many controversies surrounding kids. [along with people thinking his children arent his].

with his 12H ruler being in Leo, the house of cameras and glamours, points to how he is one of the most photographed people on earth.

ARIANA GRANDE

sagittarius in the 12H, known for her adaptability in different cultures, the jupiter influence gives her a very big fanbase.

12H ruler in libra and is known for her romantic controversies, with her Jupiter having. the 5° which shows they're known in the industry they're specifically in. her jupiter also conj moon in the 6th degree, and people critique her love life and it is always in the public, the moon ruling audience.

12H sagittarius in the 2 degrees, and is known for her aesthetic.

RIHANNA

12H in pisces and is known for her glamour, beauty and fashion.

venus is in the 12H and she is a muse for many people.

juno in the 12H and she was paired with many people, so many people expecting who and what to be her husband, though everyone was aware with who her soulmate was. asap rocky.

12H ruler in capricorn and is known for being a capitalist, rich and business oriented.

another 12H ruler in aries, and has a known controversy with the abuse she had suffered through by chris brown.

12H ruler in aries conj uranus and was known for her fierceness and come backs.

MEGAN THEE STALLION

12H aries and is known for her "sexiness" and rapping. her 12H ruler is in Leo and is known for her sexual dancing, specifically twerking, and her body shape is usually spoken about

her 12H ruler is mars and went through a scandal that involved violence, and with the 12H ruler being in the 21st degree, it entails of her being known for being a stallion, along with her jupiter in sagittarius.

neptune in the 24th degree and a lot of people think she is a liar, and i noticed a lot of people who have their 12H ruler conjunct the moon do get famous.

KRISTINA PIMENOVA

taurus in her 12H and was known for her beauty, she also has mars in her 12H and was really pushed into the industry.

12H ruler in the 1st degree and was pushed as the most beautiful girl. her neptune is in the 10H and a a lot of people wanted to be her because of her status and looks.

12H in a young sign could imply getting into the industry at a young age. she also has mars in taurus in the 12H and is also known for dancing.

MADISON BEER

12H in aries and is known for her sexiness. and her 12H ruler is in scorpio and she had plenty of controversies.

saturn in the 12H it took time for people to appreciate her music. her saturn is also in taurus.

11H in pisces in aqua 3rd degree, and had much people make rumours about her.

12H ruler in mars the 11th degree and had revenge porn against her, or you can say just had people expose her nudes.

pisces in the 11H and many people on the internet project their insecurities onto her.

DRAKE

leo in 12H and he is known for his ego, his 12h ruler conj pluto and a lot of people talk about his sexuality.

neptune in capricorn got into more fame due to a popular company, yung money. he has a pisces jupiter and is known for his multiple times to have a wife, he has proposed many times he was able to make a necklace out of them.

12th degree on his moon and is known as an incel. he has his neptune in the 3rd degree and a lot of people make fun of him.

12H PLACEMENTS ⬎

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 12H - known for music, could get a lot of stalkers, people might have a perception of who you are supposed to be and could be known for taking a specific drug, like weed; ex, rihanna.

ARIES/MARS IN THE 12H - known for their sexuality, could be bullied on social media, might get access to fame easily, but could be objectified; ex, madison beer.

TAURUS/VENUS IN THE 12H - known for your beauty, might feel like people might not take you seriously, people could be shallow towards you, you could have a less intense celebrity life; ex, kristina pimenova.

GEMINI/MERCURY IN THE 12H - could be known for your adaptability, many people might want to mimic you, could be photographed a lot and known for your style; ex, cher.

CANCER/MOON IN THE 12H - could hide their true identity to the world, is the face for something, likes privacy but are never given it; ex, marilyn monroe.

LEO/SUN IN THE 12H - easily stand out, seen as a trendsetter, are known for their beauty, people might compare themselves to you all the time; ex, bella hadid.

VIRGO/CERES IN THE 12H - people will be critical of you, nosy about your life, though you would be a big muse and inspiration for the people, majority of 12H dont like attention or responsibility due to the gain of fame; ex, doja cat.

LIBRA/JUNO IN THE 12H - people will really copy your aesthetic, most likely to be posted on social medias like pinterests and tumblr. very photogenic people, untouchable energy, which could be linked to the hera influenced; ex, lily rose.

SCORPIO/PLUTO IN THE 12H - are usually the face for something, stalked by everyone, specifically the paparazzi, could sometimes be harassed by people for not acting how they were expected to behave. have a lot of influence, they do something other people start doing it; ex, jennie kim and princess diana.

SAGITTARIUS/JUPITER IN THE 12H - have very large fan bases, are expected to be role models, have to find a specific way to sustain their popularity, and other people might want to relate to them and get upset if they cant; ex, kylie jenner.

CAPRICORN/SATURN IN THE 12H - fame can either come really quick to people with capricorn or saturn in the 12H or it could take its time. how they handle fame is their karma, could be preyed on by authority, and when they pass, they become legends and known for something specific; ex, aaliyah.

AQUARIUS/URANUS IN THE 12H - known globally, get away with a lot of stuff, known for their visuals plus aesthetic since it is unique, they have a lot of controversies revolving around love, and might feel like they cannot get away from fame; ex, michael jackson.

YOUR FAME DUE TO WHERE PISCES AND NEPTUNE IS IN YOUR CHART ⬎

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 1H - fame for being beautiful, creative, and would feel distant and would have a lot of people project and fantasise about you; ex, michael jackson a pisces ascendant, and ariana grande who has neptune in the 1H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 2H - fame due to singing, fame for being beautiful of their aesthetic, have ways of always making money and has controversy with lovers; ex, megan fox has pisces in her 2H, and lana del rey who has neptune in her 2H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 3H - known for their creative ideas, good writers, could have a popular relative or is the popular relative, and another musician indicator. could also be known for their philosophy; ex, jeon jungkook has his pisces in his 3H, and beyonce who has her neptune in the 3H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 4H - famous family, controversy with family/marriage, do a project that can set them for life and could be in a famous group; ex, kim kardashian who has pisces in the 4H, and emma watson who has neptune in the 4H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 5H - get very popular because of their looks, usually have kids within their rise to fame, can tap into anything creative and succeed. brilliant actors and actresses have these placements; ex, nicolae kidman who has pisces in the 5H, and angelina jolie who has neptune in the 5H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 6H - amazing producers [music and film], are known for their interaction with drugs or people might have conspiracies with them taking drugs, health issues are put onto blast and usually stand out in a project that has many people and are usually the main character; ex, britney spears who has pisces in the 6H, and kanye west who has neptune in the 6H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 7H - like to please their fans, controversy with marriage, be careful with deals/contracts that you would sign, sometimes other people might think you are distant and you guys are likely to have iconic fashion moments; ex, bella hadid who has pisces in the 7H, and mariah carey who has neptune in the 7H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 8H - usually leave a big legacy, victim/subject to memes, or being made fun of by people in the industry, tough relationship with addiction and have a big fandom which can make them excused a lot; ex, marilyn monroe who has pisces in the 8H, and michael jackson who has neptune in the 8H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 9H - loved due to their charisma, loud and big personalities, partake in business all over the world and are wanted by foreign companies, and have a moment when they're under fire due to the public; ex, angelina jolie who has pisces in the 9H, and rihanna who has neptune in the 9H.

PISCES/NETPUNE IN THE 10H - likely to be models, have contracts with big brands, many people look up to them and have much expectations for them, could also be people who are in political power or are connected to them; ex, victoria beckham who has pisces in the 10H, and princess diana who has neptune in the 10H.

PISCES/NEPTUNE IN THE 11H - are usually easily excused, famous due to a private circle [political power on theories like illuminati], usually say things they are not meant to say, can either be easily liked or hated by the public and this can give online fame, or could get famous because of the internet; ex, miley cyrus who has pisces in the 11H, and billie eilish who has neptune in the 11H.

PISCES/NETPUNE IN THE 12H - people usually want to be them, long-term fame, another model indicator, and can be people who get into relationships with people who are known in the industry; ex, gigi hadid who has pisces in the 12H, and zendaya who has neptune in the 12H.

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hwaslayer · 2 months ago

Text

haze (jwy) | one shot.

—summary: a night in with wooyoung consists of good weed and good sex.

—pairing: stoner!jung wooyoung x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) established relationship au | fluff, smut

—word count: 1.8k

—warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, use of marijuana/weed, lots of kissing/making out, breast play, marking, high (unprotected) sex with woo, oral (f. receiving), fingering, cum eating, light choking, light spitting, two orgasms, cute lil cuddles!

—on rotation: sativa - jhene aiko | naked - marques houston | wus good / curious - partynextdoor | u already know - 112

—a/n: surprise! this is very self-indulgent with all the wooyo brainrot i've been experiencing. tsbut will be back next weekend for sure, then untitled. 🤍 4 pg letter will be released at some point.. heh. enjoy!

The room is hazy.

Could be from the blunt you smoked with Wooyoung awhile ago, or it could be the fact that he’s running the fuck out of your hot water while showering right now.

Could be both.

Your hands are busy sliding the weed onto the rolling paper, sat criss-crossed on your bed in nothing but a cropped tee and a cute ‘lil thong. Occupying yourself with making a new blunt for later— TV on blast with some How to Get Away with Murder re-run. Body still feeling relaxed, but the high from earlier wearing off. Just as you’re shifting complete focus to the blunt in your hands, Wooyoung walks out of your bathroom in his boxer briefs. He’s running a small towel across his short, wet black hair, water droplets still on his shoulders, chest.

Cloud of steam following him out.

“Run my hot water like that again and I’m booting your ass out.” You furrow your brows as you try to get the paper to stick together, running a lighter across the edge to stick it close.

“You wouldn’t.” He snorts, tossing the towel off to the side before shutting off your bathroom lights and slipping himself into your bed next to you. “Shower felt good, though.”

“Or are you still high?”

“Nah, not really.” He taps your leg with the back of his hand. “Is that ready?”

“Just about.” He tugs on the flimsy material of your thong before letting it snap back against your skin.

“So cute.” He chuckles. “Could be cuter without it on.” Wooyoung gently squeezes your side and bites his lip.

“Shut up.” You glare at him before passing him the newly rolled blunt and lighter. You watch as he majestically sits back against your headboard and takes the first hit— inhaling deeply before exhaling and letting the smoke climb back through his nose with the next inhale.

“Fuck.” He says, hollowing his cheeks to take another quick puff before handing it over to you. He rests his head back; his turn to watch you. He can’t help himself when he stares— hand crawling to your thigh while you take a hit and exhale. His eyes are roaming across your features: your lashes, plump lips, perked nipples poking out from underneath that cropped tee, thong almost useless and leaving little to the imagination.

The way you look so damn sexy right now.

“C’mere, baby.” He says lowly, pulling you by the hand onto his lap just as he takes his turn. You giggle, crawling onto his lap and lazily wrapping your arms around his neck. He grips your chin with just enough intensity, bringing your lips close to his as he exhales into your mouth. “Good girl.” He smiles when he sees you take it in like the good girl you are, thumb brushing down your bottom lip. It’s a continuous back and forth until the blunt is done, Wooyoung’s hands resting on your thighs as the high settles in.

Rushes through.

