#damn girl is that your secret to looking so hot all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pearlessance · 2 months

Text

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age.

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look.

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin.

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear.

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water.

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say.

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says.

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him.

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him.

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question.

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists.

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity.

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder.

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive.

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this.

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind.

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace.

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you.

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer.

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on.

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration.

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave.

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even.

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight.

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout.

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle.

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.”

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank.

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did.

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face.

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy.

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper.

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out.

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself.

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open.

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake.

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses.

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.”

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes.

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe.

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you.

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers.

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now.

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it.

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you.

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t.

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room.

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle.

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds.

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.”

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense.

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life.

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline.

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake.

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different.

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire.

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep.

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane.

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue.

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway.

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you.

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up.

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets.

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead.

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works.

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes.

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this.

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course, he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?”

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks.

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated.

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive.

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you.

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart.

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough.

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years.

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever.

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?”

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too.

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster.

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left.

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this.

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy.

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you.

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source.

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy.

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love.

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it.

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity.

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut.

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you.

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin.

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound.

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day.

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him.

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum.

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven.

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned.

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you?

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness.

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold.

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids?

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom.

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say.

“So do it,” you whisper.

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you.

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

2K notes · View notes

aliteralsemicolon · 1 month

Text

I'll wait for your love - 18+

See part 1 | See Part 2 | Part 3 of We can't be friends (wait for your love)

The only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want things to go back to the way they were and Spencer agrees that change may be for the best.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions + detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNINGS: Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, case details (barely) mentioned, alcohol mentioned like once. Smut (not the focus at all): making out, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, praise, use of pet names (angel, pretty girl, etc). Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.4K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Avoiding Spencer wasn’t overly difficult on the flight back to D.C. You weren’t entirely sure how to face him after he risked his life for you, so you just pretended to be asleep the whole time. You even took a separate jeep from the tarmac to avoid a car ride back with him, and almost made a clean getaway to your car in the parking lot when Hotch stopped you.

“I’m sorry to hold you back, but I do need the Anchorage report on my desk before tomorrow morning. It can’t be put off any longer.”

He looked extremely apologetic and you understood. You’re grateful he gave you as much time as he has. That’s how you ended up stuck at work til the later hours of the evening. Besides the few workaholics, security guards and janitors roaming around the corridors, the only other person there with you is Spencer, oddly. Even Hotch has gone home. You’ve spent more time stalking the doctor work through the pile of case files on his desk than you have writing in the one on yours. Only when you're caught do you look away.

“Everything okay?” The innocent curiosity in his big eyes further reddens the hot embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Fine.” You mutter, dipping your head back down to the open page.

You’re never going to get this damn file done if you can’t get him out of your head, and him being barely three feet away from you doesn’t help. It’s very difficult for you to get your words from pen to paper. Anchorage wasn’t haunting you like it did at first. It was a traumatic event, yes, but alone isn’t the cause of this…block. Obviously the reality that you’re leaving is starting to dawn on you. Somehow your mind has linked this case with your departure and finishing this report makes it more official than your actual resignation.

Plus, as much as you definitely hate Spencer, you do did care for him. The shock of him almost getting himself killed in front of you is another thing occupying your mind. It’s barely been twenty four hours since then, it’s still fresh. You can see him stand and grab his satchel in your peripheral vision, he’s preparing to leave. There are a lot of memories attached to that brown leather bag.

Things he would carry in there for you when you forgot your own bag.

You don’t make it obvious that you’re watching him gather his things in small glances.

He bought extra hair clips for you to keep in there because you would often forget those too.

It’s over now. No point in dwelling on it. You shake your head once he’s out of sight, trying to force him out of your thoughts. Now that he’s gone you’re hoping to actually be able to get some work done.

He taught you chess with the mini chess set he keeps in there. You discovered that you actually quite liked chess and would ask to play with him all the time. It was also his ‘secret’ weapon to help you calm down.

You roll your eyes to push back the tears from the memories that refuse to stop playing. This can wait until you get home, it’s not important.

It wasn’t the chess set that helped you feel calm. Spencer could win chess against you in just a few moves, but he would deliberately stretch out the game so you could have room to breathe. The longer the game, the more time you had to spend focused on the moves and slow down your thoughts. You could open up at your own pace. He would let you feel in control.

It doesn’t matter if he’s near you or not, Spencer has a way of invading your headspace wherever he is. Your train of thoughts is interrupted with a light thud on your right. You covertly roll the tears away again and turn to examine the source of the noise. A mug of coffee placed on your desk by

“Spencer?” You sputter breathlessly.

“Sorry. I know you told me to stop. This is the last time I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend what he’s going on about, not expecting him to be here at all.

“I thought you left.”

“I did– was. I was leaving, but I thought I’d make you some coffee before I go. Since you’ve been here a while.” He awkwardly explains.

You steadily direct your attention back to the mug, reeling in what was happening.

“Before you get mad, this really is just a cup of coffee from a colleague who thought it might help keep you energised if you’re planning to stay late. There’s no ulterior motive…”

He continues rambling but you’re not mentally present to hear any of it.

He made you coffee.

Even though you’ve been nothing short of an absolute bitch. Granted he was a bitch first, but the point is that he’s still thinking of your well being regardless. You can’t hide your tears from him this time. It’s the soft buzz of your name that draws you back to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! I’ll take the coffee–”

His panicked sentiment is cut short when you jump out of your seat and shove past him. The breakdown you’ve been avoiding hits you like a ton of bricks. You run into the nearest empty office and he runs after you, making it past the door before you can lock him out.

“Spencer p–please get out! I’m fine.” You’re pacing in the same spot, fanning away the stream falling down your cheeks, hyperventilating.

He doesn’t respond to you, instead cautiously taking your hand in his. You’re in too frenzied a state to care. He guides you to sit on the couch against the wall and you blindly go along with it, still trying to get yourself together.

You want to stop the tears, but you can’t do that until you get your breathing under control. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you slump into him, head buried in his chest. You should try to fight it, you should push him away, but you can’t. Right now, surrounded by his scent, held in his arms, you don’t want to move. It’s not something you can properly explain, but the feeling is so comforting that nothing else matters. All you know is that you’re safe and that’s enough for you to allow yourself to finally break down.

The first few sobs are loud, like there’s not enough air in the world to stabilise your lungs. They fizzle out into silent whimpers and you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater, balling it in your fist, just letting yourself feel. Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His right hand is rubbing circles on your back and his left hand is gently scratching just above the nape of your neck.

You stay like that for a while, even after you’ve stopped crying. It’s been so long since you’ve been in this little bubble with him and you don’t want it to end. You pull away when you feel the strap of his satchel across his stomach as your hand drops to his lap. He visually follows every move you make.

“You’re still wearing your bag.” You sniffle, leaning back.

“I am.” He whispers, understanding that you no longer want to be touched.

He stays in his original position; facing you, but now with one arm resting on top of the backrest and the other idly in his lap. You’ve moved so that now you're facing ahead with your back leaning against the cushions, pulling your knees into your chest. You had never found comfort in silence until the first time you experienced it with Spencer. Staying huddled, you divert your eyes towards him. There’s a distinct wet patch on his shirt. It’s less visible on his sweater-vest, but it’s there.

“Your shirt’s wet now.” It’s almost impossible to make out what you’re saying with your mouth muffled against your arm, but of course, Spencer manages anyway.

“It’ll dry.” He smiles, tone delicate.

“But– germs.” You choke a little due to your previous crying.

“It can be washed.” He’s using his comforting voice again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

The silence resumes. Neither of you dares to move, trying to freeze this moment. It’s obvious that you didn’t grasp how badly you craved each other’s presence.

“D–do…” The initial sound grabs Spencer’s full attention again. You take a deep breath, hoping he wants to stay here as much as you do. “Do you still carry that little chess set with you?”

A small, airy chuckle comes out from him.

“Would you like to play?”

“Please.”

He creates some more space between you and begins to set up the board once he’s pulled it out of his satchel. You move to accommodate the set up, now facing him with your legs crossed on the couch and shoes abandoned on the floor. You wait for him to make the first move. After the opening moves the game doesn’t seem to get any harder and you know he’s throwing the game. You’re okay at chess, but he’s obviously a lot better.

“You’re going easy on me.” You mumble.

“Because you’re not even trying.” He replies blithely.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Like I said, you’re making it too easy.” He gently teases.

“Not that. Helping me. You hate me, remember?” You say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You literally told me that you hate me.” You chuckle, numb to the hurt that sentence once brought you.

“So did you.” He counters in defence, trailing your hand as it carelessly moves your queen to her demise.

“I was angry.”

“So was I.” He spared your queen, in turn leaving his king vulnerable.

“It doesn’t matter now…” You don’t finish the rest of your sentence but Spencer still hears it.

You’re leaving soon anyway.

“It matters to me.” If he left something unsaid you choose to ignore it.

“You’re letting me win.” You whisper, feeling the urge to cry some more, but there’s no tears left.

He doesn’t make a move, bringing the game to a halt. He’s waiting for you to meet his eyes. You know what he’s going to say.

“Spencer, don't.” You beseech.

“Why?” If you looked at him instead of the board you’d see the way his eyes are pleading at you.

“There’s no point.” This time it’s your voice that cracks.

You're looking everywhere else and it makes you too aware of your surroundings. Like how the couch is lined up directly under a window that anyone could peek into.

“Leaving is not the only option.” He solicits.

He regards your discomfort and closes the blinds from where he’s sitting, pulling you back into the privacy of your bubble.

“There’s nothing that you can say to make things go back to how they were.” You bite the inside of your cheek, fiddling with a random pawn.

It’s not a proper two way conversation. You’re talking to yourself just as much as Spencer’s talking to you. You’re both trying to convince you of what you’re saying.

“Things don’t have to go back to how they were.” The squeaks in his soothing tone are starting to melt any resolve you have left.

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” You oppose, trying to make any argument stick.

“I can think of more reasons for you to stay than for you to go.”

There’s an underlying tension bubbling. Neither of you notice it over your desperate tug of war.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you can say to get me to stay.” Another baseless sentence meant more for you than for him.

“Give me one chance. One chance to convince you.” He can see your internal struggle at his request and he throws out one final plea to sway you. “For nothing more than closure.”

Closure.

You’ve spent months in turmoil over the hows and the what ifs, trying to conjure answers to questions that wouldn’t stop pestering you. You couldn’t turn him down even if you wanted to.

“Closure?” You repeat, eyes finally latching onto his.

“Closure.” He whispers back in reassurance.

“Even if you can’t convince me?” You caution, not wanting to give him false hope.

He doesn’t say anything, thinking over the scenario in his head. He simply nods and you mimic the action, blinking away the blur in your vision and dragging around chess pieces. It takes Spencer a second to figure out that you were moving them back to their default places.

“Okay new game.” You announce.

Spencer blinks in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I can ask you any question I want and you have to answer honestly. If by the end of the game I’m not convinced to stay, you back off for the remainder of my time here.” You pause for him to interject, but he doesn’t. “That means we stay away from each other, only talking when needed for work. Even then as cordially and professionally as possible. No more trying to make casual conversation or bringing me coffee or anything like that.”

“Till the end of the game?” He studies you.

“Yup.” You smack your lips together. “Til one of us checkmates the other.”

“This means you’ll actually give me a fair shot?”

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one known for cheating at games.” You jab, trying to ease the tension you could definitely feel now.

“I meant a fair shot at convincing you. As in you’ll seriously take what I have to say into account.” He discards your attempt.

“No, I know. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.”

He can tell you’re trying to hold back a laugh from the small smile on your lips. It’s as adorable to him now as it was the first time he saw it.

“Any rules before we start?” He asks, unable to hide his own smile.

“Only that we have to be honest.” You answer, immediately dropping your smile.

“Okay.” He agrees, smiling slightly wider.

“Okay.” You nod again.

When he finally makes the first move it hits you that you don’t actually know where to start. Theoretically, you know what you want to ask, but don’t know how to ask. You don’t know if you should jump straight into the questions or start with some ice breakers. Nothing is said for about four to five moves when Spencer pauses the game.

“Are you going to ask any questions or have you decided that you just want to play one last game for your closure?”

“Huh?” You snap your vision away from the board. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.”

“Do you want to return to the game after thinking of a few questions to ask?” He raises his brow and relaxes his jaw.

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Let’s keep playing, the questions will come to me.” You brush off his suggestion and motion for him to continue with his turn. He doesn’t.

“What?” Your voice raises and you scrunch your nose from perplexity.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve put us on a time limit and this is how you’re using our time?” He airs, failing to conceal his amusement.

“Well excuse me if I don’t exactly have a list of questions ready to go for you.” You narrow your eyes in annoyance.

“Why would you suggest this if you don’t have any questions?” He tries to hold back his laugh and ends up snorting as a result.

“I have questions!” You jabber, unable to maintain your annoyance. “I don’t know what– where do I even start?”

“Start with whichever one comes to you first.” He shrugs, finally making his move.

A lot of things come to mind when you think about it. The thing that screams the loudest twitches a nerve and you become instantly irate.

“Okay.” You nod, tone harsh and flat. “Let’s start with whatever the fuck possessed you on the last case. What was your thought process when you put your life in danger like that?”

He almost gets whiplash from the change in mood, his face literally reads ‘are you serious?’.

“He was going to shoot you.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I was wearing a vest, I would’ve been fine.” You contend.

“I wasn’t willing to take that risk.”

“Risk?! You literally put yourself in danger for no reason!”

“I think it was a pretty good reason actually!”

“Spencer that was–” You stop yourself with a grumble, inhaling deeply.

“It was instinctual, okay?” He softly explains. “I saw him aim the gun at you and I just reacted.”

“Well it was a stupid reaction!” You whine.

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

The glare you give is piercing, you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your tongue before you say something you can’t take back. Spencer throws his head back and sighs.

“But I will promise not to do it again.” He adds, not fully intending to keep it.

This was slowly turning into another argument, both of you shooting back too fast with your responses. You aren’t in the mood for another argument. So you redirect your attention to the game.

“Check.” You mumble, buying yourself time to think of another question. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I wanted to finish some work before tomorrow morning.” He replies, moving his king to safety.

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You could’ve done those tomorrow as well.” Your voice softens out of curiosity.

“I wanted to get them finished in case there were more tomorrow.” It’s not his best excuse. You don’t know what he means by that. He doesn’t know what he means by that. He’s lying to you.

You scoff, poking your tongue against your cheek. “Wow. You really can’t not cheat during a game, can you?”

“Right, sorry.” Spencer clears his throat after the initial confusion clears. Complete honesty, it was your only rule. “I wanted to be here.”

“For…” You egg on, purposely rolling your ‘r’s to prompt him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He admits, looking away from you.

“Why?” You’re genuinely puzzled at the admission. “You’re the one who almost died. I mean, it was stupid and your fault, but still. If anything I should be checking up on you.”

“Check.” That’s the only response he gives you. He hopes that you don’t push further, but he knows that you will.

His lack of response only forces you to think about the possible reasons by yourself, using context clues to figure it out. You are a profiler, after all.

“Is this because of the panic attack?” You note how his jaw twitches when he swallows at the mention. “It is! You seriously chose to spend your night stuck at the office because of that?”

“What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like you would talk to me, you literally refused to even look at me!” He gripes.

“Spencer I think anyone would panic if they got tackled to the ground by a six foot man without warning. I’m fine.” You giggle.

“What happened to complete honesty?” It’s his turn to glare at you.

“I am being honest!” You protest.

“Lying by omission is not being honest.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay Mr. know-it-all, what am I lying about?” You challenge.

“Seriously? You don’t remember?” His approach is doubtful and he just stares at your dazed expression.

“Fucking spit it out already, Spence!”

Any sarcasm he had geared up for a response dissipates at your use of his nickname. He’s heard it plenty in the last few months, but not from you. For a moment things feel like they never changed. It stings in a bittersweet kind of way.

“You sc–screamed– uh–” He clears his throat and rapidly blinks, his nose twitches in the process. “During that panic attack, you repeatedly asked me to stay with you. Y–you, uh– you said you didn’t think you could li–”

“Stop. Stop. Stop talking.” Your voice quavers and you hold your hand up, ears burning up. “I don’t wanna know.”

You don’t know why it makes your heart race the way it does, you don’t even remember it. He waits a while before speaking up again, wanting to be careful about how he goes about the topic without you shutting down.

“May I ask you a question?” He voices professionally, trying to make the conversation less personal so you don’t feel cornered.

You nod, moving your king out of check.

“Is there anybody you will talk to about Anchorage? Without pushing them away?” He keeps the game going as he speaks to provide you with a distraction.

“Woah– Anchorage? Where is that coming from?” You titter.

“I want you to remember that we promised to be honest and I won’t push if you ask me to stop, but I know for a fact that you aren’t okay.” He waits for you to stop him but you don’t, even though you know roughly what he’s going to say. “Panic attacks aside, your avoidant behaviour around the topic, inability to focus, being easily startled, you’re showing signs of PTSD.”

“Spence, c’mon. I don’t need to talk to anyone. I already passed the psych evals.” You attempt to make light of the situation with carefully chosen words so you’re not lying. It was a futile attempt, you know he’s not willing to budge when he doesn’t give you anything more than a blank stare.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” You sigh in defeat. “Whatever happened…that’s a part of the job, you know that.”

“I also know, first hand, that it takes over your life. You can’t run from it, no matter how much you try to.” His tone is soft as he speaks, yet you feel like he’s accusing you.

“I am not running! Why would you say I’m running?” You object with a high voice, shrugging your shoulders. “And it’s not taking over my life. Also, check.”

“Because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with something.” He states point blank.

“Woah– so– that was entirely unnecessary.” You stammer, unable to deny it.

“I’m not criticising you. I just happen to know you and I know that you have a tendency to run from your problems. And it is taking over your life.”

“You’re profiling!” You gasp.

“You know that it’s not something we can just turn off! No matter how much we pretend like we can.” He waves his hands defensively.

You can’t argue with that, your lips twisting to the side.

“You want me to be honest?” You murmur sheepishly.

“Always. Please.” He responds gently, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I spend a good chunk of my day actively avoiding thinking about it, but somehow I always end up thinking about it anyway. At times it’s like I can almost feel…” You breathe in instinctively. “This is the first time in months I’ve been able to do anything without it lingering in the back of my mind. Can we please talk about it another time? I would rather talk about other things…”

Another time.

“...right now.”

You’ve implied that there will be another time to talk and he definitely caught it, even if he pretends that he hasn’t. You don’t even know if what you said is true, you got too comfortable with the familiarity of his friendship. It was something you said out of habit from back when you two actually were friends. Not even a full hour's worth of conversation with him and he’s already worming his way back in.

“Um–” You drag yourself further back on the couch, creating more physical distance.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it at all.” Spencer senses your urgency to leave the situation and jumps into damage control. “It’s your turn.”

“No, um, I should– I should go. Thanks for doing thi– helping me.” You turn away from him, aiming for your shoes and ready to bolt.

“The game’s not over.” He points out.

“Yes it is.” You declare, still in the process of putting on your shoes.

“You said til checkmate.” He huffs, shifting out of his seated position.

“I forfeit!” You throw your arms out in a shrugging manner, standing up after him.

“I can’t believe this. You’re going back on your word!” He doesn’t even raise his voice. He’s just hurt.

“What’s the point, Spencer? Closure doesn’t mean anything, I’m still leaving! You can’t magically change my mind!” You yell, getting louder with each sentence.

“I disagree. I think that you’re running again!” He blocks your way and yells back, maintaining his volume throughout.

“Maybe you should think less!” You suggest, still yelling. Sarcasm is your defence mechanism when you have no actual defence.

“You know what else I think?” He continues, emphasising the word ‘think’ every time he says it out of spite. “I think that you agreed to this thinking I won’t be able to convince you, but I am!”

“I don’t care what you–”

“I think you don’t want to finish the game that you started, because you’re afraid to ask the harder questions!”

“Stop.” You command, but it doesn’t deter him.

“I think that you’re scared to hear my answers because then it all becomes too real for you–”

“Stop!” The words almost get stuck in your throat, but you choke them out. “You’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong then prove it. To both of us.” He sits back down and motions to the board. “Ask the real questions.”

“I don’t need to prove anything, you’re wrong.” You uphold.

“So leave.” He challenges, knowing that you won’t be able to.

If you truly believed that he’s wrong you wouldn’t feel the need to prove it, but you do and he knows that. You walk back over to the couch, head nodding from irritation, tongue poking your cheek. You kick your shoes off with a bit of force and return to your earlier position across from him.

“Your move.” He reminds you as you settle in.

You don’t reply yet, but move your rook to set him up for the next move.

“Check.” He smugly states.

“Who was she?”

You don’t move, examining him close for any change in his behaviour. He obviously didn't anticipate that question first, snapping his sights back on you.

“Sorry?”

“The woman who greeted me at your door. That night at your apartment.”

“Charlotte.” He replies, holding your gaze to show you he’s got nothing to hide. “We met at the library a week before.”

“Are you guys together?” You break away first, diverting your eyes to the chess board and trying to seem unfazed when moving your knight.

“No, God, no.” He denies immediately.

“I don’t know, she seemed pretty cosy for someone you met a week prior.” You don’t mean to sound as snide as you come across.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all.” He shakes his head.

“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure I saw her mark you up with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing.” You don’t look at him, examining a captured pawn as you wait for him to make his move.

“Mark me up?” He cognizes it instantly. “Are you…jealous?”

“What? No!” You vehemently deny, your voice rising in several pitches.

“You are!” His eyes widen.

“I am not jealous.”

His jaw slacks and he lets out an amused scoff. He doesn’t say anything, making you feel the need to fill the silence.

“I only bring it up because…I know you have a thing with…germs.” Your words falter because of your own uncertainty and you want to dissolve into the fucking floor.

Spencer tries to suppress a smile by poking his tongue out slightly. If the atmosphere was lighter he’d tease you about it, but he doesn’t want to make you take off again. Still, he feels the need to clarify the events of the night.

“I don’t know why she kissed my cheek, it was completely random.” He takes his time saying it, still fighting a smile.

You swallow nervously and purse your lips to the side in response. One question answered and you only have new ones in its place. Did she stay the night? Did she sleep on the couch or on his bed? Did he see her again?

“I drove her home right after you left.” He can almost hear your thoughts.

“Was it a date?” You softly gulp again, unsure if you even have a right to know.

“Yes.” He hesitates.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to try out casual dating for once.” He chagrins. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, it’s not even fun.”

“No it’s not.” You chuckle dryly. “So no second date, I presume?”

“Definitely not. I was just stressed the whole time.” He chuckles with you.

“Take a shot of tequila before you go next time, it helps settle the nerves.” You joke, jumping to give him advice you hope he doesn’t take. You can’t help it, it’s what you’ve always done. Even if it goes against what you desire.

“While moderate consumption of tequila can help relax the nervous system, I will not be turning to alcohol for stress relief.”

“Then blast classical music while you get ready and give yourself a pep talk out loud, it’s actually really efficient–”

“There won’t be a next time. For a really long time, if ever.” He interjects, miffed at your insistence.

“You willingly plan on committing to lifelong celibacy?” You exclaim with a puzzled look. “Why?!”

Spencer laughs at how raw your reaction is. He didn’t plan on giving out any more details but, with that prompt he decides that it’s now or never.

“I don’t think any future dates will appreciate me picturing someone else in their place the whole time.”

Oh.

Both of you lock eyes at the same time. This is not a road you’re prepared to go back down, even if that’s literally the whole point of this conversation. You’re too stunned to reply and Spencer uses this as an opportunity to be elaborate. He doesn’t want any misunderstandings this time.

“I couldn’t stop pictur–”

“Shut up.” You blurt out the sentence in almost one word.

Your heart’s racing like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re flustered, every part of your body is heated from how terrified you are.

“Y–you don’t have t–t…you don’t owe m–me an explanation.” You try to elaborate, contradicting yourself and stumbling on your words.

“I want to.” He reads that you’re apprehensive but pushes regardless.

“Please don’t.” The tears that you thought had dried out were building again.

“Why ask if you won’t let me answer?”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Did you want answers? Yes. Still, you didn’t expect how hard they’d be to hear. He whispers your name and you scramble to think of your next move, and not in chess. You’re unable to even think about the game right now. You want to bolt, but you can’t even get yourself to move. So you deflect.

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Although his tone is subdued, the pace of his wording is faster. “I think it does matter and that’s why you’re afraid to hear it.”

He’s right but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is only going to over-complicate an already complicated situation.

“It’s not enough.” Your voice cracks.

“How can it be if you won’t even give it a fair shot?”

“Fair?”

It comes out louder than you intended. His words trigger resentment within you and you snap.

“Nothing about any of this is fair! I mean, fucking hell, Spencer, four years. That’s how long we’ve been friends. I mean I’ve shared shit that I thought I would be taking to the fucking grave with you! You were my best friend for four fucking years and all it took was like, five seconds?”

You sob, softer than when you were first crying, but the frustration is clear. He reaches out to touch your hand, but you push his hand away.

“No!” You choke, sobbing harder when you try to compile your thoughts. “Five seconds to destroy all of it! It makes me wonder if everything we shared, our friendship, was it ever even that strong?”

Your anger simmers to sadness, as evident with how your yelling fades into whispering in the last sentence.

“I can’t even tell you when exactly those five seconds were. I mean, I know…but…I don’t. Where did it go wrong, Spence?”

“I don’t know.” Is all he can say after a beat of silence.

He knows exactly where it went wrong.

“Yeah, me neither!” You sniffle, immediately wiping a single tear that manages to escape. “So again, it doesn’t matter.”

“When you took it back.”

“What?”

“That’s where everything changed for me. You showed up at my apartment drunk, after your date with Nathan. Your exact words were ‘I mean as an amazing friend’.” His voice strains like he’s forcing himself to speak.

Your gaze falls, eyes darting everywhere as you try to jog your memory beyond the one sentence you remember.

“I don’t understand.” You croak.

“You know, if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.” He chuckles bitterly, fighting back tears of his own. “That was– that was, uh, what you said before you took it back.”

“Spence, please…” You whine without sound, tilting your head back and chewing on your lip as a final attempt to stay composed.

“No, you wanted to know where it went wrong.” He laughs falsely to downplay his tears. “You can say it doesn’t matter all you want, but the fact is, it does matter. It matters to me and I won’t let you run from it anymore.”

You can’t look at him. Not with tears free falling down your face. You cup your hands together in your lap, pressing your fingers and nails together.

“You told me that I couldn’t love you.” You struggle to sound your words.

“I’m an idiot.” Another chuckle, but he sounds defeated. “When you said that, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to say that I do love you.”

You tearfully laugh at this admission.

“I only took it back because of what you said. I panicked. I thought I’d ruined things…which I guess, I still did.” Another laugh from you.

Spencer responds with the same regretful sound.

The irony spurs another fit of giggles amongst you, this one slightly longer and infinitely more rueful than the last. You look anywhere but at each other until it grows quieter.

“If you loved me, why the fuck would you tell me that I couldn’t love you?” You sound just as, if not more, defeated than him.

“Love.” Spencer corrects without missing a beat.

Your brows twitch up and your heart jumps.

“I was so hung up on every single part of your sentence that I didn’t know what to say first.” He proceeds to answer you without leaving much room to process what he said. “I wanted to tell you that I do love you. I love you as you are. Not as somebody else.”

“But you didn’t say any of that.” You ignore all his admissions, not fully comprehending.

“Like I said, I’m an idiot. I was in so much disbelief and that was the first thing that came out of my mouth.” He sullenly huffs.

You don’t reply, sniffling with your head down.

“For like a second, I had everything I wanted. Then you took it back and it was like my whole world had been ripped out from under me. In those five seconds, you’d given me a taste of what I’d spent four years convincing myself I couldn’t have and I just– I couldn’t go back after that.” He adds after a stillness.

After a short while, your focus shifts from your hands to the board in front of you. The game’s been long forgotten. You’re immersed in the conversation, in spite of how strenuous it is.

“I understand why you were distant, even mean, at first.” You snivel. “But after a while you just became downright cruel.”

Spencer doesn’t shy away from your gaze when you do look at him. His skin is as drenched from crying as yours is.

“I mean ‘I don’t want to see your face’? I know that I don’t really have a leg to stand on anymore, but, what the fuck Spencer?”

He doesn’t cringe any less with every reminder. He’s truly regretted the words since they left his mouth.

“I wanted to hurt you.” He reveals. “I thought you were being deliberately cruel and I wanted you to feel exactly how I was feeling.”

“Deliberately?”

He nods, hanging his head.

“I thought that you knew how I felt and were just trying to be funny or something.”

“Well I didn’t. I wasn’t.” You cut him off with a constricted voice.

“Even if you did, it’s not an excuse.” His eyes are glistening from the outpour of tears, but he still lifts his sights back to you. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know how to acknowledge his apology at all. You’re not even angry anymore, all you feel is sorrow and regret for the way everything happened. An entire friendship down the drain due to an unfortunate set of circumstances.

“This is so fucked up.” You say with another mordant laugh. “All of this could have been avoided if we just talked about it.”

It stung less when you had somebody to blame for it. Your vision blurs and you make no effort to clear it, letting yourself cry openly.

“We’re talking about it now?” It’s almost a squeak, the way it’s spoken.

“Yeah, but,” your shoulders slump, defeatedly, and you have to pause to control your sob, “what good does it do now? I’ve already lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me in the most pathetic way possible.”

“I’m right here.” He counters in such a small voice that it gives your goosebumps.

“Spencer, too many things have been said…”

“When you first joined the team, I instantly knew I liked you.”

He chews on his lip and darts his eyes around while he contemplates if he wants to continue.

“I thought it was because of your kind nature. You were so sweet to everybody.” He decides he does, but his voice shakes throughout. “You have this gift…you make people feel so good about themselves. Whenever you spoke to me, I felt like the most important person in the world. It was impossible not to like you.”

You want to pretend like you don’t know where he’s going with this. You want to stop him, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“It wasn’t until you bought me coffee for the first time that I realised just how much I liked you.” He chuckles again, as he reminisces in the memory. “You didn’t even get my order right until the fourth time, but it was still my favourite cup of the day.”

“You make me sound like a saint.” You finally choke out, attempting to play down the confession so it doesn’t crush your heart. “The only reason I even started bringing you coffee is because you learned how I like my coffee first.”

“Not a saint, an angel. I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you that there are times where it genuinely feels like I’m in the presence of an angel.”

It’s stated with such sincerity that it knocks the wind out of your pipes. Your eyes are widened and you’re biting your tongue with your mouth closed, staring at him with your chin tucked. He seems so confident, even with the glistening from previous tears in his eyes.

“I wanted to be in your life in any way you would have me. Even when it meant that I had to accept you with other people. And it was bearable, until…” His reminiscence only ends at the memory of the night that changed everything. “Like I said, I couldn’t go back.”

The last part fades into another whisper, only then do you find the courage to speak up.

“Exactly.” You stick to your denial. “It can’t go back to how it was before.”

Your heart is so sure of what it wants, but your head is blinded by fear. You’re at a crossroads, except one path, the path that leads to everything you long for, is clouded with a fog of uncertainty. The other path is so painfully clear, you can practically see what’s on the other side. A fresh start, where the risk of fucking up further doesn’t exist. What you don’t see is Spencer.

“Good. I don’t want it to go back to how it was.”

Spencer’s waiting for you to enter the fog. He’s going to be there holding your hand every step of the way.

“I’ve already handed in my resignation.”

“That matters less than everything you’ve claimed doesn’t matter.” He leans in, intensifying his eye contact.

“I’m pretty sure Hotch is really close to confirming my replacement.” You comment half-heartedly.

You’re trying anything to dissuade both him and yourself from acknowledging the obvious, but he doesn’t plan on letting you avoid it.

“I love you.” He whispers softly.

“Spencer…” You begin when he takes hold of your hands and whatever you had to say disappears from your tongue.

“I love you. With every atom that makes up my body.” He repeats himself with further elaboration to instil it in your mind.

“I’m scared.” You whisper back with a sob, finally accepting it.

“Why?” His voice can’t be any softer, but it still cracks a little.

“Because, you can’t guarantee that it’s going to end well.” You allow your vulnerability to peek through. “And that’s going to hurt more. I’d rather leave now than fall deeper.”

Although you didn’t say it back, it’s an indirect admission that you love him too. And it’s enough for him to fight harder.

“I know that my credibility isn’t the greatest,” he coaxes a small, sad scoff out of you, “but I truly believe that this, us, we’ll work. Because I know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this work.”

He feels bolder when you don’t pull away from his touch, folding your fingers into your palms and cupping over them. You observe the sight as it unfolds in lieu of a verbal response.

“I’ve spent four years judging any man that comes into your life, wishing I was in their place, swearing I would treat you better than all of them.”

Spencer feels the need to fill in the silence and he lets honesty guide his confession. He leans in further as if he’s indulging his deepest secret.

“Four years wasted wondering what could be, cursing out those idiots, but taking no action to make it happen. And that makes me the biggest idiot out of all of them.”

When he speaks like this, with his big, imploring eyes and prayerful tone, it melts your heart to a point where it almost hurts. The more he talks, the more you begin to lean in, opening yourself up to him.

“It took losing you to realise how badly I fucked up and for that I will never forgive myself. I know that I have no right to ask you to waste any more time on me…”

There’s no more resistance against the pull you both physically feel to each other.

“...but I’m begging you for a chance to do today what I should have done way before yesterday.”

Your faces grow closer by the second, you can feel each other's breaths against skin.

“And I’m going to spend every tomorrow proving what I said today.”

The likelihood of him changing your mind with one conversation wasn’t very high, both you and Spencer knew this when you got into it. You’re not entirely surprised when he somehow manages to overcome those odds too. You take the step to close the gap and lightly press your lips to his.

It starts off soft, there’s no lust, no ulterior motive behind it. It’s a simple confirmation that you’re both present and this is real. Spencer doesn’t shy away from the kiss, not that you’d call this a kiss. It feels more intimate, more unguarded.

Spencer pulls you onto his lap as he shifts and leans back against the backrest to allow more room for you. You wrap your arms around him and the kiss deepens. In the midst of you straddling him, he slides the entire chess board off the couch and the pieces scatter on the floor. It’s only when you feel that the kiss can’t bring you any closer to him does the lust emerge. It fuels a desire to prove that you both whole-heartedly belong to each other.

There’s no pinpointing when the switch happens. All you know is that the feeling of his lips against yours is no longer enough. You cup his jaw in your hands, swiping your tongue on his lower lip and it causes his grip on your waist to tighten. He parts his lips for you and it starts what you can only call a dance with your tongues.