He brings you closer to his body with his hand on the small of your back. He presses soft kisses against your cheek, eyes, nose, jaw, corner of your lips— wherever he can touch and kiss, he’s on it. He looks at you through hooded lids, hands now roaming up your back slowly. To your rib cage.

Your chest.

You let out a small gasp when his thumb brushes against a nipple, making Wooyoung chuckle softly as he takes note of the way your body responds to him, his touch. Goosebumps rising to the surface of your beautiful, soft skin.

“You’re so fucking pretty, princess.” He whispers right near your ear, gently nibbling on your earlobe before pressing a kiss below it. Your nails rake through his still-damp hair, tilting your head so to give Wooyoung more access to your neck.

You.

You let out a soft moan when you feel his tongue glide across the surface, teeth nipping lightly; lips soothing his little love bites across the column of your neck, down to the base.

“Love leaving these marks on you.” He says, his grip on your hips tightening when he feels you subtly grinding against him. He’s quick to shed off your tee and toss it to the floor, eager to continue ministrations down to your collarbone. Chest.

Swirling and sucking on your hardened buds like his life depended on it.

“Wooyoung.”

“Hm?” He hums, eyes turning up towards you as he continues to suck away at a nipple.

“Please?”

“I’ll give you what you want.” He sighs. “I won’t make you ask me again, baby.” He comes up to press a kiss to your lips, but it’s slow. Sensual. Something he takes his time with, just like his hands exploring your body. He gently lays you down near the edge of the bed and hovers over you— careful not break the heated kiss. Your tongue glides over his expertly, Wooyoung biting onto your lip in between kisses.

Soft moans.

Tiny whimpers.

He tugs your thong to the side, leaving a heated trail of kisses down your chest, stomach, abdomen. Kissing every inch like you’re a delicate piece of artwork. So fragile, so rare. So, so beautiful. Wooyoung doesn’t waste any time planting his lips onto your heat. Your back slightly arches in response to his actions, tongue lapping and flicking away at your core. He sucks onto your lips, feinding to taste every drop of you. You let out a louder moan when he spits onto your pussy— making a mess on you before he can actually make a mess of you.

“God, yes.” You breathe out as Wooyoung continues to keep your cute thong shifted to the side so he can work his mouth on you.

He’s high, and you’re high.

Everything feels heightened, to the top.

Cloud nine.

He pulls away and slips in two digits— pumping away as if it's extra reassurance to hear just how badly you need him. He’s hard as a fucking rock, especially when he sees you dripping on his fingers.

“Just like that, Woo.”

“Like that?” He almost growls, pumping in and out at a steady pace. He’s making sure to keep your legs cocked open for him; enough that even the mood lighting can highlight just how wet you are, how you’re glistening.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry, hands gripping at his hair when he latches back on and finger fucks you to your first orgasm. It doesn’t take long for push you over the edge, and it could be that the high is making you extra sensitive; but, when it overcomes your body, you feel yourself tighten. Body tensing, twitching.

Thighs closing in on Wooyoung’s head.

“That’s it, pretty.” He coos as he raises himself from the position. “Open up.” He presses his fingers to your mouth, watching as you obediently let him slip it in— tongue swirling and sucking on them. “See how sweet you taste?” He hums. When you’ve gotten enough, Wooyoung gets on his knees and strokes himself while his eyes glaze over the way you look beneath him. He loves how fucked out you look already, how high you both are. Swears this shit is all he needs. “Such a good girl. So fucked out already.” He lets out a small, somewhat cocky laugh, teasing his tip at your sensitive clit. He rubs his cock in between your folds before easing himself in, letting out a deep moan.

“Wooyoung.” He loves the way his name falls from your lips, especially when you repeat it over and over again. His hand snakes up your chest, head damn near falling off the edge of the bed when he picks up his pace. His eyes are glued to where you two are connected— eyes shutting close when he feels the desire grow seeing your slickness coating his length.

“Feels so good. You’re so tight around me.” He breaths out in between pants and ragged breathing. “Fuck.” He picks up his pace, now pounding into you.

Sounds of skin against skin filling the room.

The TV.

But, it’s no match against your moans and Wooyoung’s.

“Yes, yes, yes—” You repeat, crying out loud. His hands are digging into the flesh of your hips hard, gripping onto them as he fucks into you harshly.

Roughly.

Got you seeing into the next lifetime.

“You like that?”

“Yes, Woo. So perfect.” You whine. A hand comes up to your neck, Wooyoung squeezing at just the right pressure. Enough for you to release a choked moan. Enough for him to use it as leverage to fuck you harder.

Cloud nine.

“Gonna make me come— Wooyoung. Gonna—” You continue to whine and whimper and it drives Wooyoung insane. So pretty, so obedient for him. Barely able to make out your words, to think coherently.

“Yeah. Look at me when you come, baby.” He grips your chin, forcing contact as he comes down closer— face only inches away from yours. “Want you to look at me.” He repeats in between pants, hips pistoling in and out quickly.

In and out.

“I’m coming—” You manage to mutter before you let out a loud, strangled moan. Your body tenses again, but the shaking is more visible this time around.

It’s beautiful, and you are a delicate piece of art.

“Fuck, yeah— there you go, sweetheart— come all over me—” Wooyoung’s moans are broken, keeping his grip on your chin as he lets out another deep growl; hips thrusting erratically as he releases and fills you up. “God damn.” He takes a moment to try and come back down from his high. His breathing is irregular as he sits up and pulls out, letting the rest of his seed spill out onto your pussy lips.

“Holy shit. Too high for this.” Wooyoung laughs and nods, the both of you still trying to catch your breath. He gets one good look at the way his release paints you beautifully before taking a napkin from the nearby nightstand to wipe you down.

“Swear I could do this shit all day, though.” He lets out a hefty sigh before tossing the napkin into the trashcan and plopping back onto the bed. He makes grabby hands at you, making you giggle as you lay down next to him. You let him pull you onto his chest, resting comfortably skin to skin. Wooyoung presses a small kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing at your arm. You let out another giggle when he presses feathery kisses to your forehead, temple, eyes.

“Woo.” You playfully swat his chest.

“What? Tryna go again?” He smirks.

“Stop!”

“We can roll up another.” You laugh, shaking your head before you squeal when he tickles you. "Those giggles. Gonna be the death of me." He smiles when he stops, eyes glued onto you. "Love you, baby. So much."

"Love you, too."

—perm taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @thechaotictheoryy

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uceyliyahh · 2 months ago

Text

GUARDED

summary: Genesis has been protecting her heart ever since she filed for divorce and didn’t want to be in another relationship until he came around and changed her mind.

this fanfic is 18+ NO MINORS ALLOWED

warnings contain: emotional abuse, divorce, depression, self-defense.

word count: 7.2k

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

smut warning: it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I am improving at the moment

Jimmy Uso x Genesis

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

again mdni you have been warned.

thanks to my friend @charmed-dreamssss for helping me with the title 🫶🏽

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @prettyfilmz @sharmelasworld @spiicii @formulafortyfour @theusotwinzcom @mingisfavgf @mjonthetrack @transparentphantomface

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @xbriexx @luvrsluxe @celesteheartsjey @4milly @luuvprincess @yyaktayak @yana3sworld @shanthefemalerapper @bloodlineslut @bookuce @sheaabuttaababyy @li-da-savage

𝐅𝛉𝛍𝛄

𝜣𝒎𝜼𝒊𝒔𝝇𝒊𝜺𝜼𝝉

gigispovv, trinity_fatu, uceyjucey, and others liked your post.

jonathanfatu: day one ish 💪🏽

gigispovv: i'm on my knees 😩😩

jonathanfatu: @ gigispovv me too princess 😫

uceyjucey: ❤️💪🏽

jadecargill: @ gigispovv girl what? 😭😭

gigispovv: @ jadecargill nun girl nun 😭😭 damn I can’t be a gooner for my friend?

trinity_fatu: ouuu daddy

americannightmarecody: 💪🏼💪🏼

romanreigns: what’s going on with you and Gigi?

jonathanfatu: @ romanreigns nun dawg

trinity_fatu: @ gigispovv baby girl you might wanna move around because that’s all mine right there.

gigispov: @ trinity_fatu 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

read all comments.

Houston, Texas - 3:30PM

Genesis was at the gym alone, wearing her headphones and listening to music as she ran on the treadmill for two to three hours. She had several tasks to complete before heading to work for tonight's Friday Night Smackdown show.

She intended to have her nails and toes done today, along with her hair. She discussed her plans with Jade, hoping to complete everything before the show begins tonight.

She hadn't heard from Jimmy since last night when they shared a hotel room again. He missed her, and she hoped he was doing well, likely managing things with that girl Trinity.

It wasn't her concern, yet she couldn't shake thoughts of her date with Jimmy from yesterday. He had been so tender with her, and when they kissed, it felt like she was floating on air whenever he was near.

She felt unable to control herself whenever he touched or kissed her, making her feel as if she were the only girl in the world at that moment. Suddenly, she heard a message in her headphones from the very man she had been thinking about.

What surprised her the most was the message stating that he had sent her some money for something, as she paused the treadmill and grabbed her phone, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹 sent 1.2k on cash app.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: here you go mamas get everything you need to get done today so I can have a good look at you when I see you at work princess 🫶🏼

He made an extra effort to send her money for everything she needed to take care of before tonight, as she replied to his message.

Gigi🤍: Jimmy you didn’t have to do allat for me

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: I wanted to princess you deserve it especially being all pretty and shit

Gigi🤍: Jimmy I cannot accept this please take it back…

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: keep it mamas I’m not having a debate about this now go get dolled up princess I’ll see you at work 🫶🏼

She felt the urge to continue protesting until another message from him appeared.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: you also got a surprise back at the hotel in yo’ room I think you’ll love em

What did this man get her this time?

Gigi🤍: Jimmy….don’t spoil me like this

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: imma keep spoiling you princess don’t matter if you refuse or not imma still do it until you realize how important and special you are

It filled her with warmth to read that, realizing he was the motivation behind her perseverance, alongside her best friend and Cody, of course. But it was Jimmy who inspired her to keep pushing forward each day.

Gigi🤍: I love you so much friend 🫶🏼

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: I love you too ❤️

Genesis glanced at the time on her Apple Watch and realized it was nearly time to prepare for her nail appointment, followed by her hair appointment. She decided to save any leftover money for her savings.

She stepped off the treadmill, picked up her Stanley cup, and scanned the area to ensure she hadn’t left anything behind at the gym before heading to her appointment.

Upon reaching her hotel room, she used the card key to unlock the door. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by a bouquet of flowers on the table and a small box containing a four-leaf bracelet, along with her favorite shoes that she had long desired. How could he have known about all of this?

She felt a wave of overwhelm wash over her as she faced everything ahead, aware that she needed to pull herself together for her appointments. She decided to set those worries aside for now and headed to take a shower.

Once she finished everything today, her mind was solely focused on the gifts that Jimmy had unexpectedly given her. In fact, she even wore the bracelet he had bought her earlier before entering the building.

People around her remarked on her radiant appearance—perhaps it was due to Jimmy's influence. This effect left her feeling a bit scatterbrained as she rehearsed the script, pretending to hold a microphone, all while listening to a voice she wished to avoid.