Your breathing grows hotter, your hips subconsciously grind against him. There’s a prominent bulge that brushes against your heat and you whine into his mouth. Spencer grunts your name in response and then abruptly pulls away.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down.” He breathlessly whispers against your lips.

“What?” You whisper back with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He gazes into your eyes, afraid that you might regret this later.

“I’ve never been more sure, actually.” You’re confident at first but the look in his eyes makes you pull back further. “Unless…you’re not sure?”

“No, don’t misunderstand me. I want you.” His tone rises just above the previous whisper with his clarification. “It’s just that the last thing I want to do is take advantage of you when our emotions are running high.”

“Four years, Spencer.” You lean in again, just brushing your lips against his. “The only reason you should be making me wait is if you’re not sure.”

He shuts that idea down by crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is so hungry, so desperate, it’s everything both of you have longed for and denied yourselves everytime you’ve been in each other's presence. It doesn’t take long for hands to start to roam. He traces the curve from your waist to your hips, stopping just at the hem of your shirt, tugging it like he’s asking for permission.

You rush to undo your buttons and he meets you halfway, starting at the bottom. His fingers brush against yours as you two reach the final button and you pull the fabric off yourself. You do the same with his shirt, lips remaining locked, except for the small gasps of air you take in between. It requires a bit more manoeuvring with him, but you’re both soon shirtless.

His mouth travels to your jaw and you shut your eyes from pleasure as he continues down to your neck. The stubble on his chin tickles your skin. You cup it, gently pushing him away with a giggle.

“Forget to pack a razor in your bag, Dr. Reid?” Your voice is teasing, more playful than seductive.

He chuckles, airily, hiding his groan. He knows you’re being sarcastic, but the use of his title, with your voice in this context, catches him off guard. You moan as you feel his growing bulge against your heat when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you into his kiss. You swiftly undo the clasp of your bra, but before you can take it off, Spencer grabs you from just below the hips and lifts you up off him, gently laying you down on the seat of the couch.

There’s no room for hesitation as his lips find your neck again and he nips at the skin. Every suckle earns him short gasps and the grip in his hair tightens as he travels lower. He stops just above your breast, pulling himself up to sit on his knees. You stare up at him with a heated gaze, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth with your lips parted to make up for the loss of his lips.

He reaches for your bra strap and begins pulling slowly, searching your eyes for any signs of you withdrawing consent. All he sees is how beautifully they sparkle when you give him a light nod. It’s been too long since he’s seen the stars that you hold in your eyes, stars he accustomed himself to before he even got to properly know you.

Gazing into his eyes, you’ve never felt more sure, more safe. You trust him implicitly and you’ve never wanted anything more. His constant need to make sure you're comfortable sends shivers down to your core. He slides the garment off you and Spencer’s beyond grateful that he’s already on his knees, knowing that if he was standing he’d fall to them because of the sight below him.

His eyes don’t falter once, he’s trying to permanently etch this moment into his brain. He hovers his fingers above your body, thumb brushing against your hardened nipple and you softly whine. He looks awestruck, almost like he doesn’t believe what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks your boobs look weird.

“Beautiful.” The words fall out of his mouth in a whisper, as if on cue. He’s really just thinking out loud.

Before you can respond he lowers down and plants a small peck to your sensitive nub before taking it into his mouth. You gasp again, head lolling back in pleasure. One of your hands goes for his hair, while the other clings to his hand that’s already holding yours. He switches between sucking, pulling and squeezing; rolling it between his tongue and uses his teeth to squeeze ever so slightly.

“S–spencer.” A strangled moan falls from your lips.

You tug his hair, whining and moaning as your hips roll against the strain in his pants. When your motions become continuous, he lets out his own strained groan and is forced to release your nipple with a small ‘pop’.

“Angel, I really need you to stop doing that.” He murmurs in your ear with a gentle, gravelly tone.

As soon as the nickname reaches your ears your hips involuntarily buck up again, making his hips automatically push down against yours. His cock presses against your core and you both moan, his head falling against your shoulder.

“Spence, more.” You quietly whine in against his ear. “I need more.”

“More?” He echoes back, turning his head so that your lips brush past each other when speaking.

“Mhm.” You nod weakly as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face and weakly connects his lips with yours.

Even when he’s got you vulnerable and at your most compromised, he’s still as gentle as ever. You don’t feel him undo your pants or sneak his hand in them, but you definitely feel him press the pads of his fingers against your clothed clit. Air escapes through your nose in a huff of surprise and you hum in his mouth, hips jolting at his touch. He can feel your slickness through your underwear.

“Oh, my pretty girl.” He sighs, breaking the kiss and directing his whispers in your ear again. “All wet for me?”

“Please..” Even with your broken whimper you beg him for more.

“Like this?” His deft fingers swipe your panties to the side, fingers landing directly on the clit this time.

They feel cold at first. The contrast against your heated body makes you squirm and you groan in a soft, high pitch.

“What are you feeling right now?” He pries a verbal response from you, circling your bud lightly. “Tell me.”

“Good.” You sigh, eyes shut as you try to savour the pleasure.

“Good?” His voice is still soft against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nod, one arm draping against his shoulder and the other hand running along his scruffy jaw. “So good.”

“And this?” He adds pressure to his movements. “Does this feel good?”

Your hips buck again and he feels rewarded when you moan. There’s no doubt that the sound of your voice is his favourite. He especially loves it when it’s directed at him. Whether that be in the form of a laugh or your sweet moans. It makes him somewhat dizzy. His lips attach to the skin just under your jaw in an attempt to coax more.

It’s very effective. Fingers working your bundle of nerves, circling and flicking while changing the pressure, and mouth kissing and sucking near your pulse. It makes your back arch, hand gripping his shoulder so you don’t float away. He’s careful not to leave any purple traces of him on your neck, mindful of you being bombarded with questions from your colleagues.

“I love how reactive you are, Angel. You sound divine– fuck.” He can’t help the grunt that escapes him. “You are divine.”

His touch alone is enough to make you feel electric, but the sweet nothings he’s whispering in your ear will be what send you over the edge. It’s a foreign feeling, being reminded that he values you for more than just your body. Just under an hour ago you had incredibly high walls built around you and none of them are left standing as you exposed under him.

Spencer’s not the first man to touch you, but he is the first that loves you. It’s something you’re not at all used to and it feels as overwhelming as it does good. It transcends the want, no, the need for the man on top of you beyond lust or love. You plan to show him just how strong that need is tonight.

The carpeted floor is littered with your clothes, carelessly thrown around and tiny chess pieces scattered around the abandoned chess board. Spencer’s comfortably lying on the couch, facing the ceiling and you’re lying directly on top of him with your face buried in his neck.

You run your fingers back and forth along his jaw, scratching his beard in slow streaks. He’s enveloped you in his arms, one around your lower back and the other playing with your hair. It doesn’t feel as peaceful as it seems, both of you are afraid of being the first to speak. You know you can’t stay like this forever and you decide to bite the bullet.

“Spencer?”

You only get silence from his end. You know he’s awake because his motions in your hair don’t stop. You push yourself up to face him, trying to study his face. The sudden movement brings him back from wherever he was zoned out to.

“Hm?” His features jump.

Does he regret it?

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes from worry. “You have this look on your face.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking.”

“About…?”

“How bad we are at communicating.” He chuckles. “It’s concerning when you think about how all we ever do is talk.”

Hearing this makes you snort and you fall into him again. It sends both of you into a short fit of laughter.

“Oh that’s promising for the success of this relationship.” You giggle, sarcasm evident.

Hearing relationship makes Spencer inhale sharply.

“So you’re staying?”

“Well obviously, Dingbat.” You scoff playfully at the question and shift upright, straddling him. “But we really do need to get better at the communication thing for this to work.”

Spencer mounts his weight on his hands by either side of him and pushes himself up to you, stealing a deep kiss.

“Yes, we absolutely do.” He whispers, breaking away for only a second.

The kisses fizzle in you a plethora of smaller kisses.

“Spencer, I’m– serious.” You voice in between, loosely draping your arms on his shoulders.

“I am too.” He says in a hushed tone as he pulls away.

“I want to take it– this,” you motion between the two of you with your finger, “us, slow. Not four years slow, but, like, by a couple of months at the very least.”

“Okay.” He agrees, his eyes scouring your face with complete adoration. It’s not ideal, but he understands where you’re coming from.

“That means that we start again. Romantically. We have to talk about a lot of things first.”

He shifts his body out from under you, resting his back properly against the couch and pulls you back into his lap in one swift motion. Both of his hands graze from your shoulder to your wrist.

“How about…you come over this weekend,” He suggests, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug, “we’ll do snacks, a movie, maybe an actual game of chess.”

“That sounds like a date.” You wrap your arms around his neck to return the gesture and lean your forehead against his.

“It’s not a date. Not yet, anyways.” He whispers. “I’m asking you to come over this weekend so we can talk about things properly, because frankly, I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace for it right now.”

“Should I be offended at that?” You giggle, not entirely sure what he’s alluding to.

“No!” He snorts with a high tone. “Dopamine aside, our Norepinephrine and Serotonin levels are too high right now for us to have a proper conversation about this.”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong, because you’re not, but I also think you’re just using science to try and confuse me, so that I agree to wherever this speech is heading.”

“It’s times like this where your attentiveness puts me at a disadvantage, because this tactic has a hundred percent success rate on everybody else.” He grins and you chuckle, both leaning in for another kiss.

“Can we hold off on starting over? Just for tonight.” He reluctantly voices, not wanting to push any boundaries.

You draw back and raise your eyebrows with your eyes widened.

“Spence, I have waited for years for this. You’re insane if you think I’m giving that up without relishing in it for at least a night. We’re not starting over until we’re both officially back on the clock.”

“Okay.” He heaves from relief, leaning in for another kiss, but quickly withdraws with a new question. “Don’t you think the team’s going to be suspicious when we’re not fighting tomorrow?”

“Forget them, what am I gonna say to Hotch when I ask to withdraw my resignation?” You huff out a tiny groan. “He’s gonna hate me for all this paperwork.”

Paperwork reminds you why you’re here to begin with. You audibly gasp, jumping off Spencer and scrambling to put your clothes back on.

“Fuck! Spencer, get dressed!”

Spencer doesn’t share your panic, but adheres to your demand. You mutter a continuous line of obscenities as you throw on your clothes and when you don’t seem to be getting calmer, he intervenes.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He coos as he steps towards you, still undressed on the upper-half. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we’ve been here for hours!” You shriek, now fully dressed.

You push past Spencer and grab his shirt, deciding that he was too slow on his own. He lets you dress him as he probes further.

“That’s okay. No one’s going to notice this late.”

“No– Spence–” You sigh, throwing your head back. “In less than four hours, Hotch is going to walk into his office expecting the Anchorage report on his desk. I’ve barely been able to get half of it done in weeks, how am I going to finish it in four hours?”

You shake your head and begin working on his buttons. He grabs your wrists, urging you to look at him.

“You’ll have it done in less than one. I’ll help you!” His voice is light, airy, soft and accompanied with a chuckle.

“Spencer, you’ve already been here later than you need to be. It’s okay–”

“Let me help you.” He resorts to pleading, releasing your wrists and cupping your face.

You don’t have it in you to argue, his eyes staring back at you with sincerity. He wants to help. There’s no point in pushing him away, because as scared as you are about being too vulnerable with your trauma from that case, you trust him wholeheartedly. You know he won’t push for more than what you choose to share right now.

“Okay.” You nod and smile into the kiss he leans in for after the confirmation.

“Okay. Now, you go and start some coffee.” he instructs softly with a wide grin, waving to the scattered chess ensemble. “ I’m going to clean up here and join you.”

“I love you!” You lean for another kiss and hushedly exclaim as you break away, receding towards the door.

It’s Spencer’s turn to lose his breath. He’s affirmed his love for you countless times tonight and this is the first time you’ve verbally reciprocated it. He knows that it won’t be the last time either. That, to him, makes him the luckiest man in the world. He stops you from going any further by your arm and gently yanks you in his direction, crashing his lips with yours.

“I love you too.” He whispers after the kiss, letting you go.

Heat rises in your face again and you struggle to hide a huge dopey smile, one that Spencer has too. You’re floating on cloud nine, finally out of the blurry hurricane you’ve endured for months. There’s still a lot of things that you need to work out, but the thought of them doesn’t make you feel dread like it once did.

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is Love." - Socrates

Spoilers: Yapperoni (so much dialog in this chapter), BAU! Reader, enemies (kinda) to lovers, hurt, comfort, love confessions (they might be a little too sappy, idk, I was sleep deprived), the praise made me giddy at some point, smut but I edge you by not writing out everything, happy ending.

AN - I have a little tiny fear that people (me) will nawt (I don’t) fuck with this monstrosity, but out of all my drafts, this felt like the most natural course of action. I thought it would be really fun to go from friends to enemies to lovers. Now, literally nobody talk to me about writing fics after this. Uni’s started, so I’ll be very inconsistent for a bit. Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

A comment today keeps semicolon away (from showing up to your house and eating all your snacks).

Thank you for reading!

895 notes · View notes

bisexualiteaa · 5 months

Note

fem reader x ghoul where he’s talking about how small she is?

Fun Size

Cooper Howard x Smaller Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW MDNI!! Size kink, p in v, unprotected sex, p0rn w/o plot, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, body worship, establish relationship.

AN: Hey anon! I couldn’t figure out any other way to write this than as a smut so I hope that’s alright! I hope I could do your ask justice and that you and all my other lovely readers will enjoy!

Synopsis: Cooper loved that you were smaller than him, whether it was height, stature, weight it didn’t matter, he loved it about you. He wanted to make sure you knew just how much he loves his fun size. ❤️

This one is slightly shorter than my other works but I hope it is just as enjoyable! I’m actually a smaller framed person so writing this comes from a slightly personal place, I hope it can still be enjoyable to those of all body types. Our cowboy doesn’t discriminate and neither do I, know that you are all loved! ❤️

When he called you his lil’ lady, he called you it for a lot of different reasons. One; he was southern at heart, so a few terms of endearment were standard practice for him. Two; was because you were little compared to him, and he absolutely adored that. When he stood near you, he nearly towered over you, and his stature was quite broad compared to you. He could lift more than you, drink more than you, but what you lacked in size, you more than made up for in attitude. He had never seen someone have so much fight and so much poison in their sweet voice. He knew it’s what you had to do, in a dog eat dog world like this, you really had no other options. As much as you may have held a dislike for your smaller stature, he always wanted to assure you that he enjoyed it, and it was in these more intimate moments like this one that he really enjoyed that size difference.

His larger hand came over yours as he took you from behind, his fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck. He placed kisses against the sensitive spots along your skin, enjoying the moans leaving your lips as his hips slapped against your ass. “Cooper…” you moaned sweetly, your head raising a little as your mouth fell open, his cock brushing your g-spot with each drag outwards and nudged the apex of your cervix with each thrust inwards. “Love this cute lil’ waist of yours” he said, his free hand traveling along your frame, grabbing at anything he could get his hands on. “These hands, look damn good holdin’ a gun in ‘em” he added, worshipping your body as it trembled beneath him, your whimpers and moans sounding like music to his ruined ears. “Everythin’ about you is perfect, darlin’” he finished, and you’d never felt so loved. You never really put much thought into your size before, knowing you were small put you at a slight disadvantage out in the wastelands because most people would take one look and consider you weak, but Cooper knew that was far from the truth. You were one hell of a woman, with firepower and attitude to put someone even taller than him to shame. You were stronger than most ever gave you credit for, and that was almost like a secret power for you. “In another life, I’d have put a baby in this lil’ tummy of yours. Watch you walk around all swollen where you gotta waddle” he said, groaning at the thought of having a child with you, he so dearly missed his baby girl from his past marriage but that was a thought for another time. He felt your walls squeeze around him at the thought, making him chuckle. “Ya like that thought, dontchya, sugar? Felt that pretty pussy tighten around me, you like the thought of me breedin’ you, sweetheart?” He asked with a perverted grin, making you whimper as your face and body fell hot. You’d be a liar if you said the dream hadn’t crossed your mind before but it was one you knew was impossible to think about, especially with how the world was now. You felt his fingers run down to rub tight circles against your clit, making your back arch and your head roll back against his shoulder. “That’s it, arch that back. Cum for me sweetheart, I gotchya” he coaxed, and it wasn’t long before you fell over the edge, the cry of his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

You gasped for air as you panted beneath him, your smaller frame trembling beneath him once more as the feeling rushed over you in pleasurable waves. You whined, feeling him quickly pull out and finish over your back, needing to conserve your resources of RadAway for just a little bit longer before using it again. As you collapsed on the bed, waiting for him to return with a damp rag to clean you, you had a great idea on how to really play with his liking of the size difference. You smirked to yourself as you watched him dispose of the rag after cleaning you up then himself, sneaking his shirt from off the floor and putting it over your tiny frame. His shirt pooled over you like a night dress, all baggy around the middle, sleeves coming over your hands as they almost seemed to disappear beneath the pool of fabric. The bottom of the shirt came to rest just around your mid-thighs, it was perfect. He looked up, giving a mix between a chuckle and a groan at the sight, feeling his dick twitch in his briefs as you stood before him in nothing more than his beaten up, bloodstained shirt. “Careful sugar, don’t start somethin’ you ain’t able to finish” he warned, seeing the mischievous glint in your eyes and grin stretched to your lips. “Not sure I catch your meanin’ there, honey” you replied teasingly as he scooped you up with ease, soon plopping you back down on the bed with him as he all but pounced on you, making you yelp playfully before giggling as he buried his face into your neck. “Ya look damn good in my clothes” he said, making you smile. “It’s a sight you can have every day if ya’d like t’ keep me ‘round” you responded, knowing exactly what his answer would be to that. “Think I’d ever get rid a you? You’re all mine, fun size” he said, making you giggle at the bad pun-based nickname he called you. “Wouldn’t want it any other way” you replied, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his bald head before falling peacefully asleep.

#fallout x reader #fallout smut #fallout #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul

680 notes · View notes

mimasroom2 · 2 months

Text

Love on top! ✧～(ゝᴗ ∂ )

Dealer!ellie x reader @ the mall

I’ve been thinking ab how Ellie would be a dealer and has some extra money to spoil her princess ♡

C/w: Not really any? Homophobia mentioned in like one sentence. Kinda suggestive but no smut. Sex toy mentioned like once. Marijuana mentioned like once (at the end). DINA MENTION FUCK YEAHHHH!!!!

W/c: 1k. sorry i just have a lot of thoughts😭

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

- Dealer!ellie who takes you to the mall whenever she feels like it. You never ask because you feel bad for her always spending money on you, but she lovesssssssss to do it.

- She would def buy you guys matching stuff.

- “Holy shit y/n… look at these!” Ellie turns around and has matching Sanrio plushies in both hands. You laugh bc she has them raised like how straight men pose with the fish they catch😭

- “Which one do you want, baby?”

- You pretend to think even though your absolute fav is cinnamoroll.

- She pumps a fist in the air, “FUCK YEAH I wanted pompompurin anyway!”

- She’d walk into any store and buy you guys those goofy ass tshirts that say shit like “I ♡ hot moms” because she gets a kick out of it every time.

- Don’t even get me started on how she’d be in Victoria’s Secret…

- She’d walk behind you with her hands in her pockets, biting her lip as you pick up the most absurdly hot set of bra & panties she’s ever seen.

- When you wanted to try everything on, she’d slip into the dressing room with you so you can have your turn spoiling her by giving her a little show

(˶ > ₃ < ˶)♡

- “Turn ‘round f’me, doll.” You always love how slurred her words get when she’s turned on 🙃 You do what you’re told and do a little twirl. She blushes and grabs your waist from behind, kissing your neck as you giggle looking at the two of you in the mirror.

- “Shit, baby. Gon’ have to buy this all for you so you can waltz around in pretty lingerie all the time.”

- As the two of you leave, she discreetly whispers in your ear “Gonna have to try those panties on for me tonight, mkay?”

- You’d wander into pandora or some fancy jewelry store and she’d be eyeing all the things you look at.

- “Ohmygodddd Ellieeeeee look at how beautiful this necklace is ahhhh!!” You squeal and eagerly point at it.

- “Hey babe, can you get us some auntie annes please?” Ellie smiles at you, “Need me some lemonade from how hot it is today.”

- As you walk away she stealthily buys the necklace you wanted :3. Chatting it up with the salesman n shit, bragging about you and how amazing of a girlfriend you are.

- She’s not afraid to do this bc she knows any homophobia she encounters she can shut down super quick. Perks of being hot and cool😍

- When you finally meet back up with her you’re smiling about the yummy pretzels you got, but your jaw drops when you see the pandora logo bag in her hand.

- You run over to her, “whattttt the fuckkkk Ellie? :0?”

- “Saw my pretty girl looking at it, so I jus’ had to see my pretty girl wearing it.” Is all she has to say in response (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

- You gasp as she takes it out of the box, “For me?,!?,?,?!! Els, I told you, I don’t need any fancy stuff.”

- “Jus’ accept it, y/n. I like seein’ my princess happy.” She smiles as she puts it on for you :3

- You both sit down and DEVOUR those damn pretzels.

- (I’ve had this song stuck in my head the entire time writing this) The song Love On Top by Beyoncé starts playing, Ellie flashes you a wicked grin and takes your hands to stand the two of you up. The part that goes “You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” plays and she starts jumping around, moving your arms and giggling, not afraid to act like a goofball as long as it’s with you :,)

- If she saw anyone checking you out she’d tap her lips and say “cmere angel.” And give you a cute lil peck >:)

- You guys would walk into Spencer’s, give each other an evil look, and IMMEDIATELY run straight to the back.

- “Holy shit, babe there’s a fucking glow in the dark didlo.” You pretend to have your jaw drop as you wave Ellie over.

- She starts laughing wayyyyy harder than she should, “Whattthefuckkk that’s actually so fuckignfunny BAHAHAHA!”

- “Ellie it’s literally not that funny.” You’re not impressed.

- She gasps, trying to catch her breath, “No nonono no cuz imagine I’m fuckin’ you real good in the middle of the night. All the lights are off. And all you see is this damn glowing dick! Mannnn fuck.” You swear she wipes actual tears from her eyes.

- “Holy shit, do you think it would light up inside you?”

- You smack her on the shoulder 😭

- “Kay… that’s enough of Spencer’s…” you drag her by the hand out of there.

- “One more place I wanna go..” you keep dragging her by the hand.

- “Good.. cuz the malls ‘boutta close, princess.”

- Ellie smirks and scoffs as you guys walk into Claire’s. “Gonna get your clit pierced here or somethin’?”

- You go up to those merry-go-round display things and spin it until you find what you were looking for. “Nah, wanted one of these bad boys for Dina n I.” You show her one of those broken heart necklaces that come together to say best friends. She lets you pay for this one.

- At the end of your day Ellie walks the two of you out into the parking garage. It’s dark, so she pulls her hood up and hunches over to make herself appear more masculine. Not that it’s that dangerous or anything, but she’d probably never forgive herself if something happened to you - even the smallest scratch.

- As Ellie gets into her car, a SEXY ass truck might I add, she hands you a joint so you can relax as she drives you guys home ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

#ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #wlw #lesbian #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #tlou2 #I’m actually gonna scream when is this gonna happen to me

490 notes · View notes

goddessofvalyria · 1 month

Text

PROHIBITED | Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

Summary: After long time, Aemond see again her favorite niece, Rhaenyra and Daemon s'daughter. The prince observe her for all the dinner, after a conversation, in the middle of the night he use the secret passages of the Reed Keep and go in her chambers, finding her brushing her long hair. She is very beautiful, smart and provocative toward her favorite uncle, the princess always had a certain thing for him.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Daenys (like Daenys The Dreamer) with Valyrian traits (silver hair and purple eyes), oral (f receiving), fingering, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, obsession and Aemond trying to hide his feelings, targcest (he is the uncle, she is the niece).

English is not my first language, so be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 2850

Rhaenyra and Daemon came from Dragonstone to King's Landing for visit Viserys with all theirs family: Daenys the eldest daughter who was 20, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena and the littles Aegon and Viserys.

They all together had a dinner with the King, Alicent watching Rhaenyra and Aegon almost drunked. Surely Daemon noticed and didn't like the way the prince Aemond looked at Daenys. The prince was looking at her with his one violet eye, with lust and desire, realizing how beautiful she was. The princess was talking with Helaena and was wearing a red and black dress with gold embroidery, some braid in the loose long hair, jewels like ring but no necklace.

After the dinner Aemond secretly followed her on Gods Park. The princess walked and watched around, missing the wildness of Dragonstone.

«Did you do miss the Red Keep» Aemond spoke behind her, and she turned around. «Uncle» she whispered. «I didn't miss this place» she smiled devilish. «I missed... all the adventured I had in this place» she licked her lower lip. «Did you remember? » she walked versus him, watching her favorite uncle. «The way we kissed each other hiding from everyone...» she put an and on his covered chest. «I missed our kisses from we were sixteen and seventeen, but now we're twenty and twenty-one, uncle. I haven't see you in a while.» she upped her gaze. Aemond Targaryen was always taller than her but became more handsome with perfect posture, long silver straight hair, the eye patch on his missing eye, smart, serious and loyal man to his family. To her eyes he was simply prohibited. «Did you remember all too well, niece» he responded. «How I could forget» she said. «Your warm, hot and infinite kisses»

«Tell me uncle, did you missed me?» she asked him with that damn devilish smile. «What makes you think that?» he watched her gaze. «The way you watched me during the dinner, uncle» she spoke softly. «The same way you are doing now...» she walked two footsteps back. «You have been always obsessed over prohibited things» she teased him. «They have betrothed you to someone?» he asked. «Why did you mind?» she responded with a smirk. «Tell me if yes or not.» he ordered. «I guess we'll never know, uncle» the princess spoke. «Now, goodnight uncle.» she walked over him, entering in the Keep and hiding in the darkness of the night. Aemond stood here for a while, after he retired to his chambers with that damn question in the mind: "Daemon and Rhaenyra betrothed her to someone?" She didn’t answer the question, but thinking at her damn smile she was clearly teasing him. Daenys was a such devilish girl and Aemond, after all these years was still obsessed with her and their prohibited kisses.

All began years ago, when Daenys still lived with her family at the Reed Keep, before moving to Dragonstone. She was curious about the world, so in the night she was wearing a black cloak and with Aemond they escaped in the city, observing the streets and tavern of King's Landing. She saw everything about the night life, but mostly girls her age living her life without shame or pudor. She was a princess so it was obvious that she must live under several hundred boring rules. «Have you ever kissed someone?» she asked Aemond, holding his hand while they walked. «I mean, someone you really like» s

Aemond stop walking and then watched her. «If you are asking me if I kisses the whores in the streets of silk, the answer is no.» he glacially responded. «This wasn't the question» the princess rolled up her eyes. «Me no» she said. «It was easy» replied with angst. «Me neither» Aemond left her hand putting them on her waist and pulling her on the wall of a house. «Did you want to kiss me, uncle? » she teased him. «Daor» "No" replied him in high Valyrian. «It seems yes» she continues to provoke. «Because I want to kiss you, I desire to feel what a kiss can make me and I want that you'll be the first my lips will be putting on»

«Kostilus» "Please" she whispers looking at him with lust. «I want it because I know it's prohibited» she said with a smirk. «Kiss me uncle or I'll do it» the princess was clearly turned on. Her breath was heavy, she starved her uncle. Aemond, who always tried to be seem not interested to her finally fell. To his eyes, she was the most beautiful young woman of the seven kingdoms: polite, smart, fierce, brave, a true dragon rider, able with the sword and fluent in high Valyrian. She was perfect and prohibited, in fact she was Daemon and Rhaenyra's daughter, and he was sure they'll never betrothed her to him. So, he spent years trying to hide his feelings for her favorite and only niece. Aemond lowered his gaze to her lips, caressing the bottom lip with his thumb. «I know that you want me, uncle. I'm the only between Daemon and Rhaenyra's children that you don't disrespect or hate» she said with mellifluous voice. «A kiss wont' ruin nothing» she smirked. «But the fault to didn't gave me that when you could, will devour you»

Aemond was so close to her that he smelled her scent, hear her heart beating and her breath. «I only want my uncle» she provoked and after tired of waiting her hands taken Aemond's cloak and bring him close to her, she tried to kiss him, but he moved his head away, denying her. «Fuck you, uncle» the princess insulted him and then, he grabbed his hand under her chin and then kissed her with the most hot, devilish, warm, beautiful and prohibited first kiss ever.

After that night, they've always meet in hidden places to kiss and cuddle each other, every day and night, until her family decided moving to Dragonstone.

And now, that night she was alone in her chambers sitting in front of the mirror brushing her long hair. Daenys was thinking about the conversation in the Gods Park, the way Aemond was looking at her and resist her provocation. The princess was still in love with him, but his uncle? Gods, he was handsome as hell and she remembered all too well his kisses. She continued brushing her hair until she heard a noise behind her. She turned and looked into the darkness but saw no one.

«Did you know the Red Keep has many secret passage?»

And finally, she saw him, her favorite uncle. «Why are you here?» she asking, but knowing perfectly why he was here: for her, his prohibited dream.

Aemond approached her, ordering her to turn around. Next, he took from his jacket pocket a thin Valyrian steel necklace set with a blue sapphire, just like his missing eye.

«This is for you» he said. «Bring your hair up» close to her niece, Aemond put the necklace around her neck. «Gevie» "Beautiful" he said in high Valyrian. Daenys watched him through the reflect of the mirror. «I should give this to you years ago before you leave. Now I think that you're engaged to someone, but...» he stopped. «But?» she asked. «This necklace has a piece of my sapphire in it. With that you'll always me with you» she lowered her eyes. She can feel pain in his voice, knowing that Aemond didn't want to someone have her, the princess of Dragonstone, her favorite niece.

In the dim light of the room, the tension between Daenys and Aemond was palpable. Their eyes met, both aware of the feelings they had tried to repress for so long. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken emotion, an invisible bond that united them beyond blood and family.

Aemond approached slowly, as if afraid to break the moment, and Daenys did not pull away. Their breaths mingled, and the world around them seemed to disappear, leaving them alone in that bubble of intimacy. Aemond raised a hand, gently touching Daenys’s cheek, his touch as light as a feather. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on her skin.

Without a word, Aemond slowly leaned toward her, their lips meeting in a gentle, almost shy kiss. It was a sweet kiss, full of repressed emotion, a gesture that expressed everything they had never had the courage to say. For a moment, time seemed to stop, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth of the contact, the sweetness of that kiss.

Their kiss, shy at first, grew deeper, more intense. Aemond, feeling his desire grow, wrapped his arm around Daenys, holding her tighter, as if he feared losing her again.

Daenys, her heart pounding, let herself be carried away by the wave of passion that was overwhelming them both. Their lips moved with increasing urgency, their breaths quickening, and his tongue closed her lips. It was a kiss that spoke of everything they had felt and hidden, everything they had lost and found in that moment.

Aemond stroked her hair with one hand, while with the other he held her close, almost as if physical contact could fill the void of the years gone by. Daenys, driven by the fire she felt growing inside her, responded with equal passion, her hands gripping the fabric of his jacket, wanting to feel every part of him.

The prince grabbed her hips, his fingers tightened on her nightgown and kissed her neck, hot and wet, hungry. She moaned pulling his hair, let herself be picked up and carried towards the canopied bed where Aemond placed her.

«Uncle» she whispered with heavy breathing. «I need it» she looked up her gaze. «Do you know what I mean» he stood up, put his hands on his jacket and began to undress him. «I am yours; I have always been yours» Daenys stood on tiptoe to kiss him, making him sigh heavily and once she had taken off his jacket, throwing it on the floor, looking up at him with a hungry look she put her hand on his blindfold. «No-» he began annoyed, he did not want her to see his disfigured face. «Yes» he answered. «Your princess orders you and you must obey me, uncle.» Daenys, shortly after, before his eyes dropped her nightgown at his feet, remaining naked in front of her favorite uncle.

«Do you still have the courage to say no to me?» she taunted him. Aemond swallowed and wrapped a hand around her neck. «And the princess should obey the orders of her prince» he spoke hard, pushing her against the bed. Lying on the covers she looked like she came out of a painting: long silver hair, piercing eyes, soft, smooth and delicate skin. A body that seemed sculpted by the Gods themselves. Aemond finished undressing under her hungry gaze, as soon as she saw him naked and towering over her she smiled devilishly. The body of her favorite uncle was simply beautiful: defined muscles, sculpted chest, trained arms and the v-line that closed around his erect manhood. «Uncle…» she whispered biting her lip. «You have always had a weakness for the forbidden. You weren’t allowed to calm Vhagar, but you did. You’re not allowed to do this, but you’re doing it. She smiled wickedly»

Aemond kissed her hungrily, their bodies hot on top of each other, their skin touching, the hot dragon blood and that beautiful blue sapphire set in the socket of the eye that looked down at her. Daenys arched her back, feeling the hard length between her thighs between things. Aemond moved his kisses from her lips to her neck, moving down between her lips, licking and taking a nipple between his teeth and then moving further down. He opened her legs in one motion, positioning himself between them and admiring how wet she was for him. Damn, Daenys was so turned on just by kissing.

«Dōna riña» “Sweet Girl” Aemond whispered. He kissed her wet cunt and after he stared to lick her between her spread legs. He went so much deeper, moans of pure pleasure escaped her lips at the feel of his mouth on her, the act so utterly sinful and prohibited. She found the strength to raise herself up on her elbows, to look up at him with her lips glossy and swollen. He closed his eye, brushed my fingers over her sensitive spot and she trembled, her body shaking. «Uncle» she moaned at the sensation of his tongue and two fingers inside her, torture and give her that damn prohibited pleasure.

«Ah» she moaned biting her lower lip, one hand into Aemond's hair. «Oh Gods Uncle» Daenys was trembling, his tongue was licking her foldings, his mouth kissing her wet womanhood. «I want you» she was lost in pleasure. «I want you inside me» she arched her back, felt Aemond's tongue fucking her, his arms around her legs. «Uncle please!» she begged him, Aemond was so hard that almost hurted. «Uncle Aemond» she was trembling, but he didn't care, the prince was devouring her favorite and only niece. «Oh Gods» Daenys closed her eyes for a moment, he was total evil and the sensation was so good, so hot, so prohibited. She felt his fingers inside her, a mortal combo with his tongue. The feeling was so good, and she found herself riding her uncle's face. «Aemond» she moaned white Aemond, was literally lost in pleasure and his only desire was to ruin his little sweet niece.

Aemond, however, did not let her come. Sia turned away, her eyes confused and exhausted. «Uncle…»Daenys watched him take his length in his hand, caress himself a couple of times before leaning on her, his elbow resting beside her head.