She chose to disregard that individual, fully aware it was Zilla trying to reach her. However, she didn't have the bandwidth to handle his nonsense today and was determined to concentrate on her work.

“You hear me calling you baby girl.” Zilla said with his hands inside of his pockets.

She rolled her eyes at him, “I don’t need to respond to you like can you get over this please? I’m not giving you any coochie sir.” Genesis said.

Zilla realized she was wearing a new bracelet and, with a knowing smirk, poked his tongue into his cheek, fully aware that Jimmy had purchased it—much to his annoyance.

“Why? Is Jimmy dicking you down? Is that why?” Again if they were, what does that matter to him? It wasn’t his business anyways.

“Imma let you assume what you want because you seem so desperate my nigga.”

“Yeah, because I want you and some of that.” He tried touching her until she slapped his hand away glaring at him. “Look here, nigga ion need you to ruin my day because it’s been good so far and I don’t need yo desperate ass trying to get something out of me.”

Just as she was about to leave, he caught her by the arm, halting her movement. “Is it about him? He can't take care of you the way I can, baby girl.”

She pulled her arm away from him once more, pushing him back a bit. Confused by his behavior, she felt her irritation growing until he uttered something that sent chills down her spine.

"I observe every single action you take with him, and it hurts me deeply each time I see you together—sneaking into his hotel room, going on dates, sharing kisses. Is this what friends truly do?" Genesis sensed it; she felt something was off the night she stayed in Jimmy's hotel room. Meanwhile, Zilla had been watching them closely ever since they began their conversations.

“You’ve been stalking me? Are you fucking crazy?” Genesis said.

“I mean I would say that, but yeah I am because I’m tryna be in allat but you keep playing baby girl.” Zilla responded with a smile on his face.

“Nigga, you ain’t getting shit from me. you don’t even deserve it so why would I give it up to you?”

He let out a low, sinister laugh as he approached her, making her step back in uncertainty about his intentions. Suddenly, he seized her by the waist, drawing her nearer to him.

Genesis sensed her heart racing in her chest as she gazed into his eyes, which were devoid of emotion and filled with despair.

“All these pretty women in here know that I dick them down so good they couldn’t even take it—and you’re so stubborn missing out on all of this with a man that’s dealing with that girl Trinity.”

Genesis knew about Trinity especially when he told her that he didn’t really mess with her because she’s only using him for his money. There was nothing serious between the two of them.

“You tryna play mind tricks on me and that won’t work out for you—back the fuck up.” She tried to shove him away only for him to wrap his hand around her throat, choking her.

At that moment, he uttered a threatening remark that filled her with fear about his potential actions: “When I catch you off guard, I’ll take what I desire, and you’ll be grateful and want to be with me.” Genesis had trained in self-defense for situations like this—she swiftly kicked him in the stomach, making him groan, and followed up with a slap to his face.

She seized his arm, twisting it behind him as she pressed his face against the wall.

“Don’t fucking play with me bitch ass nigga, I’m not the one of these fucking women in here who can just give it up so easily so if you think you can get some coochie out from me then you’re sadly mistaken.” She said, “So you better keep it pushing fuck boy.” She continued while letting him go as she walked away from him going somewhere to clear her mind while texting Jade to come see her.

Genesis felt relieved that she had brought along some pre-rolled blunts, but she decided to hold off on smoking them for now. At that moment, she really needed her best friend and Jimmy, though she hadn’t seen him all day. Memories flooded back of when Quincy had threatened her, trying to coerce her into sleeping with him after she discovered he was cheating on her with a girl from his workplace.

The thought of all those nights spent crying until she drifted off to sleep, her eyes stained with dried tears, weighed heavily on her heart. Each morning, she would wake up with swollen, red eyes.

At last, she found a quiet place to gather her thoughts, but that’s when the tears began to flow, smudging her makeup. Her body trembled as she wished for Jade or Jimmy to come in and soothe her before an anxiety attack took hold.

Her breathing became erratic, prompting her to take a moment to calm down. She slowly closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling to find some peace. Just then, she heard the door creak open, and she opened her eyes to see Jade standing there. Her best friend's makeup was smudged from tears, which made her heart ache. Jade quietly shut the door behind her and walked over to Genesis.

Jade wrapped her arms around her best friend, feeling her gentle sobs against her chest. As she rubbed her back, she reassured her that everything would be alright. "Bestie, what did Jimmy do?" Jade guessed that Jimmy had messed up, but Genesis simply shook her head.

Genesis replied, her voice trembling, "He hasn't done anything wrong. Jimmy is really sweet and caring. He bought me some things and even sent me money to get dressed up—it's his damn cousin Zilla."

“Girrrl what? Okay period Jimmy I see you.”

“What happened bestie?” She asked.

"Do you recall me mentioning that something seemed off? Like I felt someone was watching me? Zilla has been following me the entire time, especially when I'm with Jimmy, and he’s been making threats to rape me, Jade…" Genesis noticed Jade's eyes widen in shock at her words. "I knew something was wrong with him, I just knew it."

Genesis nodded her head, “but I don’t know if I should tell Jimmy.”

“Gigi, that’s your friend, you should be able to tell him anything, especially when it comes to his cousin threatening you.”

She recognized that Jade was correct, but the thought of the two of them clashing frightened her; it brought back memories of Quincy.

“What if they start fighting each other again? I can’t bare to see them fighting.”

“I’ll pull you away from all of that Gigi, but you need to talk to him about this.” Genesis nodded her head listening to her best friend knowing that she needed to speak to Jimmy about all of this. “I‘ll talk to him about it whenever I see him because I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Just text him and also I rented us an Airbnb so we can just chill and drink after work of course.” Jade said.

“Okay, but can you fix my makeup please so I can look all dolled up again.” Genesis asked as Jade chuckled at her.

“Yeah, girl c’mon.” Genesis headed to her messages and tapped on Jimmy’s name, sending him a text in the hope that he would notice it while she and Jade made their way to the ladies' locker room.

Jimmy just finished taking care of himself while thinking about Genesis. He has been missing her all day because he was busy going over his script for tonight's show. After that, he and Jey had a photoshoot with their tag team titles, leaving him no time to see her.

While he was wiping himself with a paper towel, he heard his phone beep. He pulled it from his pocket and opened a message from Genesis, reading it carefully.

Gigi🤍: Where are you? I’ve been missing you all day and haven’t seen you. We need to talk about something.

He felt a wave of dread wash over him as he read the text message, fearing he had made a mistake.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: is everything okay Mamas?

Gigi🤍: No, I really need you right now

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: aight send me yo’ location I’m otw

Gigi🤍 has sent you their location

Jimmy looked at her location and saw she was nearby, so he quickly gathered his belongings and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He felt a sense of concern, hoping he hadn’t upset her, as it was clear she needed him urgently.

While he was heading to her location, he ran into his cousin, leading them to exchange glances.

“My fault dawg.” Jimmy said as he was about to walk away until Zilla had said something.

“You've been spending a lot of time with Gigi lately uce, what’s up with that?” Zilla said.

Jimmy tilted his head and looked at him, asking, “Is it because she’s my friend? Am I not allowed to hang out with Gigi?” He pressed on, “And why do you even care about what we’re up to?”

"I noticed what you have going on with her, and I'm guessing you're also sleeping with her? It looks to me like she's not ready to let go." Jimmy smirked, pressing his tongue against his cheek while laughing at him—regardless of whether he was with her, it wasn't Zilla's concern. "I bet she calls you daddy, right?"

Jimmy refused to let Zilla get to him. He let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes, aware of Zilla's attempts to provoke him.

“Again what me and her do is none of your business dawg, so mind yo’ fucking business and keep it pushing.” Jimmy was on the verge of leaving when he snapped after hearing Zilla's comments about Genesis.

“Must be nice to fuck her and see her naked, I bet she’s a good little slut for yo—“ Jimmy delivered a powerful right hook to Zilla's face, causing him to fall to the ground, completely unconscious. Jimmy then approached and yanked Zilla up by his hair.

“Don’t you ever fucking disrespect Genesis and call her that again what we do is none of your fucking business.” Jimmy released Zilla's hair with a spit and walked over to Genesis, leaving Zilla unconscious on the ground.

Upon arriving at her place, he took a moment to steady himself before knocking on the door, anticipating her response. He was still in disbelief over Zilla's comments suggesting he was involved with her. Jimmy held Genesis in high regard; he would never betray her trust without her explicit consent.

Perhaps she wanted to discuss Zilla—maybe Zilla had said something that upset her, prompting her to text him. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, revealing Genesis standing there, looking stunning. It felt as if his breath was taken away at the sight of her.

She allowed him to enter and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the counter, gesturing for her to come closer. She approached and stood before him, his tall 6'3" frame towering over her shorter stature. As he placed his hands on her hips, she looked up into his eyes.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting him to kneel and lift her by her thighs. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he set her down on the counter, positioning himself between her legs.

He moved closer, pressing his lips against hers as they shared a passionate kiss. It was slow and deep, reflecting the longing they felt for one another. Genesis sensed his hands gliding down her ass, gently cradling her curves while their tongues danced together in a tender embrace.

“I missed you pretty girl.” Jimmy murmured between kisses.

Genesis's fingers wove through his curls as she heard his hat drop to the ground. She pulled him closer, intensifying the kiss and feeling their teeth collide.

“I missed you too, Jimmy.” Genesis murmured back.

Genesis could sense her panties becoming damp as she was positioned beneath him, especially with the scent of his cologne that she adored enveloping her.

Jimmy's kisses traveled from her jawline to her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She tilted her head, granting him further access, and let out a soft moan.

“J-Jimmy.”

“Hm? What’s wrong mama?” Jimmy had pulled away for a second staring into her doe-like eyes.

“It’s something I need to talk to you about.” With that he kept his hands cupped onto her ass cheeks while listening to her talk. “What’s up Gigi.”

Genesis let out a gentle sigh, “Your cousin Zilla…he…” Her words faded as she briefly averted her gaze. Jimmy, noticing, lifted her chin and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb, prompting her to meet his eyes. “What’s going on, Gigi?”

She was determined not to ruin her makeup again by letting her emotions get the best of her.

She said, "He threatened to rape me, Jimmy. Your cousin actually threatened me. I'm really scared, Jimmy." She noticed his expression shift to something she had never seen before.

“When was this?”

“Like three hours ago, I managed to shove him against the wall.” Jimmy's eyes widened when he heard that she had pushed him against the wall—he respected her for that, realizing she was capable of defending herself. “Show me.”

"I don't want to hurt you, Jimmy." He laughed as he assisted her down from the counter, where she had been standing in front of him. "You’re not going to hurt me; just show me how you did it." With that, she seized Jimmy by the arm, twisted it behind his back, and grabbed his hair, pushing him against a nearby wall with his face pressed into it.

He was inexplicably drawn to this situation—it excited him to witness how she defended herself against men like Zilla. "Are you alright?" Genesis inquired.

“Mhm, I’m fine. Lemme’ do it to you.” Jimmy responded as Genesis' eyes went wide.

“Jimmy, ion think it’s necessary.” Jimmy shook his head, determined to give it a try on her, while she sighed and rolled her eyes at him. They had changed places, with him positioned behind her and her in front.