«Breathe slowly» Aemond whispered against her lips. The prince slid his manhood between her thighs, got wet with her, entered only the tip and then slowly pushed himself between her legs. Daenys pressed herself against him, feeling her beloved uncle inside her. Aemond sighed, breathing in her scent, kissed her and remained still for a few moments. She was so hot and wet; she had welcomed him without difficulty. «Fuck me uncle» Daenys watched him starved. «Use me» she ordered. Slowly he began to thrust, the pace was slow, but soon it increased Daenys moaned digging her nails into Aemond’s trained back, following his every thrust, moaning and feeling his of their bodies.

Aemond rested his forehead against Daenys’s, kissing her on the lips. «Uncle, uncle, uncle…» she moaned. Aemond lost himself in that forbidden pleasure, the sensation was nothing short of forbidden and exciting, she melted with every thrust of his hips.

«I know you are a good dragon rider» Aemond whispered, she nodded and so, with a brusque movement she found herself on her uncle’s hips, impaled on his length. «Ride it all» he whispered helping her move, losing himself in her body on top, her breasts moving with every thrust and Daenys’s hands placed on Aemond’s chest. «Oh uncle!» she whispered lost in pleasure feeling her legs tremble, Aemond under her began to feel that sensation. «Uncle» she said with trembling voice.

«I need to...» she moved, riding her dragon, taking all the pleasure. «You need to come, beautiful» he said, caressing her thighs with his hangs of her and finally Daenys felt it, that sensation inside her stomach of her. «Uncle, oh my gods, uncle, uncle, uncle» she cried, Aemond bit his lower lip. «I will come into you» he said. «You will fill up with all my seed, carrying my child» and now, she was about to come on his cock di lei and him, inside her di lei filling di lei whit his seed di lei. Daenys crawled into her arms.

«Uncle» she whispered, feeling himself hugging her. «I’m not promised to any lord» she finally told the truth. «I knew it » Aemond revealed. «I know you, my niece» he kissed the back of her hand, enjoying the peace of that orgasm.

«Uncle?» she called him. «Tomorrow morning ask my parents to be promised to you» she whispered, caressing his silk hair. «And if they say no?» Aemond answered. «Then I should tell them that we fucked and I am with you child, or maybe... we should wed secretly, with valyrian ceremony» she kissed his lips. «I think that we should» Aemond looked at her with that gaze. «Do you want to be my husband and the father of my children?» Daenys asked to his favorite uncle. «And do you want to be my wife and the mother of my children?»

Aemond answered. «Yes» she kissed him on his lips, caressing his bare chest. «This is prohibited, sure I want it» she lowered her kisses to his chest.

«I am yours, Aemond Targaryen» she has always been in love with his uncle and him, finally was free to show her his true feelings. «And I love you, my gevie princess.»

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemondtargaryenedit #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #house targaryen #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen smut #smut #dance of the dragons #house of the dragons #aemond targaryen #aemond kinslayer

373 notes · View notes

ningvory · 5 months

Text

secret — julie han

CW: noncon/dubcon, g!p julie, julie’s a perv, manipulation, corruption, naïve reader, unnie kink, creampie, mentions of natty in the end, not proofread, this is rushed so apologies in advance! 🙏

word count: 1.3k

anon ask? yes!

you’ve been a trainee for just over three years by now and you’ve been striving for your dream of becoming an idol for years.

you’ve been transferred to different companies in hopes of being able to debut with a few other girls but it never happened. so you joined S2 just after they debuted their most recent gg, kiss of life in hopes of debuting in their next group or even becoming a soloist. i mean, you’ve got the voice and and you can put on a show so yea, really could.

ever since you switched over to S2, you’ve gotten more sharper with your moves and worked on your dance technique. it was known to the other trainee’s that you were definitely going to debut sooner or later under S2, even you knew yourself. everyone knew you were the favorite trainee to the trainers. you caught everyone’s eye, rather it was your looks or your talent. you even managed to catch a special someone’s eye.

but what you didn’t expect was for the company to just add you in a already established group. especially since they were starting to get ready for their long anticipated comeback. S2 had long thought about adding a new member to the group and they decided that you were the only one that they picked to be the added member to the group. plus, the girls even agreed to it too, especially the eldest of the four, julie.

when it was time to meet, you all actually got along really wel! you were now the middle child in the group, being an 03 liner, you were younger than julie and natty but older than belle and haneul. it’s like you were ment to be in the group the whole time.

song recording went really good, you got plenty of compliments from the producers and composers. saying how great you sounded with just raw vocals and that you should’ve been debuted, making your cheeks hurt from all the cheesing you were doing in the studio.

now it was the time to learn the choreo itself, and let’s just say, they had you damn near breaking your back in a few moves to make it more visually pleasing to the eye. you decided to wear a crop top that barely did anything to cover you up with pink sweats. you didn’t wanna wear something that you’ll get hot in immediately, not thinking that it’ll be a bother to anyone.

but oh julie, all hot and bothered, trying to hide her boner from you all and the choreographer. it was so wrong she kept telling herself, watching how you were practicing the hip move in the chorus section of the song. so wrong and sick of her to just shamelessly stare at your tits and your ass, fantasizing about how your ass would smack against her tummy from her forceful thrusts to your cunt. but she just can’t help herself…you’re just so cute to her, and so…fuckable, how can she not? her daydreaming got too much for her she had to go excuse herself to the bathroom and relieve herself from her painful erection.

for the past few days you all had multiple group practices to make sure everything looked eye catching and synchronized. which of course, it did. but the more dance practices, the more confident you got with your moves, especially the more sexier moves, which did nothing to help julie’s raging boner.

she almost always was daydreaming, making you tap her and ask if everything was alright which seemed to break her out of the dream.

“julie unnie? is everything alright?” you asked her with a soft tone, looking directly in her eyes with doe eyes. fuck. she was caught, and she swears you’re doing it on purpose.

but what was she supposed to say to that? ‘yea i was just fantasizing about you riding me while i play with your tits.’ but she gained composure, “yea! don’t worry about me, got lost in my thoughts,” she gave a small smile, reassuring you as you nod your head and continued practicing. if only you knew you were the only thing on her mind.

since she was the leader, she had to monitor the four of you dancing. making sure there’s no mistakes, you all did amazing but julie payed the most attention to you. not because you were the newest member of the group, but because you were just so mesmerizing. each sway of your hips and bounce of your tits had julie left in a trance that she didn’t want to break out of, she had it bad for you and everyone could tell except for you.

you all lost track of time and it was far time to go. but you still wanted to practice, ignoring the fact your body was exhausted. which julie took for the perfect opportunity.

you wanted you moves to be basically flawless, being the newest member to an already established group meant there was a lot of eyes on you. julie took this opportunity and stayed with you.

“thanks for staying, unnie! you really didn’t have t—,”you went to say but was cut off by julie pushing you to the ground.

“see what you’ve done to unnie, baby? swear you’re doing this shit on purpose.” she groaned, getting ontop on your shocked body, pinning your arms beside your head with a tight grip.

“wh—wha? unnie, get off me!” you shouted a little to loud, making her remove a hand to cover your mouth.

“fuck..don’t cry baby. do this for unnie ‘kay? you’ll be good for unnie, right?” julie shushed you, pulling your sweats and panties down, before undoing her pants and her boxers.

she wasted no more time, plunging into you. head swinging back from the pleasure, biting her lip to conceal her moans.

“u-unnie—stop! d-don’ ‘wan it! please—!” your poor lil cunt s’not use to being filled all the way up! tears begin to fall down your face, trying to push her away and shoving at her with you hands.

“stupid slut, take all i give you—fuck!—you cryin’ f’me to stop but your cunt is suckin’ me all in.” she grunts, bullying her thick cock inside your lil cunt. she’s pounding into you anomalistically, she’s lost her composure to try and hold herself back.

she lifts your tight shirt up and pulls your bra down to play with your tits. she groped and pinched you nipples, making you squeak out. more tears falling down.

“all your damn crying isn’t gonna make me stop, baby.” she stays before moving her hands down to pinch your clit.

“don’t even think about telling the others, they won’t believe you, stupid whore.” she snarks, balls slapping against your ass from the quick pace she’s going.

“shit—g’na cum. and you’re gonna take it all!” her thrusts become sloppy, before she fills your cunt up with her thick spurts of cum.

when you feel her fill you up, you felt your body begin to shake. before letting out a loud whine, cumming aggressively on her cock still inside you!

she slowly pulls out, pressing down on your tummy to see her cum begin to spill out, making you whimper. the tingling sensation of her pulling out of your cum covered cunt has you quivering.

once you got home and took a long shower, you went to tell the second eldest, natty. telling her what your leader did to you but she just laughs in your face. telling you that you shouldn’t have been teasing her. but poor you, natty’s no better than julie! she waits till your sleeping and uses your tired body for her own pleasure! waking you up from your sleep and filling you up with her cock! before telling your sleepy self that you better get used to being their personal fucktoy cuz their gonna use you for their own pleasure, not caring if you cum or not! :((

#♡.julie #♡.kiof #wlw smut #kpop smut #julie han x fem reader #julie smut #kiof julie smut #kiof smut #g!p #kiss of life smut #julie han smut

617 notes · View notes

in-som-niyah · 10 months

Text

"No, none of that baby. Let me see that pretty pussy of mine."

in which you catch Jason mingling with a girl you think is prettier at a gala, and he reminds you who he belongs to with his face between your thighs...

The night is young and alive. In the four walls of bruce's charity gala, there was expensive champagne, rich people music and gorgeous women.

You were advised, no instructed to come with Jason to his father's galas for a while now. The scene was nothing new.

Bruce would throw millions at a gala for a bunch of rich people 4 times a year to keep himself in their good graces. You would stand in the corner and watch people pretend to like each other with wide smiles and chaste hugs.

Secretly, you hated these events. Well, Jason knew you would rather stay home, but he thought it was because you just find them boring.

He could't be more wrong.

As you claimed your usual spot with your back to the wall in a corner, you watched the skinny, blond-haired girls in their tastefully fitted dresses garner the spotlight of the event. The way they batted their blue eyes up at a mesmerized man was the 8th wonder of the world. They were so effortless in their seduction, so enamouring in their figure.

So stunning.

It wasn't that you weren't pretty, no, it was that you were sorely out of place.

And Jason had no Idea.

How could he, when he stood at six foot something, broad shoulders and a physique to die for. Lush green eyes and prominent yet soft features.

And Gods above, his smile.

Any girl would have won the lottery if she saw his genuine smile.

It was no secret that you didn't match him, not at all.

It is in these moments that you begin to question your relationship. If these are the kinds of women he is surrounded with, why the fuck was he with you?

You scoffed and took a swig of your Champagne as you watched yet another girl wave to him.

Presently, he was doing his job, talking with investors and other important people in Gotham.

He was talking to some high up CEO when a gorgeous girl bumped into his side. He turned around to meet her embarrassed gaze.

Though you were out of earshot, you could make out her flustered apologies and Jason's attempts at reassurance. Out of courtesy, he asked for her name or other surface info and the two seemed to get to talking. She was blabbering on about who she was and what she does for a living and she made a joke. And Jason Laughed.

He laughed. Fully and genuinely. He laughed.

Then so did she, sparkling blue eyes looking up at him once again as they laughed over something you couldn't find funny. You would never find this funny.

Soon enough, the lights dimmed and Bruce called the attention of the crowd to welcome them and thank them for their attendance. His list of thanks and acknowledgements went on as normal.

"...And I'm so glad my son Jason found a friend at these so-called 'boring' events he hates going to." Bruce joked.

The crowd laughed.

But so did Jason.

You took this as your opportunity to leave, slamming your champagne flute down on a nearby table and making a swift exit.

Hot tears threatened to burn rivers down your face as your legs carried you out of the venue as quickly as they could. You found an elevator, and decided to take it up to Jason's bedroom.

Once on the correct floor, the floodgates opened and you began to sob.

You flung open the door to his bedroom and slammed it shut. You took off your expensive heels and pelted them across the tidy room. Everything reminded you of him; the portraits on the wall, his diplomas, old weapons, even the faint scent of him.

This was something you could no longer take. You were so tired of feeling inadequate, silently counting down the days until he found someone better than you. In your mind, that day had come and though it had been in the back of you mind for as long as you were with him, you were damn unprepared.

You undid the zipper on your dress and flung it off your body. Jason picked out this dress for you when he mentioned that he wanted you to come to this last gala with him. You painfully recall how happy and excited you were to be able to wear a dress in his colour that he picked out for you.

How foolish.

Your sobs grew stronger as you began to think that your relationship should have never happened, seeing that he would have found someone prettier, skinnier, funnier smarter-

Knock

"Y/N?"

Jason was at the door to his room. Growing bored with the festivities below, he wanted to find you and go back to your place. When he couldn't find you in the crowd, he went up to his room to check something. It was then that he heard your heavy sobs coming from behind his door and panic filled his system.

You stopped crying immediately and moved to dry your tears that have surely ruined your makeup by now.

"Yeah baby. J-just give me a second." you blurted in an unconvincing tone.

He couldn't know how distraught you were about something so trivial. It wasn't his fault that he was so hot, and it wasn't yours that you thought you weren't. There was nobody to blame for your insecurities, and you didn't need him to know how terrible you felt because of your own self-inflicted wounds.

"Can I come in?" He pried gently.

You appreciated his courtesy of asking if he could enter his own room. You scrambled to find a shirt of his to cover yourself with. There was no need for the added anxiety of what you thought you looked like right now. Your heels still splayed across the room and dress slumped against his armchair.

"Sure." you let out with a defeated sigh.

The audible twist and click of the doorknob filled the quiet space. Jason's brow was pinched with worry as the door swung open to reveal you, sitting on his bed in his shirt, in pretty bad shape.

He closed the door and locked it behind him, something you appreciated, and took off his jacket. He made his way to the edge of the bed and sat on the mattress with his back to the edge, facing you.

His soft gaze took in your state, and his shoulders slumped because he didn't like what he saw. He hated seeing you sad, it broke his heart into a million little pieces.

Jason reached out his hand for you to take, but you curled in on yourself and inched further away from him. You were still overwhelmed with your thoughts of his hands all over someone elses' body.

You wanted to vomit.

"Can you look at me, Y/N?" Jason asks cautiously. He doesn't know what you're thinking, and the last thing he wants to do is scare you.

The tears came back and you struggled to keep them at bay.

"C-Can't" your strained voice came through gritted teeth.

"Oh come here pretty girl" he cooed.

You resolve was gone and you moved to throw yourself in his arms.

Jason's strong arms came to wrap around your back, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your abdomen.

Your hands grabbed at his ironed dress shirt. Usually you were courteous, but now you were too hurt to care. Makeup, snot, tears and other fluids rubbed into his clothes as you broke down in his arms.

You were grateful he didn't say anything about his ruined shirt as his hand rubbed up and down your back.

Jason's mind was racing, searching all corners of his brain to figure out what would make you this upset so quickly.

Your sobs began to slow but your breathing remained erratic. There was too much and not enough air at the same time. Jason stepped in quickly to make sure you didn't pass out.

"Hey hey hey slow down baby girl. Follow my breaths alright? In. Out. Keep going sugar. In. Out. Atta girl"

As you breathed with him, you felt calmer, but the guilt of him having to deal with your outburst began to gnaw at you.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and broke out of his embrace. He studies your state, which was much better now, but stayed quiet.

"I-I'm sorr-"

"Absolutely not." Jason sharply interrupted your attempt to apologize

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for sweetheart."

You could tell he was searching your face for any kind of acknowledgement, but you couldn't look at him.

"Look at me baby. Please?" he whispers as his hands roam up your neck to cup your cheeks.

You shook your head no.

Jason tries again, pressing his forehead to yours, looking at your tightly closed eyes.

"You're breaking my heart pretty girl. Please? For me?" he whispers so softly.

Deciding to obey, you look up at him. A single tear escapes your eye as you stare into his worried green ones.

"None of that anymore sugar" he reassures as his thumb wipes away the tear.

You nod in agreement.

Jason and you stay close with your forheads on each others for a while, basking in the intimacy of it all.

He breaks the silence.

"Talk to me love. What happened hm?" he asks, his breath dancing on your lips.

You take a deep breath

"What got my girl so upset?"

Truthfully, you had no idea how to start. How to tell him you've been feeling like a horrible girlfriend since you've been having darker thoughts about your appearance. How can you tell Jason, whose only fault was loving you, that you feel inadequate in his presence. That you feel that it is only a matter of time until he finds someone prettier, skinnier, smarter-

"Baby?"

His inquiry pulls you out of your head.

"It's stupid." You respond in a small voice.

"No. Not if it made you feel this way."

You drop your head again in shame. You don't deserve this kindness after you just questioned his intentions with you.

"But it has nothing to do with you" you mumble.

"It has everything to do with me because I love you. And I cant stand to see you so hurt over something I don't know about or help you with." He countered.

"But-" your voice begins to shake once more

He sneaks his index finger underneath your chin and lifts, giving you no choice but to look at him.

"But nothing." he shuts you down simply.

Jason kisses your forehead, then your cheeks, then your nose, making you giggle.

"There's my girl" he mumbles to no one in particular.

His face lines up with yours once again. This time, it is you who moves closer to capture his lips in yours. It was a soft and passionate kiss, a silent thanks for his patience with you.

Jason broke the kiss before you could and smoothed a braid from out of your face.

"Can you tell me why you're upset? You don't have to if you don't want-"

"I want to." You interrupted him.

After a long period of explaining your feelings with a few more stray tears, you both came to an understanding of how the situation came to be. Jason told you how much he loves you, and that nobody with a smaller figure or more socially "beautiful" than you could take him away from you. You were his girl; his to love, his to smile at, his to laugh with, his to touch, his to feel, his to caress-

His lips were now on yours. He kissed you with a fever of determination, a thousand feelings infused into the union of your lips.

His hands began to roam your body. Up your back and down to your hips. You know he loves seeing you in his clothes.

As the kiss deepens and both of your hands are all over eachother. Your hand roams down his front to find his bulge. He stops you abruptly, and you raise you head to look at him questioningly.

"Are you sure?" Jason whispers.

You chuckle at the question.

"Yes, of course" you answer incredulously.

At that, your hand made its way down again and was stopped once more.

"I want tonight to be about you, princess. Let me prove how much I love you."

You shot him a questioning look.

He smirked.

You have no idea what's coming He thought.

With his hands on your waist, he gently pushed you down onto the bed. He hiked up your (his) shirt to reveal your pretty tits.

Jason pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck, shoulders and chest. A hand came up to massage your breast and play with your nipple. His actions earned a moan from you, which only spurred him on in his antics.

"So beautiful" he murmured into your skin.

He continued down your body, only stopping to catch a glimpse of your head thrown back in painful anticipation.

Once he made his way down to your underwear he kneaded the flesh of your thighs and pressed kisses on the inside of each one.

"Gorgeous" he breathed between kisses

"Can I take these off?" He asks

You nod your head yes, but this is not sufficient for him.

"Need words pretty girl" Jason presses.

You let out a breathy yes and he begins to pull down your panties.

They were his favourite colour, Red.

"No other girl could wear my colour and be a sexy as you are. Understand?"

"Yes" you moan as his hands are at your feet, tossing your panties and rubbing your ankles.

At the cool breeze in the air, you snap your thighs together, unfamiliar with the change in temperature on your heat.

"No, none of that baby. Let me see that pretty pussy of mine."

You swear you could have cum at that statement alone.

Jason takes matters into his own hands as he gently and slowly pries your legs open, while maintaining eye contact to make sure you're still okay with what's going on.

Before he makes his descent, he lifts you slightly to move you further up the bed. A swift hand pulls a pillow and places it under your hips.

Clearly, he meant business.

Before your nerves had a chance to ruin the moment, Jason cuts the tension by turning to your inner thighs, leaving little bites and dark marks.

Without warning, he dives right in, relieving your sopping cunt of its misery.

The flat of his tongue drags up your soaking pussy, eliciting a surprised moan from you.

He continues with his affirmations.

"Nobody's pussy is a perfect as this one right here, yeah?"

You moan out at the praise.

"Need words baby or I'll stop"

"Y-Yes Jason!" you gasp as your hands desperately grip his sheets for relief. His tongue dancing with the devil on your soaked folds.

Briefly, he rises from between your legs and a scene of his saliva and your essence coats his lips and chin. His lips, now puffy, curl into a smirk.

"Now repeat after me. You make a mistake and I'll stop. Understood?" he continued.

"Fuck- Yes, I understand"

"There's my good girl" He affirms.

He goes back down with fervor this time. Jason's tongue wasted no time before lapping up what ended up on your thighs and circling your clit.

He begins. "There is no girl more perfect for Jason than me"

God he's good.

"T-There is- shit no girl- oh" You start, interrupted by his lips sucking on your clit.

"M-More perfect- ugh for J-Jason than me" You finish, proud that you were able to complete your first sentence.

Your success earned a proud "atta girl" from Jason as he continued his mission on your folds.

"There is no woman on this planet prettier than me" He started again, before his tongue resumed his actions.

This one was a challenge. Between his tongue and the suction of his lips, your orgasm was approaching quickly.

"There i-is no shit woman- fuck Jason I'm gonna-" you spit our frantically.

"Not yet. Finish the sentence first. You're almost there." He says as he raises his head from between your legs.

You let out a desperate whine at the sudden lack of stimulation and pushed your hips up against nothing. A strong forearm came to stop you, which your desperate state didn't appreciate.

You are left no choice but to continue.

"on this planted p-prettier than me." You finish.

Before you could beg, he was already there, hot breath ghosting over your need.

"Last one pretty girl. You can do it." Jason whispers. He moves his unused hand to interlock with one of yours that was previously gripping the bedding for dear life.

"Ready?" He asks

You nod weakly, followed by a whiny yes, knowing that only words will get you what you want.

"I am the only woman Jason has ever loved" He speaks over your heat.

You swore you came instantly.

Jason's heavenly mouth got to work again, leaving you a panting, mewling mess on his dark sheets. You were sure there was a puddle where his mouth met your cunt, and lewd, wet sounds filled the room.

Desperately needing your release, there was only one way to get it.

"I am t-the only fuck-" You were stopped by a particularly intense suck on your clit.

Jason's hand squeezed yours in encouragement. A silent "you can do this sugar" was mumbled over your pussy.

"Woman Jason ha-has ever- Ohh I'm so close Jay pleasepleaseplease". Your attempted recitation died with a desperate babble of his name.

His hand squeezed yours tightly, encouraging you once again to continue.

The tight coil in your tummy grew stronger and harder to ignore as Jason picked up the pace between your legs. It was as if he was a starving man, craving only one thing and finally receiving it.

"L-LOVED" You screamed as your release washed over you. Your eyes rolled and your back arched at the sudden sensation. Every nerve in your body was lit ablaze, burning so sweetly as he continued to lap at you through your high.

Nothing but, white-hot bliss filled each of your senses. You were so lost in your own pleasure, it almost hurt to come back down to earth.

When you opened your eyes again, you were met with a panting and disheveled Jason, juices all over his chin, and sweat down his brow. His collared dress shirt was unbuttoned and sinfully wrinkled. You couldn't help but marvel at his beauty in such an unkempt state.

Slowly, he began to remove the pillow from under you and pull your shirt down over your body. You hissed at the fabric dragging across your still-sensitive nipples, for which he apologized with a kiss on your nose.

Aligning his face with yours, he looked deep into your eyes and used his free hand to thumb away the tears of overstimulation on your cheeks.

"Don't you ever feel like you're not worthy of me again without telling me okay?" he remarks as he gives you a small, kind smile.

You nod, and he doesn't press you about it this time.

"I'll repeat this as many times as I need to sunshine, no questions asked."

He continued.

"I love you."

908 notes · View notes

ghoulphile · 5 months

Text

i want this man to do gross, disrespectful, unspeakable, borderline illegal things to me

⭐ inbox | discord | ao3 ⭐ requests: temporarily closed | tag lists: open last updated | 6/6/24 notes | i'll update this post as i continue to write. fics will be 18+ unless stated otherwise ❤️ requests closed so i can catch up on the ones already submitted - will be opening up again soon!

🍒 sticky fingers the ghoul x reader one-shot | 18+

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.”

🍒 janey's dad cooper howard x reader two-shot, part one | 18+

“We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

🍒 run rabbit run the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

the drabble thing HNNNGH think about coop calling you bunny from the start bc he clocked that you were always a down for it and you not getting it until he after you fuck for the first time

🍒 in the middle of the night the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

Cooper watching you sleep. Its a quiet night. nothing but bugs passing by. Cooper keeps watching, and his mind wanders. cut to him "borrowing" your soft and smooth hand, pulling it from under your makeshift blanket and wrapping it on his dick, jacking himself with your hand bc he's bored/trying to pass the time/stay awake

🍒 wish you'd make me cry the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

"You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c

🍒 dog days pre-war cooper howard x reader fluff, request

I was wondering if you'd write something about maybe prewar/postwar (either one) cooper where his love is a bit sick (not life threateningly so ect) and he just takes good care of them

🍒 it's always the quiet ones pre-war cooper howard x reader drabble | 18+

We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack?

🍒 no use cryin' over spilled milk the ghoul x reader one-shot | 18+

based off this ask; trying to survive topside after growing up in a vault is hard enough, but doing it five months pregnant? it's a good thing you find the ghoul when you do.

🍒 i can taste your skin in my teeth the ghoul x reader drabble request, wip | 18+

drabble request thingy: "you're so wet and I haven't even touched you" and/or "aww... you're pathetic" I feel like these go so well together in a very mean(super hot) way >:)

🍒 use me pre-war cooper howard x reader drabble request, wip | 18+

for the drabble request "I want to use you so fucking bad" with pre bomb coop?

🍒 don't threaten me with a good time the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

how do you think our ghoul would handle having a breeding kink?

🍒 in the collision of your kiss pre-war cooper howard x reader wip | 18+

"As I live and breathe, that's Cooper Howard! Why, he must've cost a fortune -- how ever did you get him to agree to attend a children's party?"

🍒 criminal tongues the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

Could I get and aggressive smut with coop like he hasn't had any in 200 something years ! Hes needy and wants it NOW

🍒 finders, keepers the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

Cooper wants people to know the reader is *his*, and she best damn well know it to. If she doesn't, he'll have to show her

🍒 god is a woman pre-war cooper howard x reader request, wip | 18+

If you don't mind of making cooper howard/the ghoul being submissive or treating reader like a goddess of a smut?

🍒 bury all your secrets in my skin the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

I was thinking how it would be to be the first to get him to take all his clothes off since the bombs fell. Being the first to get him to be vulnerable in this way. If you would write this I would be very grateful.

#masterlist #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader

757 notes · View notes

gallavichsreddie1128 · 4 months

Text

Mother of America (Soldier Boy/Homelander)

Description: Soldier Boy and Y/N have a son that they weren’t aware of.

Word Count: 1,922k

Request:

homelander... meeting his genetic mother 🛐🛐🛐

she's in the same situation of Soldier Boy on her part her reproductive eggs got harvested and used to create him without her knowing when she got taken by Vought

+ for ryan to meet her

Author’s note: I changed it up a bit and added some stuff. This is a little different than in the show.

Soldier Boy was a hot Supe that saved America from time to time. He had every lady and some men wanting him and his dick. He wanted a lot of young hot ladies for himself. But there was one that stood out to him. One that was right in front of him this whole time. Mother of America or as he called her Y/N. She was just as hot as him and even a lot of guys or girls wanted her as well.

She had her eyes on one man and one man only. Soldier Boy or as she called him Ben. The two were in love as far as love could go. They fought crime together and then after had the hottest sex together. They were a perfect pair. After a year of officially dating Ben asked her to marry him and she said yes. The wedding was simple, nothing too crazy and not a lot of people. It wasn’t a secret by any means but they were different from most people. They were Supes and they were famous. Y/N couldn’t get pregnant. It was damn near impossible for a Supe to get pregnant.

So Vought took her eggs with the hopes of having a natural born Supe one day. When Ben almost got killed Y/N was heartbroken and even more when she saw the helicopter take him away. That was the last time she saw him. She still wore the ring and acted as if she was still married. Technically she was. Along with Ben she aged like fine wine and looked perfect. She hit out from Vought and managed to hide for years, that was until Soldier Boy was back and went looking for her. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she got the knock on her door and there stood her husband. He gave her a smile, the smile that she missed so much. Without thinking she hugged him so tight not caring about the other people at her door with him. He hugged her back and chuckled, “I missed you baby.” He said.

Oh his voice, it still sounded the same and sounded so sexy. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She asked in tears. “I looked all over for ya baby. You hid really well.” He told her and pulled back to wipe her tears. “I have some news. I just wish that we could have reconnected before the news broke.” He tells her and he pulls away. She looked at him confused as to what the news could be and why he sounded sad. “This here is Billy. Billy Butcher.” “Oi luv.” She nodded and gave him a small smile. “Billy here has one mission and that is to kill Homelander.” She knew that name, he was the face of Vought. “He’s a cunt.” Billy said, almost making Y/N laugh.

“What has he done to you?” She asked. “That’s a story for another time.” Billy tells her. “We need your help babe.” Ben tells her, “With what?” “We need to kill him.” “Homelander?” She asked. Both men nodded. “He needs to be put down like a dog.” Ben said. Y/N looked at both men and sighed. “That’s the news?” She asked. By the look on her husband’s face she knew it wasn’t. “Homelander is…well he’s our son.” Y/N felt her heart stop at his words. She looks towards Billy for confirmation and he nods. “What?” “I know it’s crazy.” “No Ben, it's not possible.” She said. “Remember the eggs they froze for you and the sperm they took from me?” She did remember that but it couldn’t be… “They made him with our…” “Yes.” Ben said. She looked at the other man who had something against Homelander and for what she wasn’t sure. “He has a son himself. Ryan, whose mother was my wife.” Billy told her.

“Your wife cheated on you with Homelander?” She asked, “Not exactly.” She covered her mouth with her hand as she realized what he meant. She looked towards her husband. “Well babe I guess we gotta kill our offspring.”

The two sat in Y/N’s hot tub naked with a glass of wine. “So our only child is a monster.” she said and took a big sip of her wine. Ben nodded and pulled her closer, “Yeah.” The yeah was filled with disappointment. “He’s a pussy too. No real man cries and acts like he does.” Y/N rolled her eyes not missing that side of her husband. “Ben seriously?” She asked. He chuckled and nodded, “Yeah and he thinks he’s the new me.” She chuckles and cups his face, “Nobody is ever going to be you.” She whispers and kisses him. He sets down his wine glass and kisses her back.

The kiss felt like it did years ago. Great. “You know I haven’t had sex with anyone since you were taken from me.” She says against his lips. He smiles and moves so he is in between her legs. “Are you saying that I should fuck you right here in this hot tub?” He asked and she laughed. She shrugged and bit his lip, “I mean if that’s what you want.” “Oh hunny I plan on fucking you in every spot I can in this house.” He tells her, making her laugh.

Her and Ben walked into the house of the twins that hosted what they created all those years ago. Herogasm. Y/N smiled at the memories as she saw all types of Supes fucking. “You stay here, I got business to take care of you.” Ben told her as he walked away. She didn’t question it knowing it was for a good cause. She walked around the house amazed by what was happening. She saw her husband and the TNT twins begging for their lives. “TNT Detonate!” They said and the place exploded.

Y/N flew up watching it all happen. She watched the place burn into flames and many dead. She flew back down and saw Ben walking with Billy. She flew down towards him, “Babe?” Both men looked up as she flew down beside them. “What the hell is going on?” She asked. “A lot of people are liars, but right now we gotta deal with Homelander.” He told her. She hoped he would explain everything to her because she was very confused. “William Butcher, Soldier Boy and Mother of America.” Y/N’s jaw dropped as she saw her son. For the first time she sees him she can’t stop thinking about how that’s her son. “We had a deal. That we would fight to the death.” “Deal’s off.” Billy said to him as they all came face to face.

“You were my hero growing up. I watched all your movies hundreds of times. You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me.” Y/N snorted at the last part making Homelander look over at her. “Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape. You’re just a cheap fucking knock off.” He tells him. “Oh no no no. I’m the upgrade.” He said with a smirk. “Upgrade? Bitch you wish.” Y/N laughed at him. He turns to her but before he could say or do anything Ben attacks him. Y/N and Billy watch for a second but Y/N realized that Homelander was a lot stronger than she thought. She watched in horror as Ben was being choked out by him.

She went to tackle him but Billy lasered beem him. Homelander looked over at the man in shock, “What have you done?” “Scorched Earth.” Billy said. Y/N tackled Homelander to the ground and they all began to fight. Some naked guy who Y/N later learned was named Hughie started helping out. She could tell Ben wanted to kill their son and she couldn’t blame him. Homelander ended up blasting away as they all held him down. “We should have ended him right there.” She said to them.

“I can tell you're hesitant on killing him.” Ben said to her as they got in bed. She chuckled, “I mean the only child we got is a monster but yet I feel like it’s our fault.” “Babe he’s a test subject for vault not really our child.” She looked at him, “But he is our child. My egg and your sperm.” She said. “We have to do what's best no matter how hard it may be.” He tells her. He was right. But a part of her couldn’t bear to be the one to do it.

“Where’s Black Noir?” Y/N asked, knowing that he was in the seven. “I killed him.” She felt her heart break. “Why?” Ben asked. Homelander looked at the two of them, “Because he didn’t tell me about you two.” Y/N and Ben looked at each other. “Homelander this isn’t right.” She tells him. He holds up his hands, “I’m alone. I just want to talk. I know what it’s like to have your team betray you. But with the three of us together we could be unstoppable. Nobody would stand a chance.” “Unless we kill each other first.” Ben said. “That’s true but why? Because he says so. He’s a human. He’s nothing.” “Don’t listen to that twat he’s not your kid.”

“Yes I am. I am your guy’s blood. That’s all that matters.” A kid maybe 10 years old, he brings out. “This is your grandson Ryan. Ryan, this is your grandparents.” “Hi Grandpa. Hi Grandma.” Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes at the sight of him. She had a son and a grandson. But then she remembered what Billy told her. The kid was a product of rape. “Maybe if we raised you, we could have made you better, not some weak pussy that’s starved for attention.” “But there’s no fixing that now.” Y/N said with tears in her eyes. “Weak? I’m you. I’m the product of the two of you. Soldier Boy and Mother of America.” “Homelander it pains me to say this but you’re a disappointment.” She said to him.