Jimmy had pulled her arm behind her back and yanked her hair, forcing her against the wall with her face pressed into it. Genesis could feel his rigid body pressing against her backside as they remained in that position for a minute, and she sensed a dampness in her panties.

Jimmy felt his arousal pressing against her, prompting a soft groan as he realized he needed to regain control. He released her and stepped back, turning to face her as she turned around to look at him.

His facial expressions indicated that he was uneasy about something, though she couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“Are you good mamas?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine, are you okay? You seem uncomfortable.” Genesis responded as she came closer to him but he backed away from her.

“I-I’m good Gigi. I heard Jade got us an Airbnb for us to chill later after the show, make sure you bring some clothes and stuff.” Genesis approached him with a nod, aware of his firm state. She wrapped her arms around his neck, indicating that he should lift her up.

As she wrapped her legs around him, he felt her body pressing against his, driving him wild with desire—he craved her intensely. She softly kissed his lips, and he instantly reacted, gazing up at her.

“You so fine princess.”

“You’re handsome yourself pretty boy.” He chuckled at her softly as he pressed his lips against her kissing her some more. “You like the gifts I gotchu?”

She nodded her head, “yeah I did but you didn’t have to do all of that for Jimmy.”

“I told you imma spoil you Gigi even if you don’t what it imma still do it so ion need you complaining.” Genesis smacked her teeth at him while forming her lips into a pout. “Too damn cute c’mon girl let’s go.”

Airbnb - 10:30PM

Everyone gathered at the Airbnb Jade had booked for the night, enjoying drinks and smoking weed on the porch. Meanwhile, Genesis lounged on the couch, scrolling through her social media while occasionally looking over at Jimmy, who was chatting with his twin brother and some colleagues.

Jade approached her and sat down beside her, playfully tickling her feet, which made Genesis kick out in laughter.

“Girl, you’re so annoying bro.” Genesis said.

“Gigi, you look too comfortable over here, where's yo’ man?” Jade Teased her as Genesis rolled her eyes at her. “We are just friends, Jade nothing more.”

“Why are you lying Gigi? I know it’s something goin on between you and him.”

“I’m not lying, he's just being a good friend to me that’s all.” Jade shot her a glance but chose not to delve deeper into the topic. Instead, she declared that they were about to play a game together. Genesis exchanged a knowing look with Jimmy, fully aware of what was about to unfold.

Genesis quickly sat up as she noticed Jimmy approaching her, with everyone else following suit. "We're about to play Never Have I Ever. I assume you all know the rules?" Everyone nodded in agreement while they continued to pay attention to Jade.

Jimmy rested his hand on Genesis' thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze that drew her attention. She turned her head to face him as he cupped her chin, and a wave of anxiety washed over her—was he really doing this in front of others? She glanced around to ensure no one was watching before returning her gaze to him.

“Are you crazy?” Genesis questioned him.

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t nobody looking mama just give me a peck.”

“What if we get caught, then they’ll know.”

“Let em know then it’s not their business what we do or you wanna wait?” This was the most suitable choice for the moment. Engaging in this activity in public posed too much risk, particularly with the onlookers nearby. Genesis preferred to keep her relationship private; she wasn't fond of displaying affection in front of others, as it wasn't her preference.

“We can wait for a while until the game is over with.” Genesis responded.

“A’ight then mama we will wait.” Jimmy replied.

Players began the game with their hands raised, discussing things they had or hadn't done as others lowered their fingers. Jade noticed Genesis and Jimmy sitting together, with Jimmy's hand resting on her thigh, and she could see how happy her best friend was with him.

“Never have I ever been celibate for over five years.” Jade said as Genesis looked at her with wide eyes.

Genesis let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, then flashed Jade the middle finger. As she lowered her hand, gasps erupted from those nearby—she sensed Jimmy watching her; he was unaware of her long period of celibacy. Perhaps there was a valid reason behind it.

“Gigi, you haven’t got no dick?” Jey asked.

“Oh my god, no I haven’t had any dick in five years. I’m just waiting for the right person. That's all I stopped having sex with Quincy after what he did.” She explained feeling her heart beating out of her chest.

“Damn, maybe a certain person could help you out with that.” He said.

Genesis glanced at Jimmy, who was already gazing at her intently. He leaned in closer to her ear and whispered, “I can help you with that.” She playfully nudged him and smiled, surprised that he was teasing her about it.

“Don’t be fucking teasing me Jimmy.”

“I can tease you all I want, yo’ short ass ain’t gonna do nothing about it princess.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Are you willing to make a wager on that?" He enjoyed pushing her buttons to see how she'd respond, even with their height disparity. "Yes, I actually am."

She smiled and nodded at him, saying, “I’ll take care of you when we go upstairs, handsome.” Jade noticed the two of them joking and laughing together, and she had another question ready to tease her best friend even further.

Jade remembered Genesis sharing her frustrations about Quincy’s performance in bed, expressing her desire for a man who could satisfy her completely, to the extent that she would make a mess, since Quincy wasn’t meeting her needs.

And with Jade hearing that Samoans were packing she couldn’t help but to tease Genesis.

“Never Have I ever been dick down good.” Genesis and Jimmy's conversation came to a halt when she spoke, prompting Genesis to once again give her the middle finger. She wondered why her best friend was teasing her tonight, particularly in front of Jimmy.

“Jadeeeee oh my fucking god bro.”

“What? I’m just saying girl, place ya finger down.” Genesis pressed her finger down, burying her face in Jimmy's neck, unable to handle the teasing from her best friend at that moment.

“Quincy hadn’t been hitting it right? Damn he fumbled a baddie dawg.” Jey chimed.

“Thank you! That’s what I said Jey like he was tripping honestly.” Jade said as she was agreeing with him.

As the game went on, Genesis leaned against Jimmy's shoulder, feeling weary as she looked up at him while he took a sip of his beer. He noticed her resting on him, her sleepy eyes fixed on his face.

“You tired mamas?”

She nodded and yawned, rubbing her eyes with her hands. Then, she settled down, resting her head on his lap while he gently brushed her hair aside to see her face more clearly.

“I’ll take you upstairs after they get done playing this stupid ass game aight?”

“Okay.” She spoke in a gentle, drowsy tone, her eyes fluttering shut as she effortlessly drifted off to sleep on his lap while he browsed through his social media.

He heard her adorable snores coming from her lips, which made him chuckle as he sipped his beer. Just then, a text from his twin brother caught his attention, prompting him to click on it.

Twin⚡️: Dawg what’s going on with you and Gigi?

Here he goes.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: There’s nothing going on between me and Gigi why does everyone keep asking this?

Twin⚡️: bc I can see the way you've been looking at her Uce and then I’m hearing that you spend a band on her today and have her some money for her to get her nails done including her hair?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: so?

Twin⚡️: so?? Mane people be doing allat stuff when they in a relationship with someone and you doing just that so fr what’s going on?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: ain’t nun going on twin I’m just protecting her and taking her out on dates and mini walks with her so she could clear her head ion need her in her head a lot that’s all.

Twin⚡️: so you ain’t fucking her?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: no I’m not i respect Gigi

Twin⚡️: I mean from what I’ve heard she probably got a lot of pressure build up after being celibate for five years now maybe you can fix that.

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: when the time is right but for rn I’m just being there for her that’s all I’m not gonna pressure her into anything she doesn’t want especially since she isn’t looking for anything.

Twin⚡️: like relationship wise?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: yeah, but ion mind waiting unlike Zilla did she tell you what she told me earlier?

Twin⚡️: No? What happened? 🤨

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: Zilla threatened to rape her Twin and that pissed me off especially since Zilla had the nerve to come up to me saying how I’m fucking her bc she wouldn’t give it up to him like wtf?

Twin⚡️: woahhhh wait a min he’s out of pocket for that shit imma have to speak to him about that bro what’s wrong with him?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: ion know but he better keep it pushing and leave Gigi alone fr yk ion play that shi when it comes to her

Twin⚡️: he lucky he ain’t here ass would’ve been handled but what she gonna do now?

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: me and her are just going to share a hotel room together until this obsession he has on her is done ion need her hurt you know? She’s been through enough

Twin⚡️: yeah I hear you twin ion want that for her either but imma let yall be for now

Jimmy❤️‍🩹: mane stfu 😭😭

Jimmy sensed Genesis move in her sleep as he finished his beer and set the bottle on the table. He tucked his phone into the pocket of his shorts and lifted Genesis in a bridal carry, making his way upstairs to the bedroom they were sharing for the night.

Upon entering the bedroom, he noticed a spacious master bed that was just right for them. The room was adorned with LED lights, creating an ideal atmosphere for the two of them. He gently laid Genesis on the bed and covered her with blankets to keep her warm, as the night was turning chilly.

He brushed her hair aside, revealing her lovely face. His thumb softly stroked her cheek, bringing a smile to her sleeping lips as she dreamt, curious about who occupied her thoughts.

Jimmy leaned in and gently kissed her lips before rising from his knees. He then headed back downstairs to grab another beer from the fridge, noticing Jade approaching him.

She stood with her arms crossed, watching him as he flinched at her gesture of placing his hand over his chest. "You can't be scaring people like that, girl," Jimmy remarked.

“My Bad Uce, I was trying to see what’s going on with you and Gigi. She's been glowing lately and I know you got something to do with that.” Jade said.

Jimmy took a sip from his second bottle of beer before responding, “You could say I’m involved in her glow. I’m just looking out for her, nothing else.”

"So, here's a question: that kiss you both had a few weeks back at the club didn't mean anything?" It actually meant a lot to both of them; they found it hard to stay away from each other, but he wasn't about to say that in front of Jade.

“It definitely meant something, but seeing Zilla's reaction was great.” Jade nodded in agreement. "Are you really spoiling my best friend? You know she can't stand being spoiled because she thinks she doesn't deserve it." Jimmy paused mid-sip of his beer, looking at Jade with a puzzled expression.

Jade chose to explain to him that Genesis felt this way because of Quincy. He made her feel increasingly inadequate, never spending a cent on her while using his money on the women he had cheated on her with.

Whenever Genesis brought it up, he would simply invent excuses for his spending, claiming that she didn’t deserve to be pampered, regardless of whether she cared for him or not.

Jimmy felt a deep sense of sorrow upon learning about the struggles Genesis faced in her marriage to a man who failed to appreciate her.

"That's why when she mentioned that you had bought her some things, particularly her favorite shoes, and even sent her money to get dressed up, I could tell she was thrilled." She remarked, "Gigi has never sounded so joyful about a man buying her something." She went on to say.

“Cody told me she been wanting them shoes since forever so I just went out my way and bought em for her.”

“I told her yall would be a great couple together.” Jimmy agreed with her knowing that they’ll be perfect for each other but he wasn’t going to rush her about it. “Yeah, but she’s not looking for any serious but I’m willing to wait for her honestly until she’s ready.”

Jade smiled at him while giving him a hug as he hugged her back before pulling away, “thank you for being there for her.”

“Of course I’ll do anything for Gigi, she’s important to me too.” With that Jade and Jimmy continued to talk to each other about Gigi and other things until it was time for everyone to head to sleep.

Midnight - 1:30AM

Genesis awoke from her deep sleep and noticed she was alone in bed, with Jimmy absent by her side. She got out of bed, made her way to the stairs, and entered the kitchen to find something to drink, as her mouth felt parched.

While pouring herself a drink, she heard the toilet flush and the sink running in the bathroom, indicating someone was inside. Leaning against the counter, she took a sip of her water and noticed Jimmy emerging from the bathroom, looking great with his shirt off and his hair tousled.

She glanced at his grey Nike shorts and noticed the outline of his manhood, confirming Jade's claim about Samoans being well-endowed—his size was evident. When their eyes met, she smiled and waved at him.

He approached her, positioning himself directly in front of her. His hands rested on her hips, gently rubbing both sides as Genesis finished her water and turned her focus toward him.

“What’chu doing up this late Gigi?” Jimmy inquired with a voice that was deep and smooth, reminiscent of honey.

Genesis replied, "I got thirsty after my long nap," as Jimmy noticed the outfit she was still wearing from her sleep. "Didn’t you consider changing before coming down?"

Genesis shook her head. "No, I wanted to, but since you were down here, I had to stick around." Jimmy raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips.

“You wanted my attention?”

She trailed her fingers down his tribal ink feeling his hands cupping her ass gripping them both.

“I always get yo’ attention daddy.” She smiled at him after speaking, reaching for her water bottle as she noticed his astonished expression. Before continuing, Genesis planted a kiss on his cheek and said, “I’ll see you upstairs then.”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed the hem of her jean shorts, pulling her back against the counter while she gazed at him with an innocent expression. “What’chu say mama?”

“I don’t know what you mean Jimmy.”

“Gigi, don’t play with me you know what you said.”

Genesis began to complain in frustration, crossing her arms and pouting her lips. “Jonathan I’m tired and I want to go back to sleep.”

“I’m tired too, Gigi, but now I’m up after what’chu just said to me acting like I won’t do nun.” Genesis innocently wrapped her arms around his neck teasing him, “what I do daddy?” Her voice took on a softer tone, playfully stirring something deep inside him.

“There you go again mamas, why you keep playing with me?” Jimmy softly kissed her neck, causing her body to tremble with each touch.

“I’m not playing with you Jimmy, I’m just teasing you.”

Jimmy pressed soft kisses along her neck as she tilted her head, granting him greater access. He lifted her by the thighs and carried her to the couch.

Jimmy gently kissed her neck, eliciting a soft moan that escaped her lips and reached his ear, while her fingers played with his soft curls.

“You like teasing me huh?” Jimmy murmured between her neck.

“Mhmm, sure, do pretty boy.” Genesis said softly.

“What if I just yank this shirt off of you and played with these titties you gon’ stop me?” Genesis looked down at him while he patiently awaited her consent to make contact.

He kissed her jawline gently. “You gon’ stop me baby?”

“J-Jimmy.”

He titled his head, “What baby? Talk to me. You're doing all of this teasing and shit and now you wanna soften up on me.” His voice dropped a few octaves when he spoke.

“I-I just haven’t been shown this much affection from anybody in a while.” She could feel Jimmy’s hands cupping her ass. “I know, and I’m giving it to you because you deserve it.”

Genesis began to sense a shift inside her when he mentioned that she deserved to be loved properly, unlike the way Quincy had treated her during their marriage.

“Give me the word and I’ll take care of you Gigi.” Jimmy said.

“But you take care of me enough, big daddy.” Genesis reacted as she noticed a smirk on his lips, feeling his hand encircling her throat.

“Yeah I do, showering you with gifts and shit but I wanna make sure that you’re taking good care of in areas you haven’t mamas.” She understood the specific areas he was referring to and felt anxious since it had been a long time since she had experienced any physical contact or been fully relaxed.

Jimmy pressed his lips to hers, his hand gently gripping her throat as they shared a passionate kiss. It was deep and slow, with Genesis moving against him, while his other hand rested on her hips, directing her movements.

As she gently pulled away from the kiss, she sensed his arousal pressing against her clothes. "What if I'm not ready? Ready for you," she said. He responded by drawing her back into the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth.

His commanding presence excited her to the point where she surrendered to his touch, allowing him to express his affection. He took his time, unhurried.

Genesis kept moving on his lap as they kissed passionately, prompting him to lift her by the thighs and carry her upstairs to their bedroom. Their lips remained locked, and when he opened the door and slammed it shut, she realized he was serious.

He positioned her on the bed, settling between her legs and covering her body with kisses before pausing to look up at her.

"I’ll be here for you, mamas, until you’re ready for me." Jimmy pressed his lips gently against hers, feeling her fingers entwined in his hair. “But I’m still going to love you the way you need, do you get what I’m saying?” She nodded and kissed him back.

He kept kissing her body, gently pulling at her shirt until she removed it, tossing it aside. She unclipped her black lace bra right in front of him. This was the first time he had seen her partially undressed; Quincy was the only other person to have seen her like this, making Jimmy the second man to do so.

He lowered his lips toward her breast, glancing up at her to seek her consent to kiss and tease them.

“Do I have your permission baby?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, touch me. kiss me. I’m craving you jimmy.” Genesis said desperately.

“I’m craving you too, baby.” For the remainder of the night, Jimmy showered her with all the love and affection she craved—her soft moans and the way she whispered his name in his ear, meant only for him to hear.

He didn't venture far, recalling her words that she wasn't fully committed to him yet.

He left noticeable marks on both sides of her neck, and she would definitely need to hide them in the morning to keep others from prying into their affairs.

They lay together in bed, wrapped in blankets, enjoying the warmth of their skin against each other. Her head rested on his chest as she slept on top of him, while he gazed at her until his eyes grew heavy. He placed a comforting hand on her back.

Her body eased against his, reassured by the safety she felt in his presence. She understood that he would patiently wait for her readiness and that his love for her would be genuine, which felt almost surreal.

Like he said before, he’ll do anything for her and he means anything.

gigispovv posted on their story!

jonathanfatu replied to your story: yk imma spoil yo ass princess I told you that you’re a diamond

yaonlylivonce replied to your story: JIMMY YOU DID THIS???

jadecargill replied to your story: OMGGGG BESTIEEE 🥹

uceyjucey replied to your story: he wanna spoil you but won’t pay me back he owes me twenty bucks Gigi 🙄

jackieredmond replied to your story: OMG GIGI??? BIG JIM DID THIS?

zillafatu replied to your story: I see how it is he must be fucking you really good to be buying all of that shit don’t worry imma get mines 😈

GUARDED.

a/n: phew things are getting heavy and Zilla done lost his damn mind fr fr.

But I hope yall enjoy this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

Chapter five

Previous chapter

#black fanfic writer #black oc #black writers #wwelove #black reader #wwe fanfiction #jimmy x black oc #jimmy uso smut #jimmy uso fanfic #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmyuso #guarded🤍

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cryptictongues · 4 months ago

Text

Manifesting a Valentine

pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader rating: PG-13 (mildly) word count: 2.6K summary: You wonder what Logan is to you. Whitney Houston manifests that answer for you. warnings: this is just straight up fluff, gender-neutral reader, kissing

This is my piece for the Loveuary Writing Challenge created by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, which was a wonderful thing they both set up. I got assigned 2000s Logan with the song 'I Will Always Love You' by Whitney Houston. I had a lot of fun writing this, especially since I took a different approach to it. All I will say is my inspiration was this video right here.

Enjoy!

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

There is dust dancing in the air, swirling in the fumes of disinfectant. They float and falter, only to seemingly disintegrate as they hit the wooden floor. There are piles of clothes, some in need of folding and some waiting to take a ride in the washing machine. Papers and books are pushed into a corner, waiting to return as you organize your writing utensils and silly trinkets.

You need to stop pushing off the task of cleaning your room, but it can’t be helped. Juggling being a teacher to a multitude of students and going on missions for Charles as an X-Man, your free time is slim to none. By the time the day is over, all you want to do is flop onto your bed and sleep until morning breaks. The idea of being more productive than you already were was exhausting to think about.

Yet here you are on a Friday evening, Walkman blasting music into your headphones as you run the rag across your desk, the wood sparkling from cleaner that smelled of citrus.

A hodgepodge of tunes played one after the other as the CD spun, all being love songs for the season of February. Some were simply romantic and joyous, while others played the melancholiest of sounds. It didn’t matter what kind of love song it was; you loved them all.

Valentine's Day was always a holiday you adored. Growing up, your family would always use it as an excuse to get together. While it has always been viewed as a time for romance, your family saw it as a time to celebrate the familial side of love. It created a cherished feeling for the season, especially with having a family that loved you no matter what. Even when all you saw was romance, your heart was happy.

At least, that was the case until a certain man came into the forefront of your existence.

Logan Howlett was something else. The first time you saw him, he was walking down the hall with the Professor getting the grand tour. You didn’t think someone could look so attractive in a jacket with the school emblem on it, but damn. The skin that pulled against his exposed collar bones made you want to sink your teeth into him.

It started as a small crush for a while. Even as an adult, you’ve always been fairly reserved around people unfamiliar to you. So, like a fly on the wall, you would look from afar, studying him closely. You would drink him in as he made himself more comfortable and it wasn’t until you accidentally made eye contact with him that your lives started to tightly intertwine.

You could feel your face heat up as you thought about how close you two have gotten. You wouldn’t say the two of you are inseparable, but it’s pretty damn close. Every time you come back from an errand, he is there waiting for you. Every morning, he is waiting for you in the kitchen to have breakfast together. Most evenings after the school day is done, he is meeting with you in your room to enjoy his cigar while you wind down with your secret stash of wine. It's become apparent to you that you are his go to, and it would be a lie to say he isn’t yours as well. You enjoy his company, which has transformed your feelings into something far greater.

You wouldn’t know what to call your relationship with him. You know it’s nothing super serious, but you feel the potential for it to be. You see how different he is with you; how his crass attitude seems to change into something much more sincere and open. You think he is much like you; the more he opens up, the more he shows he cares. Even so, you aren’t sure he would allow himself to indulge in the idea of belonging to someone.

The thought alone dampers your mood slightly, causing your shoulders to sag. As much as you love this time of the year, having Logan so close yet not quite in your grasp makes your heart crazed. You crave his companionship, and oh what you wouldn’t give to have it.

You wonder if he has Valentine's Day plans but knowing him you highly doubt it. You’d bet money that he doesn't even know the 14th is tomorrow, the days and months meshing together. Maybe you’ll do something for him anyways, like buy him some quality cigars or good whiskey to hide with your stash of alcohol. Maybe you could run out tonight and grab something.

In the midst of your thoughts, you hear Whitney Houston’s rich voice travel through your ears, causing you to perk up.

“Oh yes!” You whisper with excitement. “I haven’t heard this song in a while.”

You twirl over to your door, cracking it to help air out the fumes of disinfectant and wood polish. You grab the broom and start to sweep, humming along to the song until it’s too hard to resist opening your mouth.

“And IIIIIII will always love youuuuu,” you sing out, enunciating Whitney’s range as you brush away the remnants of dust and junk that found itself stranded on the floor.