Homelander looked sad by her words. His own mother thought that of him. Ryan ended up leasering Ben and started a war. “Ben, you don’t need to kill the kid, just Homelander.” She tried. “Y/N, that kid is a product of rape.” He growled at her. “Not the kid.” Billy said. “You wanna save the brat? What’s wrong with you guys?” He asked. “I made a promise.” Billy said. “Everything you wanted.. He’s right here and now you blink?” “He needs to die Billy. Homelander needs to die.” She tells the man. “You’re on his side?” Billy asked.

“I’m sorry Billy but Homelander needs to die. I’ll try to save your kid.” She said. It was hard when Ben wanted one thing and she the other. Homelander was the one that needed to die not his kid but she knew that Ben was impossible and that wouldn’t work so when his chest and they didn’t get what they wanted she knew that it would take an awful lot to kill her son. But it needed to be done.

“I don’t hate ya.” she turned to see Billy. “But your husband. He’s an ass.” Billy said, making her laugh. “Yeah I know. But I want him dead. I don’t care that he’s my son so if you ever need me Billy. You call me and I’ll be right there.” She tells him before walking back into her house where Ben was waiting.

#the boys #the boys imagine #the boys amazon #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy #the boys season 3 #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander imagine #homelander x you #antony starr #jensen ackles

327 notes · View notes

yaeverse · 3 months

Text

Dinner Date | j.ww

pairing: class president! wonwoo x playgirl!reader

summary: going on a date with your class president who actually have had a secret crush on you for a while

warnings: slight nsfw, fluff, a few wet kisses

a/n: helloo nyxies, i'm still new to writing so deepest apologies if there some grammatical errors found in my fanfic. anyways, enjoyyy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could say you were hell ass surprised when he asked you out to dinner after winning the school art competition. Your class president, Jeon Wonwoo, also known as the campus heartthrob had a secret crush on you for sometime now. The man was undeniably handsome, hot, smart and basically a walking wet dream that had every girl or boy drooling over him

Walking and pacing around your room, figuring out on what to wear, making sure to not look like you're whoring yourself on your first date with Wonwoo, your mind brings you back to the moment he asked you out.

(flashback)

"y/n, will you go on a date with me..?" he asks as he looks at you with a stoic face. Wonwoo actually had this all planned in his head but things didn't really go as well as he thought it would, "I'll pick you up later at seven.." he continues, leaving no space for rejection.

(end of flashback)

"Dammit, Jeon Wonwoo.. you got me nervous over a date.." you sigh, deciding on wearing a turtleneck croptop partnered with a skirt. Yeah, you've had your past relationships and flings, but oh damn, did Wonwoo got you this nervous.

Hearing your phone ring, you immediately sat up answering the call.

"Hey.." you said,

"I'm outside.." he says in a husky voice, sending shivers down your spine,

"Alright, I'm heading out.."

This was absolutely the very first moment of you being nervous of stepping out your apartment. I mean, we are talking of Jeon Wonwoo, who wouldn't be nervous.

Stepping out your door, your eyes meet Wonwoo's gaze as he stands awestruck at your beauty.

"You look.." he stutters, "beautiful, y/n.."

"oh hey, we're twinning!" you smile excitingly at the adorable coincident

He stares at you, his heart fluttering at the sight of your smile. You had quite a reputation around campus, 'Playgirl Y/N', but couldn't care less. He just saw you for who you are.

The drive was comfortably quiet. Exchanging a few glances and questions to lift the awkward tension.

"so, congrats on winning earlier.." he says, glancing in your direction,

"thanks" you smiled back, "i never thought i'd win, i messed up a few paints due to nervousness.."

"what are you talking about?" he lightly chuckles, turning the steering wheel as he talks with you, "yours was the best one there, so of course you'd win.."

You can't help but smile at his words. "thank you, wonwoo.."

After a few minutes drive, you two finally arrive.

"We're here" he says, stepping out of the driver's seat to open your door

You can't help but your eyes widen and mouth drop in agape at how beautiful, and to say expensive the place looks. He really went all out for a first date, and you think you don't deserve this kind of treatment.

"Let's go..?" he asks, guiding you by your waist, "don't be nervous, y/n, be yourself.."

"Y-you didn't really have to do all this..." you look up to meet his gaze

"Well, I wanted to"

Dinner was mostly filled with a few exchanged talks and warm conversations. Getting to know each other, and finding a few interesting facts that none of the two of you thought to be possibly real.

Spending time and getting to know him made you realize that he is everything you could ask for a guy. After having failed relationships, and jumping from one guy to another, you finally conclude that Jeon Wonwoo is YOUR TYPE OF MAN. You now can see why almost everyone in campus say the he's the perfect ideal boyfriend a girl can ever ask. He's a complete gentleman, smart, handsome, hot, a walking wet dream, like everything. You just know that after this date, you will never be the same. You could already feel the effects this guy has over you.

"Did you enjoy the dinner, y/n?" he asks,

"Of course, I did," you smile, as you took out your wallet "Oh- I can pay the dinner-"

"You're not paying dinner, princess," he chuckled, gently pushing your hand back to yourself, "I already payed anyways.."

"Y-you're too much, won.." you smile warmly at him,

"Nothing's too much, y/n," he smiles back, "You ready to go home..?"

You nod and as a gentleman he is, he escorts you outside, holding your waist. The warmth of his palm on your waist was enough to send butterflies bursting to your stomach, making your heartbeat crazy.

"So, uh, this is goodnight i guess.." he mumbles as he walks you to your door, "good night, y/n..."

"wait-" you pause, realizing what you just said

"yes..?" he immediately looked back, giving you all his attention

he walks closer to you, leaning in as he sees your eyes laid on his lips, making him chuckle.

"my eyes are up here, princess.." he smirked, "may i..?"

No words came out but you just nodded. He slowly leans in. Your heart beats in anticipation as you close your eyes, ready to feel his lips on yours.

But, oh damn, was he soft like feather.

You tensed up feeling his lips on yours. 'Get a grip, y/n, it's not like it's your first time kissing someone' you mentally scold yourself. You then feel his hand settle on your waist as the other settles behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

You two pause for a moment to catch your breaths as he rested his forehead on yours. You smiled, and you know he's smiling as well. He then leans in again with more affection.

"Mmhh.." you hear him moan to the kiss as he swiftly licks your lower lip, begging to get in. With pleasure, you open your lips partly and he slide his tongue in immediately.

You two get lost in the moment, feeling waves of pleasure and adrenaline rush through every inch of your body at the sensation of his tongue dancing with yours. His hand grip your neck a bit tighter as he pulls you closer to give him more access inside your mouth as he makes out with you.

The kiss slowly calms down as you two pull back, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other.

"We're going for a second date then..?" he asks with a light chuckle, his thumb caressing your waist,

"You're a good kisser, by the way.." you laugh, "And yes, a second date would be fucking great.."

He pecks your lips as he replies, "Next time, you'll receive more than a kiss, princess.."

Your face becomes a blushing mess as he smirked at your reaction

"W-Wonwoo...!" you whine playfully as you hit his chest,

"God, I'll make you scream my name next time.." he smirked, chuckling in a low tone,

"See you around, princess..." he greets you goodbye as he drives his car away

You just know that there'll be no more next guy after Wonwoo.

And you just know that in the next date, you'll end up being unable to walk

392 notes · View notes

boop-le-snoot · 1 year

Text

masterlist

dirt

sundress+no panties+daryl = uh oh...

title and soundtrack is dirt by depeche mode. you need to take depeche mode away from me tbh, I'm hung up on the exciter album writing smut when I should be making updates to my negan and ironstrange fics.

I also headcanon daryl having huge fat swinging balls for some reason and I'm so sorry you had to read that I turn into an animal when I write daryl

cw: 18+, word count 3k. a little rough (butt slaps, some bites, he calls you a "bitch in heat" and a "slut" a couple of times - lovingly of course), a little pervy (you're fucking outside and daryl eats his own come out of your pussy+breeding kink if you squint really hard).

He reaches in, fingers curling around the bunched up, patterned cotton of the dress and his mind blanks. The low growling, he realises, is coming from his own mouth.

"The fuck, girl?"

You look at Daryl over your shoulder, where the bare skin has erupted in goosebumps from his hot, humid breath. "What?"

You sound annoyed, but there's a distinctive teasing undertone to it. Your eyes are narrowed a little too much. The corners of your cherry-tinted lips are tilted upwards.

"You ripped all my damn underwear, Daryl! What did you expect?" You grouch, breaking the second of still silence. "Can't just take a stroll to Victoria's Secret anymore, can I?" Seeing his face darken even more, you hastily add, "I got a couple I wear on runs."

You sound so cute when you're annoyed, Daryl thinks, but it's overshadowed by his blood rushing in his ears, hot and fast. His cock is still pulsing in his jeans and it demands to be released.

"So you jus' walkin' 'round with allat juicy ass hangin' out fo' all da men to sniff?" Daryl feels an urge to clarify to you, what is exactly you're doing, that he's upset with. "Cuz that's exactly what all them dawgs are fuckin' doin'!" He's jealous, of course he is, but most importantly, he doesn't trust any of the men as far as he can see them.

Hell, he isn't completely sure even Rick would pass on the opportunity to get an eyeful of your soft thighs, your scrumptious ass, or your fat cunt, for that matter.

Lord knows they're the juiciest fucking things he has seen in his whole entire miserable life. Just thinking about it makes his rock hard cock twitch and release a sad dribble of pre-cum in his pants.

"Exactly, your girl!" You declare, eyeroll audible in your voice. "Nobody's seein' me without my panties 'cept you."

Daryl's only response is to hitch up the sundress higher, the movement so quick, the fabric gives a sad crack as the seams threaten to burst. Your ass is still bare, still round and smooth as ever, nobody should have this sort of curves while they're in the middle of a damn apocalypse, he thinks, and sinks to his knees and sinks his teeth into the supple skin of your right ass cheek.

You yelp at the sharp pain. You squirm, your attempt at getting away, of course, futile: your hips and waist are firmly in his grasp. Rough fingertips dig into you, just shy of painful.

"There," Daryl inches back a bit, admiring the indentations left behind by his teeth. For someone who forgets to take care of himself most days, his teeth are surprisingly straight and white and strong. And he lets you feel it. "Now if any asshole decides to go nosin' where he shouldn't, there'll be a warnin'." Daryl sounds proud of himself, which is all and all - fair.

Once the initial shock subsides, your feel your cunt lips stick together even more as your arousal oozes out of them- and down your thighs, now that there isn't any fabric to contain it all. In all honesty, you did enjoy the occasional breeze that would waft up your skirt, even if it didn't offer much respite from the sweltering summer heat.

And Daryl is definitely not helping matters, either. He's like a damn furnace, pressed up against the back of your legs, all solid bulk, breathing hot and moist into your skin, every exhale going around the curve of your ass and disappearing between your legs. He knows it the moment that you shift in place, subtly trying to widen your stance even though there is nothing more you want than to rub your thighs together to provide relief to your swollen lips and throbbing clit.

He raises a hand, wide and open-palmed, and smacks your ass. "You're such a fuckin' slut," he grouses. And your first instinct is to gasp at the offense; you hide your grin in a lip bite. Yes, yes you are. And you know it. And he knows it. Your ass cheek jiggles as he gives it another well-aimed slap. "Lookit you," Daryl presses the issue, "drippin' wet." To hammer his point home, he takes a thick, fat finger and runs it along the seam of your cunt.

It glides easily. You shudder, biting back a moan. Your legs shake just a little, but Daryl notices - he always does - and his finger dips inside your lips. The rough, calloused fingertip swipes through your labia, stopping just short of your clit. You whine and he withdraws.

His numerous knives and tools clatter as he abruptly gets up.

"You wanna be fucked, huh?" Voice quiet, Daryl's front presses to your back with a malicious intent. The prominent bulge of his erection is pushing into your back. "Is that why you goin' round naked? So anybody coulda bend you over, anytime, huh?" He reaches around you, hand blindly nosing for your face. When he finds it, he wastes no time in prying your mouth open, sticking the damp finger inside.

Your own cunt, salty and tangy, blossoms on your tongue. The gesture makes you moan around his finger and him- he sticks another one in, keeping you quiet.

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl orders. The rasp in his voice makes your knees buck and your cunt weep and he knows it. His free hand moves at your back, and with the accompanying noises, you come to realise that he's opening his pants and hurrying to free his dick.

When the damp, silky tip touches the bare skin of your ass, your body reacts before you do. Your mouth wraps tighter around his fingers. Spit dribbles from the corners of your mouth and onto his wrist. Your back arches into his body. He is just as scalding as the sun beaming down from the sky.

Daryl pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding them there until you gag. The motion makes your whole form spasm and shiver; his cock gives a responding jump of its own.

"Lookit you," he rasps directly into your ear, hot breath tickling the shell of it. "Like a fuckin' bitch in heat," he grabs the meat of your ass cheek, spreading you one-handed. His cockhead noses around the cleft, leaving a sticky trail behind itself. It dips near your cunt, adding your juices to the mix. "You want it so bad."

You do. You really, really do. But you know Daryl is mean. You love it when he's mean to you. When he is proud of the strength of his bulk, when his eyebrows draw tightly over his brilliant blue eyes and nothing, absolutely nothing can escape his predatory stare. You crane your neck, trying to look back at him, to plead with your eyes.

He gets it, because he always does. Daryl's fingers quickly leave your mouth, dragging a wet trail of spit down to your neck where his fingers wrap around it in a secure hold.

"You want it so bad, then fuckin' beg," he says the words and you immediately, greedily descend into the permitted depravity.

"Please, Daryl," your voice sounds hoarse, interrupted by hiccups as you struggle to swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and around his fingers, "please, fuck me. I'll be good. Please."

You feel him fist his cock as it twitches; you can't help it, really, as you arch your back even more and push your ass against his rough hand. Immediately, he withdraws it, just to slap you again.

"You're a bitch in heat," he muses, but you can hear the beginnings of impatience in his voice. "Say it!"

He's never made you do that before. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, you gasp, part shock part offense, until you feel a drop of fluid roll out over the outer lip of your cunt and fall and disappear somewhere below you. Then it's just lust. The kind that tints the whole world red and narrows your field of vision.

"Fuckin' say it!" Daryl demands, patience thin.

You wouldn't put it past him to just shove himself in at this point. "I'm... I'm a bi- I'm a bitch in heat," you hiccup, feeling your face flood with heat. "I'm a bitch in heat, please fuck me!"

You feel his lips tilt up just the tiniest bit against your ear before he reaches back for his cock and aims it at your cunt in a single, precise thrust. You gasp and mewl as he suddenly stops halfway through. Your cunt ripples and flexes and squeezes. Daryl drops his forehead onto your shoulder, panting.

"So fuckin' tight," he murmurs, mostly to himself. You're not - he knows better, he makes sure you're not before he even thinks about sticking it in - but you are. All that blood that went straight to your cunt the moment his breath caught up in his throat at the sight of your bare pussy - It's making your cunt swell all around him.

A pathetic mewl leaves your lips, your satisfaction incomplete. You wiggle, you arch, but Daryl is as unyielding as ever.

"You take what I give you," he growls, teeth bared like an animal against your ear. Nonetheless, you feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. Stars burst in your eyes. You are so full, practically bursting at the seam of your cunt where his fat balls rest against the stretched hole.

Slowly, Daryl withdraws, both of you hissing at the drag of his fat cock in your engorged cunt. You may be a bitch in heat but he's every bit the stud that is just as fervent and feral to breed you. His teeth creak as he pulls back completely, leaving just his weeping tip inside of you.

And then he slams home. And again. And again. And again.

With every powerful thrust of his hips, you gasp. Quiet, pleading moans is the limit of your vocal capacity. Mouth dry, the air gets trapped in the back of your throat as your lungs demand their due.

Daryl is unrelenting. His blunt fingernails drag over the skin of your throat, leaving marks in their wake, as he makes way to your mouth.

"This is what you wanted, slut?" He pants into your hair. "Be quiet. Be really fucking quiet unless you want everybody to see what kinda..." He inhales sharply, feeling your walls flutter at the flith dripping from his tongue.

And it shouldn't make you feel the way you feel. Those fucking words just add more accelerant to the fire in the pit of your stomach, spreading it from there and up, over your face. It flames. Your hand helplessly clutches the nearest surface as you attempt to brace yourself against his thrusts and the notion that anyone could see you.

Bent over something or another, dress hiked up to your waist and Daryl's hips pistoning in and out of you at a rapid pace. He didn't bother undressing save for letting his pants hang freely just below his cock and balls. Heavy, fat balls, littered with coarse dark hair, that slap against your cunt and your clit with a resounding smack every time he drives his cock inside of your cunt. The squelching noise it makes is obscene.

Another whine, and your pussy squeezes him once again, blind and hungry for release. You can feel it building steadily, deep within your abdomen.

"Fuck yeah," Daryl growls, "you fuckin' like this, don't 'cha?" He's gotten the hang of it: the dirty talk, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. He's a mean bastard with nothing close to dignity or self-respect. If anyone saw him, rutting into you, little more than two animals, he wouldn't, couldn't stop.

Daryl would stare them down up until his cock swelled and busted, depositing his seed inside your womb.

Your knees feel weak. It's getting harder and harder to keep up with him; seems like every pathetic whimper that leaves your lips only makes him meaner, stronger somehow. The grip of his hand on your hip is bruising. Daryl effectively wears you on his cock, submerging himself into the warm depths of your pulsing cunt over and over.

"Da-Daryl..." You gasp, you moan and you plead.

He doesn't stop. He merely handles you into a different angle, the one that hits that special spot inside of you with every powerful thrust. He is mean, but he is also fair.