There was something about this song that always drew you in. It’s a love song, yet it’s bittersweet. It’s a song that truly encapsulates loving someone so much that you must set them free. Maybe you love it because it’s a way for you to empathize, or it’s preparing you for the day you may have to let someone go with love. A small part of your mind wonders if you are already doing that with Logan, but it quickly vanishes; it’s just you and Whitney.

You can’t help but sing into the broom, dancing in circles that slightly scatter your dust bunny piles, but you could care less. When the sax solo plays, you hold the broom up front with fingers moving sporadically along the wooden handle. You make noises trying to replicate the sound of the alto, dipping back and forth recreating movements you’ve seen saxophone players make. You’re in the zone now; immersed in a dream as you sing along without a care in the world. Little did you know, there was someone watching you from your door.

Soon enough, you find yourself on your bed, broom being held like a mic stand, dipping down into a low bow before the climax of the song hits. You take a deep breath, preparing to unleash the iconic phrase and pitch from past your lips.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII EEEEEEE IIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOUUUUU,” your back goes back in an arch, lungs working overtime as air rushes out. You can’t hear yourself, and you know rather than the beautiful sound of Whitney Houston, you probably sound insane. You didn’t care though.

Well, you didn’t until your eyes landed on your now closed door, a body leaning against it with a smug grin on the face of the person who has infiltrated every part of your daily life.

Oh God… Logan…

“So, this is what you’ve been up to all evening.”

The broom drops from your hands, falling to the floor with a clank as your embarrassment permeates the room.

“Um… how long have you been standing there?”

He pushes off the door, hands behind his back as he continues towards you. “Long enough to see that stellar sax solo of yours.”

If your face could get redder, you’d be a maraschino cherry.

“So stellar in fact, I think I need a listen.”

“I’m not performing for you again,” you huff. “This is so embarrassing.”

“While I’d love to see and hear you again, I was talking about what you were listening to, sweetheart.”

You pause, looking at him confused. “You’ve never heard of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’?”

“Should I?”

“Um yes!” You proclaim, arms shooting up into the air. “It’s one of the best love songs ever written and performed! Are you telling me you don’t listen to music?”

He is standing in front of you, and he’s tall enough to be leveled with your chest. His face tilts up, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you: both light-hearted and full of adoration that shows through the crows feet. It makes your heart race.

“Not many love songs play in a dingy, underground fighting ring,” he grins, raspy tone pleasant to your ears. “Come on, sit down. Give me a listen.”

You hear rustling behind him but quickly shift attention when he sits down, putting whatever’s in his hands out of your line of sight. You move to sit down beside him, removing your Walkman from the pouch on your hip. Your left leg is almost touching his right one, the heat begging to transfer with one touch. You remove your headphones, moving to put them over Logan’s ears, the band pressing down the points of his hair.

You giggle at this. “There go your cat ears.”

You go to shift the track back, and as you get ready to hit play, you feel a cushioned headphone against your ear. You turn and Logan’s face is very close to yours.

“What are you doing, Logan?”

“About to give this song you love so much a listen, but I want you to listen with me.” He smirks. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

He’s going to be the end of me. What’s with him tonight?

You can’t speak so you nod, pressing play to let the song take its form. His eyes closed as he listened, allowing you to watch his facial movements as he reacted. You could see every crease and divot shift as he listened intently. You looked for key reactions during certain parts of the song, your lips quirking up when a smile appeared on his face.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest when the saxophone solo starts, your eyebrow raising in response. “What’s so funny?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head as the song enters the third verse. You see him lock in, smile fading slightly as the song rolls on. You wonder what he’s thinking; what is Whitney telling him? It isn’t until she belts out the final chorus that his smile returns tenfold, making the butterflies fluttering in your belly go crazy.

The song fades out, and before the next track can play you press pause. There is a beat of silence before you pull away from the headphone, looking at Logan with a curiosity to know what his brain is churning.

“Soooo, what do you think?”

Logan looks to ponder, his fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. You feel the rough skin of his fingertips graze your tummy ever so slightly, causing a shiver to run down your spine. This moment is so intimate and for the first time you are seeing a vulnerability that Logan has never expressed before.

“I think…” he draws out, eyes lifting to meet yours. “I think I understand why you danced like no one’s watching, especially during the sax solo.”

You groan, face going into your hands with words muffled as he laughs. “You are so unserious. That’s all you got from this?”

“Oh, trust me. I got a lot more than you probably bargained for.”

You peek from between your fingers, hands becoming hot from the blood rush in your cheeks. You feel his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands into his. “Did you know there is a Wolverine Alto Saxophone?”

You gawk at him, pushing against his hands playfully. “You’re so full of shit.”

“They don’t make them anymore. Fairly rare and a little hot headed but…” Logan brings both your hands to your hips, his own flipping on top with a slight grip that causes you to squeeze your flesh. “I’m sure the right player could handle it just fine.”

“Logan, are you flirting with me?” Your heart is racing, your mind controlling its speed as it goes 100 miles per second.

“Is it working?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Because if it is, I think you should play me sometime.”

Your breath comes out shaky, nerves racking your body. This is the closest you have ever been to being with him. You are so close to having an answer as to what you two are; what you two could be. You wonder what has gotten into him. What pushed this on?

A laugh comes from under your breath. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Hmm,” he hums, moving closer to you so his face is mere inches from yours. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

“Is that so? And why is that?” You challenge, hoping for him to say what you want to hear.

“I’ve got someone in my life who likes to press my buttons without even trying, and I think I wanna start pressing theirs too.”

“Wow,” you breathe out. “You’re good.”

“Yeah? Then show me.” His lips are almost on yours, a smirk plastered on his kissable lips. “Show me how good I am.”

You nod, leaning fully in to press your lips to his. He groans against your mouth; a sound so delightful it makes your skin raise. You remove your hands from under his, moving to his biceps to ground yourself. You can finally feel his grip on you, and it’s secure. He kisses you with a purpose, his movements precise, and it draws you in. It creates a gravitational pull between the two of you, your hands pulling on him and his own pulling your hips. Next thing you know, he is almost on top of you.

“Mmm,” he purrs. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

You pull away slightly, his lips chasing yours for a moment before you steady him. “Yeah? Well, you’re fun to play.”

His shoulders shake as he chuckles, going in for another round before he pauses. “Before I forget…”

He sits back up, reaching behind him as he grabs something that crinkles. You try to peek over his shoulder, curiosity getting the better of you, only for him to face you once more. Your eyes go wide as you see the bouquet of daisies in his hand, white tissue wrapping keeping them together.

You are in awe. You can’t remember the last time someone got you flowers. “These are for me?”

“They sure are,” He smiles with crinkled eyes. “Had to get flowers for my Valentine.”

You look down bashfully, tongue drawing over your lower lip, tasting remnants that are so him. “I didn’t think you’d care about Valentine’s Day.”

“You said you love Valentine’s Day. Seems right to celebrate my baby’s favorite time of the year.”

My baby…

He hands you the flowers, and you cradle them in your arms. They are lively and simply beautiful; a fresh, sweet scent floating up to your nose. Everything about this moment is sweet, and the flowers make it even sweeter.

“Soooo,” you draw out. “Does this mean you want to make things official?”

“Official?” He takes the flowers from your hands gently, placing them on the floor before pulling you onto his lap. You yelp as he squeezes you to him, vibrating with the urgency to be close. “I sure like the sound of that.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling yet another wave of shyness at how he holds and looks at you. It’s something new, and it blossoms in your chest as he slowly rocks you with kisses against the side of your face. All you can think is that you love him, and you can’t help but think he loves you too.

Thank God for love and Thank God for Whitney Houston.

#klloveuary2025 #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett #logan fluff #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fic #logan fic #xmen fic #my fics

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suzdin · 5 months ago

Text

One Day

Tim Rockford x f!sex worker reader

Summary: You’re Detective Rockford’s favorite girl at the local brothel.

Warnings: established relationship, terms of endearment are used a few times (precious, baby, sweetheart), sex work, possibly derogatory term of sex workers used (whore), oral / fingering (f receiving), nipple play, cop!Tim, dom!Tim, soft!Tim, possessive!Tim, sweat kink, soft belly appreciation, spanking, rough sex (consensual), nipping, handcuff play, bondage, some fluff if you squint hard enough, unprotected p in v and a resulting creampie, pining for more, brief mentions of homicide, poverty, and general cop knowledge and jargon

Word Count: 3,600+

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @natdeandar @morallyinept @chronically-ghosted @daddy-dins-girl @guelyury @heavennumber2

It’s another sticky, muggy night in the city of Houston, Tim’s antiperspirant failing miserably as he tries in vain to dry the large semicircles of sweat under his arms, angling the air conditioning vents toward his pits in the hopes it will do the trick.

He grumbles when it’s ineffective, partially because of his thin patience, knowing he’ll have to get his shirt dry cleaned tomorrow before the stains can set in, and partially because he isn’t sure why he chose a white button up instead of something lighter and cooler. Not that it would help the sweat problem much in this weather, but maybe it would make it less obvious.

Although his salary is much better here than in the sleepy New England town he came from, he would move back in heartbeat if not for you. The heat and big city life were not well suited to a man such as himself.

He navigates the darkened streets in one of the many derelict neighborhoods surrounding downtown, the route as familiar to him as the lines on his hand, his need to see you heightened more than usual due to a recent string of homicides that has him on edge and the whole precinct in a tizzy. He hopes you aren’t occupied already, but he’ll wait if he needs to, like he always does.

He pulls the unmarked cruiser into the driveway of a rundown, two story Victorian just south of the 610 Loop, cutting the engine, sucking in a deep breath as he stares at the faint glow in a few of the ornate windows.

He hastily shoves open the door and climbs out, stuffing his keys and wallet in his pockets, his shoes crunching quietly on the gravel path as he makes his way toward the wraparound porch, decorated in various potted flora, tables, chairs, and even a porch swing.

He loves to imagine sitting out here with you in the mornings, drinking coffee and watching the sun crest over the city skyline.

One day, he tells himself. One day.

He reaches the front door, raising his fist to knock, but it flies open with a rush of cold air before he has a chance, his arm hanging limply in the air as his eyes lock with one of the house madams.

Sylvia, a lovely Latina woman whom he would guesstimate is around his age, beckons him inside, the cool air conditioning striking his face a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat.

“Detective Rockford,” Sylvia purrs. “Good to see you again. It’s been several weeks. I almost forgot what you looked like.”

Tim nods, his brow furrowed, clearly not amused by the teasing cadence in her voice.

The lobby is quiet and mostly empty, two of the girls sitting on a bench near the window and gossiping about something or other as they share a package of cookies, wrapped in thin lace robes that leave nothing to the imagination. They wave and smile at Tim, a familiar face to most of them.

“Been busy,” he replies gruffly, handing Sylvia his wallet to hold as collateral. “Is she available?”

“She is,” Sylvia says, a gentle smirk gracing her ruby lips. “While it’s been busy on your end, it’s been slow for us. She misses you.”

He frowns, diverting his attention to the dusty antique carpet, grinding his jaw.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Miss her too.”

Sylvia smiles, leaning against the wall as she crosses her arms.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks.

She always asks, and he always declines. “No, thank you,” he replies.

Sylvia hums and purses her lips, cocking her head toward the back of the house.

“She’s in her room. You know where to go.”

—

The smell of incense perfumes the air as Tim draws nearer to your room, the faint glow of lamplight spilling into the corridor from your open doorway.

He reaches your room, his dark slacks already tight as he observes you silently, taking in and appreciating how beautiful you look like this, lost in your thoughts.

You’re lying on your stomach, naked aside from a black lace thong, your feet swinging in the air as you hum a familiar tune, scribbling something in a notebook.

It takes him a moment to realize you have earbuds in, which is why you haven’t acknowledged him yet. He smirks to himself, gently rapping his knuckles against the open door as he murmurs your name.

You yelp, jumping to your knees on the edge of the mattress when you’re caught off guard, having been in your own little world, your eyes wide and wild for a moment before reality sinks in, a breath of relief and joy escaping your lungs.

You rip the earbuds out of your ears, not even bothering to put them in their case as you bounce giddily off the bed, running to greet Tim, practically leaping into his arms.

“Hey, baby,” he croons as he lifts you up, your legs circling his waist, his fingers digging into your backside. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m glad to see you have catlike reflexes in case there ever is a real threat,” he teases, hearing the smile in his voice, even though you can’t currently see his face because you’re too busy planting kisses along his neck and jaw.

You giggle-snort and you inhale his scent, a much needed comfort. He kicks the door closed and embraces you tightly, walking you backwards in his arms and plopping you onto the bed, climbing over you, caging you against the mattress with long, heavy limbs.

“What were you listening to, precious?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he begins kissing and worshipping your bare breasts, his tongue deftly circling each nipple, alternating between the two.

“Smashing Pumpkins,” you reply, whimpering as he takes a stiff peak into his mouth, pulling it gently between his teeth before popping off with a wet smack of his lips.

“Mm,” he hums, grinding his erection into you. “Thought that tune sounded familiar.”

He wraps you in his arms, his weight heavy and comforting on top of you, his eyes boring into yours.

“I missed you,” you say, your voice hardly above a whisper.

“Missed you too, precious,” he rumbles, nuzzling your neck, mustache tickling your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, your breath catching when he grinds against you again, your arousal already soaking clear through the lace.

You press your nose to the perspiration darkening his shirt, inhaling deeply, the smell both a comfort and an aphrodisiac, making you tingle in all the right places.

“You smell so good,” you mumble against his shoulder.

“I’m sweating like a goddamn whore in church. I’m not suited to this Texas weather,” he grunts in disagreement.

“Hey, hey, hey, mind your tongue. You may not believe this, but you’re actually talking to a whore right now,” you tease with a grin.

“And besides,” you add, poking him in the ribs, “I’m rather fond of your sweat.”

He groans in mock annoyance with a low chuckle, shaking his head as he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

“What would you like tonight, Detective?” you purr, both legs hooping around his waist.

“Mmm,” he grunts, pressing his hips against yours, rolling them forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “I have an idea…” he says. “But only if you’re up for it.”

“With you, I’m up for anything.”

One corner of his mustache curls into a wry smirk, his eyes flashing with lust.

“Well then,” he says, sitting up to shrug his leather harness off, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt. “Take your panties off, sweetheart.”

You don’t waste a single second, shimmying them down your legs, dangling the black lace from your foot, extending it toward him.

He takes the scant fabric from you, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling deeply, his pupils dilating with lust.

“You smell so fucking pretty,” he growls, putting them to the side with his harness. “Spread your legs for me.”

Your legs part, your folds blooming open for his hungry gaze, glistening with slick.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he whispers as he climbs onto the bed, pushing your legs further apart, positioning his broad shoulders in between.

You giggle, your skin warming as you look down at him, his lips hovering inches from your core.

“I thought you wanted to try something different this time,” you say with a playful grin.

“Mm,” he rumbles low in his chest, planting kisses along the soft inner flesh of your thighs. “I do. But I want to make you come on my tongue first,” he explains, his dark brown eyes meeting yours over the ridge of your mound.

Your hips flex involuntarily closer to his mouth, a small whimper escaping. He’s one of very few clients who actually cares about your pleasure, and the only one who sees you as a person rather than a toy for fast and easy gratification.

With a devious grin, his face dips between your legs, his fingers spreading your folds as he drags the flat of his tongue agonizingly slow up your seam, entrance to clit.

He pauses at the pert bud, circling it slowly before lifting your hips, slinging your legs over his shoulders to grant him better passage to your sopping wet heat.

With a soft groan, his tongue plunges into your core, a deep hum in the back of his throat as he tastes your essence.

“Always so fucking sweet for me,” he murmurs against your flesh, lavishing a few more slow, steady swipes up your seam, making your hips twitch.

He brings one arm up to bar across your pelvis, holding you in place as his attention shifts to your clit, his lips suctioning around the sensitive bud while he sinks two fingers with the opposite hand into your silken tunnel, slowly pumping them in and out.

You mewl as he curls them slightly in a ‘come hither’ motion, brushing against the sensitive patch of nerves, his lips steadily sucking and tongue swirling your engorged clit.

As the onslaught continues, your fingers tangle in his dark, graying curls, your hips sputtering with the exertion of trying to move despite being pinned down, a satisfied hum vibrating against your core as he keeps you from wriggling beneath him.

“Tim—“ you whine as he presses your body more firmly into the mattress, his fingers gradually speeding up. He’s been fine tuned to your body for a while, and he can feel you how close you are.

“Fuck… Tim…” you whine again, your heels digging into his back as you come hard and fast, your walls fluttering and tightening around his fingers.

He groans against your sex as you come, catching every last drop of you on his tongue, the vibrations only intensifying your release as he works you through it. His eyes lift to see you, watching you fall apart for him.

He pulls away when he’s satisfied that you’re completely done, his mustache and chin glistening with evidence of your pleasure, a thin, shiny string of come still connecting you to his fingertips briefly.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing reverent kisses along your inner thighs, his dick straining painfully hard against his zipper.

“What now, Detective?” you ask softly, mussing his curly strands with your fingers.

He grins up at you, dark brown eyes somehow becoming impossibly darker as he crawls off the edge of the bed and hovers above you, liberating his upper half of the sweat-stained undershirt he wears beneath the button up.

You love to marvel at his thick, toned biceps, but even more than that, you love the slight, soft paunch of his lower belly, a swathe of dark curls disappearing below the waistband of his boxer-briefs as he kicks the slacks aside.

“Stop staring at my belly,” he scolds with a smirk, his underwear soon joining the discarded slacks, heavy, uncut cock rigid and weeping for you as he slowly begins to pump himself.

“I like your belly,” you tell him with an affectionate pout, swiping two of your fingers along your seam as your gaze lingers on his pistoning fist.

“First my sweat, now my belly. Guess I should cut back on all those donuts, huh?” he remarks playfully in a self-deprecating tone, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows as you peer up at him.

“Don’t. Makes a good pillow,” you say with a soft smile, biting your lower lip, causing his cock to twitch in his hand.

“Stand up,” he tells you lowly in a sudden commanding tone that makes your walls clench, no hesitation whatsoever as you immediately comply.

“Yes sir,” you hum, eliciting a low growl from him.

“Turn around. Hands on your head,” he commands now, turning on his cop voice as he steps behind you. You attempt to turn your head to watch him over your shoulder, only to have him shove it forward forcefully.

“Eyes front,” he growls. “And hands on your head like I told you.”

You don’t dare dawdle a second time, gasping softly as you bring your hands to the back of your head, interlocking your fingers.

You hear a metallic jingle at your six and it doesn’t take you long to realize what’s happening.

You and Tim have used cuffs before, sure. The pink fuzzy ones that you keep in your top drawer, the ones he often referred to as a joke when they didn’t tighten to his liking and popped open far too easily. But these? You can already tell these are the real deal.

You can’t help but wonder where he had them hidden, but perhaps you weren’t meant to know.

He grabs each wrist one at a time, pulling one arm behind your back and then the other, placing each cuff around your wrist and tightening them until the cool steel is biting into your flesh, a far cry from the novelty ones you’ve used before.

You had established safe words long ago, and he had your list of do’s and don’t’s committed to memory, but he still checks in with you the second they’re tightened, leaning forward to find your gaze, silently confirming with your eyes that you’re okay.

One corner of his upper lip curves slightly into an almost imperceptible smirk when you meet his visage with a warm smile.

“I said eyes front,” he chides, shoving your head forward again, making your back arch with a low whimper.

“We’re bringing you down to the station for questioning,” he states, your name a soft purr on his tongue as he begins Mirandizing you, the speech so deeply ingrained in his memory he could recite it word for word in his sleep.

You play into the fantasy, beginning to fight against the brute hold he has, wrists twisting in the cuffs.

“I’m innocent, Officer Rockford, I swear! I had to kill Gene! He had it coming!” you say, adding the extra dramatics simply because you can.

You have no idea who Gene is, a name you pulled entirely out of thin air, but it seems to stir Tim up, which is exactly what you wanted it to do. He hated even hearing other men’s names on your lips, real or fictional alike.

He places the heel of his palm between your shoulder blades and forces you face down, a moan escaping your lungs as you continue to resist, the loud ringing of skin harshly meeting skin echoing in the small room as he abruptly smacks your ass hard in retaliation.

“‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law’,” he reiterates, hearing the blade of agitation in his voice, leaning over you so the thick head of his cock grinds painfully against the cheek he just slapped. “Don’t think this isn’t going on your record, sweetheart.”

You tremor, your skin heating. ‘Precious’ is what he called you during moments of affection and, dare you say, love?, but ‘sweetheart’… well, that was a term of endearment reserved only for times like these, and it never failed to turn you on more.

You moan, writhing more fervently in his grip, the blunt head of his cock pushing even harder against the soft flesh of your smarting backside.

“My lawyer will be hearing about this! Police brutality! Abuse of power!” you cry out, playing it up more than necessary, but it’s apparent he likes it.

“Fuck your lawyer,” he snarls, smacking the same cheek a second time, making you yelp. “We have sufficient evidence to bring you in, and now a confession. You’re going away for a long time, sweetheart.”

Before you can counter, he leans downs, broad chest pinning you beneath him, his plush lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Maybe we can work something out. Off the books,” he purrs, pulling your earlobe between his teeth and tugging. “We could get you off on an insanity or self defense plea.”

Your frantic motions still, the only movement the slow ascent and descent of your rib cage.

“How do we do that, Officer Rockford?” you ask in the most pathetic, submissive tone you can muster. He smirks above you, but you don’t see it.

“By getting me off,” he croons, teasing your slick folds with his cock, your tunnel instinctively tightening.

Without ample warning, he lines himself up and plunges himself deep inside of you, his pelvis meeting yours in a single, brutal thrust, making you keen as your fingers and toes curl in tandem.

You like it rough, a fact he’s well aware of.

“That’s my girl. You take my cock so well,” he praises, trying not to dwell too much on the idea that it’s literally your job to take cock well, the possessiveness he tries to hide igniting within him.

The ridge of his nose creases, his teeth bared through a hiss as he slowly begins fucking in and out of you, wide fingers digging a bruising grip into your hips.

“You are mine, aren’t you? Only mine,” he grunts, pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in again.

“Yes, Tim,” you whine, every harsh slam of his hips against yours making you keen and gasp. “Only yours.”

“Repeat it,” he commands, yanking back on your bound wrists so hard that you’re partially suspended above the mattress, making you cry out in a way that gives him pause until you ensure him visually that you’re still okay.

“I’m yours, Tim. Only yours,” you repeat through heady breaths, your lower lip dangling in ecstasy as the speed and intensity of his thrusts gradually increases.

It wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time clients would ask you to profess the same words to them, with varying iterations, but Tim was the only one you ever meant it with. Only for him. Only his.

“That’s my good girl,” Tim hums reverently, his face tensing and contorting above you, and although you’re faced away from him, you know by his rhythm and vocal changes that he’s getting close.

“Gonna… paint those pretty walls with my cum,” he pants, one hand still clutching your wrists, the other reaching around to slowly circle your clit.

“Come on my cock, precious,” he urges, hissing as he attempts to maintain control. “Come for me.”

It only takes a few more well placed strokes between his cock and his fingers, working you to a second, more intense orgasm than the first, his name a prayer flowing from your tongue as your tunnel practically strangles his thick length, spurring his own intense release mere moments later.

Under normal circumstances, you required every client to wear protection, no exceptions. You never let your clients come in you — either in your womb or mouth — only ever a condom or on your skin, and anyone who attempted otherwise would be summarily barred from future services.

But Tim, like everything else involving him, was the one and only exception, the hot jets of spend shooting against your g-spot heightening your orgasm as you milk his balls of every last drop.

With a final, breathy groan and shiver, Tim collapses with a sigh on top of you.

—

You both lie naked on your bed, halfway on top of his chest with your arms and legs wrapped around as his warm, heavy hands massage your bruised wrists in slow, tender circles.

You’re wide awake but neither of you is speaking, basking in each other’s post-coital afterglow, finding peace in simply listening to the other’s breaths and heartbeats in the stifling silence of the room.

He knows you won’t leave the brothel, not anytime soon, too worried about assisting the madams in protecting the younger, more naive and impressionable girls from succumbing to harm at the hands of clients or hostile outsiders while still being able to pay off your debts, fiscally or otherwise.

Still, it doesn’t prevent him from dreaming of a life with you. Waking up next to you every morning or falling asleep inside you every night, curled up in his arms. Give you a life you won’t allow yourself to have, at least not right now.

He continues circling your soft wrists with his thumbs, his brow knitting with concern.

“I was too rough this time, wasn’t I?” he asks you quietly, the remorse in his tone palpable. The concern he has for your wellbeing makes your heart clench and your throat constrict.

“No,” you answer with a soft giggle. “It was perfect.”

He mirrors your giggle with a deep, throaty chuckle, pulling you all the way on top of him, arms encasing you as he buries his face against your neck.

One day, he thinks to himself. One day.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #smut #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #merge mansion #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ohtobeleah · 2 years ago

Text

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Series Masterlist

Summary: When Jake is tasked with taking his kids this festive season, he never though he’d get a call in the middle of the night that would change his life. Marriage is tougher than it seemed on paper—but whats harder than accepting your marriage is crumbling around you is watching you ex wife slowly fade away.

Warnings: Character Death. Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ANGST. Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Author Note: Masterlist subject to change as series is still a work in progress. Descriptions, word counts and titles may vary.

-> Chapter One: [The Diagnosis] The last thing you ever expected was to be diagnosed with breast cancer. To make matters worse? You’d been separated from the love of your life for just shy of a year. How do you tell the love of your life you might be dying? It’s simple really— You don’t. (Out Now) 2.1

-> Chapter Two: [Chemo & Charisma] Jake arrives in Rhode Island to accompany his three kids back to Houston Texas the next morning. He expects it to be slightly awkward, but something he doesn’t expect is to be cryptically seduced by you—his ex wife. (Out Now) 4.6

-> Chapter Three: [V For Vendetta] When your stomach can’t handle the Chemo medication, you empty the content of your stomach. While doing so, you and Jake come to a crossroads about your relationship going forward. (Out Now) 4.5

-> Chapter Four: [Parental Guidance] Jakes Mother simply cannot understand what he saw in you, your mother simply cannot comprehend why you left Jake. (Out Now) 4.1

-> Chapter Five: [Why Do They Call It Love?] Jake spends time with his side of the family and your kiddos in Texas. The lies quickly come to an end though when an overworked and overwhelmed nursing student makes the wrong call to your not so emergent contact. (Out Now) 5k

-> Chapter Six: [Chaos & Conflict] As panic consumes Jake after finding out about your current medical condition, Jake calls your mother to fill in the gaps. Nurse Lydia escapes being taken to her supervisor and Jake lets lose on his mother who tries to stop him leaving. (Out Now) 4.4k

-> Chapter Seven [Faucet Failure] Jake makes his way back to you after finding out the truth. While under sedation to give your brain some rest, you remember the good times and the bad with your husband. (Out Now)4.6

-> Chapter Eight [Oh, Honeybee] Jake can’t accept why you’d keep such a life threatening situation a secret and you can’t accept why he suddenly seems to care. (Out Now) 4k

-> Chapter Nine [The Pomegranate Theory] Jakes still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening with your health. Doctor Ignatii oversteps? And you settle in while Jake helps you write some of your newest book. (Out Now) 4.3

-> Chapter Ten [The Potato Head Society & The Other Guy, Jarred?] Jake helps you shave your head in hopes of keeping your power and control. Facing your own mortality makes you question your faith in a higher authority and Jensen and Jake met for the first, and what you hope, will be the last time. (Out Now) 4.0k

-> Chapter Eleven [The Man] When Jensen and Jake butt heads over who’s what to you, it blows way out of proportion to an extent so high, that Jake lashes out. (Out Now) 5.6

-> Chapter Twelve [Bring Me The Horizon] After Jensen and Jake finish their face-off, you tell Jake how it is. He practices the art of holding himself accountable for his actions, and you get a call that would send you into a downward spiral. Putting you in jeopardy right before your surgery. 5.1k

-> Chapter Thirteen [Panic Room] Jakes darkest fears come to fruition when surgery doesn’t go as planned and the months to come bring a new reality he never saw coming. 5.5k

-> Epilogue: Part One [Boulevard of Broken Dream] You received a call you and Bradley Bradshaw have been waiting on for what felt like a decade. Jakes mother causes a scene as worry consumes you. Does Jake want the very thing that put him in the hospital in the first place? 6.2k

-> Epilogue: Part Two

#was it over? // jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin series #jake seresin imagine #TopGun hangman #topgun fanfic #tw: cancer #tw: breast cancer #tw: stroke

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willowsnook · 8 months ago

Note

hello! scotch with a sprite in the short, please)

josh allen x publicist!reader

just shut up and come here

-----------------------------------------------

Being the publicist for an NFL quarterback should be difficult, but Josh made your life surprisingly easy. No scandals, no reckless press conferences, no secret children. He was exactly like the media portrayed him: kind, funny, and overflowing with golden retriever energy.

After working together for seven years, you were close—really close. You saw each other almost daily and texted even more often, with conversations that went beyond work. He’d send you ridiculous memes, and you’d keep him updated on F1 drama, especially when it involved Daniel Ricciardo, your favorite driver. You jokingly said you only stuck around because Josh had befriended him.

It didn’t help the rumors. People often assumed there was more to your relationship than just publicist and client, and honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Josh insisted you join him on every vacation, “just in case something happens.” His Instagram was filled with pictures of you, and his parents regularly invited you to family gatherings.

But the truth was, you were just friends—best friends. At this point, you even joked about having to get married platonically, given your mutual bad luck with dating. You’d gone out with great guys, but something always felt missing. As much as you tried, you often found yourself wishing you were hanging out with Josh instead.

You didn’t know exactly when the crush started, but you buried it deep. He was your client, after all, and your job came first.

Tonight, you were dressed to the nines for the ESPYs, meeting Josh in the hotel lobby. His eyes lingered on you, and you couldn’t help but blush under his gaze.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off you.

You smirked, smoothing your dress. “Well, Mr. Quarterback has to have some arm candy.”

He laughed, taking your hand as he led you outside to the waiting SUV. The ride was quiet, your hand squeezing his, knowing he was nervous. Despite being one of the biggest names in New York, he was still shy at heart.

Stepping out of the car, the blinding flash of cameras greeted you both. As you tried to slip away from the photographers, Josh tightened his grip on your hand.

“Oh no,” he said with a grin, “if I have to do this, so do you.”

“Josh, people are going to think we’re dating,” you complained.

He flashed you a boyish smile. “They already do.”

His hand settled on your waist as you posed together for the cameras. By the time you made it inside, it felt like hours had passed.

“I’m getting a drink,” you told him. “You want anything?”

“Whatever you’re getting is fine,” he said, turning to chat with a teammate.

At the bar, you ordered two glasses of wine when a familiar voice called your name.

“Stefon!” you squealed, throwing your arms around him. “I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, grinning. “Where’s your other half?”

“Mingling somewhere,” you replied, brushing off his comment. “How’s Houston?”

“Hot as hell,” he joked, making you laugh. “Josh misses me, huh?”

“He does,” you assured him.

“Could’ve fooled me. But then again, he’s never been good at saying how he feels.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He gave you a knowing look. “One of these days, you’ll figure it out.”

Before you could respond, he was pulled into another conversation. You grabbed the drinks and made your way back to Josh, who waved you over to the table.

As the awards started, you clapped along with the crowd. Josh had been nominated a few times but hadn't won yet.

“And the ESPY for Best Male Athlete goes to… Josh Allen!”

The crowd erupted in cheers as you gave him a tight squeeze. He smiled nervously before heading on stage.

“Wow,” he began, “just being nominated alongside such incredible athletes is an honor. I want to thank my teammates, my coaches, and my family for always supporting me.”

You smiled, knowing his speech by heart since he’d run it by you earlier. But then he looked straight at you, taking a deep breath.

“Lastly, I want to thank someone very special,” he said. “She’s been with me since the start of my NFL career as my publicist, my right hand, and more importantly, my friend. Y/N, you are the love of my life. I couldn’t find another woman I’d want to spend every day with, even if I tried. I fall in love with you more every single day.”

The audience erupted in ‘aww’s, but you were frozen in your seat.

Josh grinned. “That’s the first time I’ve ever told her that, so I should probably wrap this up before she kills me. Thank you, everyone.”

As he walked off stage, your phone buzzed non-stop in your purse. You caught Stefon laughing and filming your reaction from a few tables away. You flipped him off playfully and chugged your drink.

This would definitely give you weeks of PR work, but you couldn’t help the giddy feeling spreading through your chest. This moment wasn’t exactly how you imagined it—but it was still perfect.

When the show ended, you made your way to the lobby. Josh was leaning against a wall, watching you.

“You know you just gave me so much work right before my vacation,” you teased.

He grinned. “Just shut up and come here.”

He opened his arms, and you stepped into his embrace. As his lips met yours, everything else faded away. You sighed into the kiss, wishing this moment could last forever.

#josh allen #nfl imagines #josh allen x reader #josh allen imagine

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

Text

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

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