"Gonna cream my cock?" He barely makes sense to himself, the words that his dry mouth garbles seem to have a mind of their own. "Gonna be good, girl? C'mon."

"Ah," you want to say yes, you want to affirm, but all that comes out of your mouth are garbled, unintelligible noises of pleasure. But Daryl sees it. It's in the way your arch becomes near-painful, body overtaking your mind. Even the slightest bit of pain blends into hot-blinding pleasure. You don't know where what ends and begins.

It begins somewhere behind your cunt. The contractions start slow and aching, and every punch of his cock to your guts intensifies the feeling tenfold, until every last inch of your cunt is squeezing around him in that same arduous, suckling rhythm. It's like your pussy is nursing at his cock, attempting to suck his life out of him and deposit it into you.

The pleasure is like a wall of fire and water. Your chest blooms with it, but your extremities swarm with pinpricks. Mouth parted in a silent scream, you sway forward, managing to catch yourself on your elbows at the last moment.

The man behind you doesn't care. He's way past caring, having had started chasing his release the moment your cunt enveloped his cock in a vice grip. The meat of it is sensitive and he spends the few inches to the finish line gracelessly mashing it inside of you, accompanied by the sound of wet flesh meeting even wetter, sloppier flesh.

"Take it, fuckin' take it," you hear him gasp through your stupor before that familiar, warm rush floods your cunt. His cock twitches, once, twice, three times, each forceful throb followed up by more and more seed being pumped into the depths of you.

Against your back, Daryl sags and pants out his excerption. Like a dog. His wet nose leaves sweat stains on your back where he nuzzles into you.

Your knees shake as you struggle to hold up his weight, and then your legs completely turn to mush when droplets of his cum escape your cunt as his spent cock slips out. You know you should be worried about stains in unsightly places but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

Daryl notices this, of course. His bulk slides off you; you hear him quickly shove himself back into his pants before his ass hits the ground with a loud thud. Next to you, of course, his stubbly, prickly cheek rubbing over the skin of your leg. He places a wet kiss on the inside of your thigh, and then another.

You know the drill. It's hard for him to find words, sometimes, after a scene like that. It's the intensity of it, the forceful ejection of him out of his head where he spends most of the time, that renders him speechless. Daryl is forced to feel - good things. It's not something that he is used to.

Your skirt is still around your waist and the hot sun is shooting lasers directly at your ass and pussy. You've managed to get your bearings enough to feel at least a little self-conscious, a little exposed. Your combined fluid still drip from you and for a split second, you think about pulling up your panties to try and at least somewhat contain the mess.

Right, you sigh to yourself. It makes your exhausted body twitch and sag even more.

Daryl gently pushes away your hand that was attempting to pull the dress over your ass. You freeze; he smiles against your skin, a little closed-lipped grin that makes something warm and fuzzy make a nest inside your chest. That quickly turns into a startled gasp as his fingers glide through the mess of your cunt.

You're spent. Exhausted. So sensitive, his rough skin practically hurts on your hole and clit.

But Daryl gets it. You get him, and he - he gets you. His hot breath fans over your pubic hair and it's all the warning you get before he opens his mouth wide, flattens his tongue and licks. You've made a big mess and there is a lot to take care of, but if there's anything about Daryl that you know, is that he's thorough at what he does.

In no time, he's got his tongue shoved down your cunt as far as it would go, curling against your walls, lapping up his and your cum like your pussy is an all-you-can-eat-buffet and what's inside of it is sugar and spice and everything nice.

But it's not enough. It's not anywhere near your clit, or any other place that could make you produce more of the cream he's feasting on. Idly, you think about who's the real bitch in heat here, but push out your hips to meet his face nonetheless. You can be mean too. If you want to.

I don't know what to say for myself

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #female reader #twd smut #not tagging this with norman reedus bc i have posted my face before and I'm not that bold #or am I?

3K notes · View notes

scoops-aboy86 · 3 months

Text

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened.

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him.

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything. Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger.

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection.

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do.

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?)

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him.

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am. Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time. And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded. Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.) But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph. It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust. And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy. P.P.S. If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed.

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table.

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

#steddieweek2024 #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #scoops words #secret admirer steddie

373 notes · View notes

star-girl69 · 8 months

Text

Music To Watch Girls To

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

sypnosis: is it wrong to be obsessed with clarisse? obviously not!!

a/n: i cant just write a drabble what is wrong w me it’s always gotta be a full fledged fic damn anyways i don’t like this one that much so don’t crucify me, but i hope you all enjoy!!

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana Del Rey

warnings: FRIENDS TO LOVERS GOOD LORD, all clarisse know is be mean to her friends, like girls, and lie, reader is a little insane this time…., it’s not watching clarisse train bc i got struck with inspo but you all will like it dw, there’s still muscles and watching clarisse fight, swearing, violence, mentions of weapons, reader is an honorary ares cabin member bc i think it’s cute and i do what i want, y/n gets hurt like 20 times ITS FOR THE PLOT OK, kissing!!!!, like angst for half a sec not rly tho, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The only word you think of when you think of Clarisse is fuck.

It describes your feelings about her so accurately. The first time you saw her, you knew you had to have this girl. And the first time you heard her talk, she was calling some Hephaestus kid a dumbass for not fixing a dent in her armor correctly.

She was an asshole, a bully, whatever, and she was also the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. But, thank the Gods you became close friends with her brother Matty, and then Carrie, and then you practically knew everyone in the Ares cabin like your own siblings.

Even just friendship with Ares kids is an intense rollercoaster.

They admired your for your deadly skill with a bow, a few of them even openly claiming you were probably the best at camp. They were loyal and fierce, protective, funny and everything you could want in a replacement family. Your mortal parent went down a dark road after your godly parent went back to Olympus, and you had never felt that love that everyone craved.

Clarisse hated you at first, like she does everyone, until one day at the bonfire you were sitting with her and a few of her siblings, the fire was hot and it was never the same. You still remember her eyes on you, feeling intoxicated under the moon. Besides, the nights are made for secrets.

And it became a tradition.

You would look at each other next to the fire, and never speak of it again.

The rest of the time, she was like any friend. That same loyalty, focus, but sometimes you could swear she seemed to look a little longer.

After the arrival of Percy Jackson, Clarisse was especially on edge. She was supposed to be training, but she was instead sulking and ranting to Matty and Carrie.

“And he really thinks he killed that Minotaur? Doesn’t matter. That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Talking about the new kid?” you ask, sitting on top of the picnic table next to their cabin.

“Oh, yeah,” Carrie mumbles. “Talking all about the new kid.”

Clarisse stops her angry pacing to send her a harsh glare.

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse.”

She slams her hand down on the table next to you, pointing her finger in your face.

“He’s a liar,” she hisses. “I’m gonna make him admit it.”

“Hm, okay,” you say, pressing her foot against her stomach and pushing her back. “And that’s totally logical. But have you considered that he actually killed the Minotaur?”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Oh, you love me, Clarisse,” you smile, sweeping your arms out in a big circle. “I’m the brightest part of your day.”

She glares at you.

Matty coughs to hide a laugh.

“Just ignore him!” you say. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed over him anyways.”

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” she huffs, stubborn as ever.

“Okay, Clarisse,” you say, drawing out the words.

You miss Carrie and Matty shooting each other looks.

—-

Chiron announces the next capture the flag game later that day, and the next morning you’re heading off to the Ares cabin with your bow and armor in tow.

You walk in. They��re all adjusting their armor, polishing their weapons. A few smile at you and wave, but you head straight towards the back. Clarisse is there, helping some of her younger siblings pick out weapons from the secret weapons stash the Ares kids have curated over the years.

It’s Danny’s first game. He’s only twelve.

She looks up at you for a moment, which is about as much acknowledgment as you’re gonna get. You sit at the end of someone’s empty bed, right next to Danny.

“How you feelin’?” you ask. His face is twisted into a stone cold mask.

“Excited,” he says, like he practiced it in the mirror.

“Well, I’m scared.”

He looks at you and frowns.

“You’re the best archer in camp. Matty says so.”

You shrug. “I may be the best archer, but I’m nowhere near the best fighter.”

He nods, thinking hard like the whole world is suddenly starting to make sense.

“Hey, if I promise to keep a look out for you from the trees- will you watch out for me on the ground?”

He doesn’t need your assurance. He’s a child of Ares, they’re prebuilt with the lust for battle. But you know how to play all of them like a fiddle. They like feeling important, and he’s only twelve. It doesn’t hurt you to give this to him.

You stick out your hand and he grabs it.

“Deal.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You realize she’s been standing there for a while. “Are you here to distract everyone or for a reason?”

“You know, I would welcome you into my cabin warmly.”

Her face remains stone cold. Danny runs off. Clarisse can be some sort of halfway nice, but rarely, and most of the time everyone just knows her cruel words, her ruthless tactics in battle, and her misleading words and smiles.

“You’re no fun,” you pout.

“You’re the one who sticks around. No one’s holding you hostage- you can leave.”

“I need a dagger.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “Wow, you actually came here for something? What happened to yours?”

“Broke,” you shrug. “The handle fell off. Weird, whatever.”

She hums, looking through the daggers hung on the wall. “This one.”

She hands it to you. It’s similar to your old dagger, except a lot sharper and a lot more sturdy. But it’s the same style you’re used to. You wonder if she knows that or not- Ares kids do notice everything.

But for Clarisse to actually do something like that with intention is rare.

“I like it,” you say. “Thanks!”

She hesitates for a second.

“Keep it.”

You look at her. “I can give it back.”

“I already told you to keep it. Don’t be pathetic and make me reassure you.”

“Okay, Clarisse,” you roll your eyes.

—-

Your position on capture the flag is always the same.

Carrie, Matty and Clarisse hunt in the woods on the ground, and you get thrown up into some random tree to shoot arrows at anyone you see.

The idea is, they see the arrow coming from up above and look to the trees, only for Clarisse, Matty and Carrie to ambush them on the ground.

It’s only the third game you’ve employed this tactic, so the blue team is starting to catch on.

After Chiron gives his speech you could probably say yourself, you head over to the three of them, holding your arm out to Matty and the red bandana. He ties it around without saying a word, Carrie reaches over and scolds you for not tying your armor tight enough.

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Carrie snorts. “Because I fixed it.”

“Shush,” Clarisse hisses. She finishes talking to a few more of her siblings, and they take their companies off into the woods. She turns back around. “I have a different plan today.”

Carrie and Matty grin dangerously.

There’s something in between the three of them, some sort of matching glint in their eyes.

“Okay, did I miss something? Why are you guys being so… scary?”

“You’ll see,” Clarisse says, her eyes dark.

Gods, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

—-

The great thing about being up in the trees is you get to see everything.

You get to see the way Clarisse grins while she fights, the way she whips her spear around like it weights nothing, the way sweat forms at her brow- and the way her muscles flex. That’s the best part.

Her arms, her legs, her stomach, every part of Clarisse is just lean and toned muscle.

It makes you want to betray yourself in a way that would permanently embarrass you.

You follow them, of course, even though you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the plan is. There’s a reason she’s not telling you the plan. Why?

When you walk past the woods where you normally hunt, you start getting fidgety.

“Ok, guys, seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

You realize you’re heading towards the side of the big hill, starting the climb up through the trees and rocks.

Clarisse turns around.

“Stop. Worrying.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not worried. I’m just confused.”

She sighs, signaling to Carrie and Matty.

“You know,” she mutters. And they leave, so it’s just the two of you.

They spit up, making their way on the farthest two ends, all leading to the same ledge.

She grabs your wrists. “Stop cracking your fingers. It’s annoying, and you’ll hurt ‘em.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

She lets go of one of your wrists, but keeps her tight grip on the other, forcing you to keep pace behind her.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’m not going to put you in danger, obviously.” She laughs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “You’re a damn good archer.”

“Oh, my Gods. Did you just compliment me?”

She tenses up, finally realizing she did it.

“D-don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I won’t. It will just be our little secret, won’t it?”

You bite your lip as you smile so you don’t burst out laughing.

“Sure,” she mutters, and you don’t miss the way she stares at your lips. She clears her throat, finally letting go of your wrist. “Percy Jackson-”

“Who’s a baby.”

“-attacked us last night.”

You raise an eyebrow, walking next to her. “Did you attack him first?”

She doesn’t answer that.

“I doubted you would join us. I just didn’t want you to be alone in the woods.”

“Why?”

“Hm, I saw Annabeth as we left the bathrooms. She knows, she knows we’re gonna get revenge so Luke’s gonna go straight for the flag because we’re not in the woods.”

“So you’re just sacrificing the entire game for revenge? Against a 12-year-old?”

“Revenge,” she mutters, thinking over it. “That’s a fun word.”

She smiles, looking at you.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter.

—-

The rest of the walk continues in silence, until you can see Carrie and Matty in the distance, both waiting for Clarisse’s signal. She grins.

“Now, why don’t you just stay behind me and draw an arrow, and tell me if anyone’s coming. And when he’s distracted, you’ll sneak around behind him and block him from escaping, hm?”

You look around the forest. “Okay. But, Clarisse-”

She smacks her hand over your face. “I don’t need your morality right now. I just need you to keep those pretty eyes open and be our lookout.”

“Fine,” you hiss as you throw your hand off her mouth.

“Thank you,” she smiles, sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

You mock her under your breath, but she signals to Carrie and Matty. They all start walking forward, trying for stealth, but your feet make sink into the gravel. He hears them. He sits up.

You don’t know anything about Percy Jackson, except for the fact he supposedly attacked the three musketeers you call your friends and possibly killed a Minotaur.

True to your word, you stay behind Clarisse, watching as she lifts her helmet off, throwing it to the ground.

Her spear sinks into the dirt.

“Flag’s that way,” Percy says. “It’s not here.”

“We know.”

You start walking out from behind her. His eyes flick between all four of you.

“Yeah, glory’s fine.” You can feel her eyes on you. “Revenge is more fun.”

She looks up at her spear, slamming it down, and you hear the familiar crackle as it lights up. Red hot electricity.

She laughs a bit.

He scrambles for his sword and spear, forgoing his helmet. They close him in. You walk around Carrie and behind him. His eyes move between you and Clarisse, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the four of you from surrounding him.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule.”

His stance isn’t even close to correct.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while,” she fake frets, looking up at her spear. She smiles and looks back at him. “I’ll live.”

Her face twists into a mask of focus and she swings out at him. He manages to dodge her first hit, and block the second with his shield.

She looks at Carrie and Matty. They lunge forward, attacking him together, and he certainly is a demigod- he has a natural talent.

But you can only really focus on the way she lifts her spear back over her head.

She grunts and spins, shocking him, before jabbing forward at his armor, making him fall back over the log he used to be laying on, right at your feet.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” she says, standing over him. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better. Are you feeling up to that yet?”

The way she holds her spear, the way she says it’ll make her feel better- you miss the way he swings out with his shield, hitting you in the shins.

“Fuck,” you hiss, leaning down to touch your burning leg. “Oh, fuck, that hurt.”

Percy grunts and takes off running.

“Y/N,” Matty says, a silent question in his concerned voice.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, shaking your leg out.

Clarisse glares at his retreating figure.

“I guess he has a fucking death wish,” she whispers, voice full of a deadly promise.

She grunts and launches herself over the log, Carrie and Matty following. You straighten yourself and take off running after them. You leg does burn, but you still manage to keep pace. Besides, Matty is already far ahead, surprising him and knocking him down from the path, making him tumble through the woods and land on the beach.

Matty and Carrie wave their swords at him from the right. He pants and breathes heavily, backing up, but when he turns around to run- Clarisse is there.

You draw your bow again, out of habit.

The arrows you use aren’t actual arrows of course, but filed down to little circle rocks at the end. They won’t kill you, but they fucking hurt.

You can’t help but giggle as he falls onto his back, scared just by Clarisse being there.

She laughs too, before all three of them launch into an attack.

They push him back, towards you, and you step back with them, waiting for the perfect moment.

But your eyes drift up to Clarisse. She’s hanging back for just a second while Matty and Carrie jab at him. She looks… proud. She looks really fucking proud that you’re laughing at this 12-year-olds misery.

But Clarisse was right. Revenge is fun. And you hate it, but you can’t stop it.

You smile back at her, and it’s like those nights at the bonfire, you know you’ll never speak of it again. It doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s angelic music playing in your head, and you’re watching her. You’re watching her, the sweat on her brow, the way her hands clasp her spear.

Her face twists into something else.

“Y/N!” she shouts, but Carrie and Matty pushed him too far, you didn’t move back enough- distracted by her- and you slam into each other, a tangle of limbs and metal.

He does this awkward sort of flip over you, landing a few feet behind you. You drop your bow in favor of catching yourself, and it gets caught on his shield and dragged along with him.

It’s a blur, you yelp as you go down, Percy groans.

They’re all standing there, tense and watching the way Percy stands up with your bow in his hands. His stance is nowhere near correct, it actually makes you cringe more than your bruised side after the fall.

Why the hell are you the one who keeps getting hurt?

Percy let’s out a breath. “Why don’t we all just walk away and forget this happened?”

“You just made that impossible,” Clarisse hisses.

You just want to get an ice pack on your leg and sit down. You’re tired. You want to boss Clarisse around as payment for bringing you here.

“Okay, okay, just stop. This is stupid, all of you. He’s, like, 12. He didn’t do it on purpose, you’re just attacking him for no reason.” Carrie and Matty look at the ground. Clarisse glares at you.

You turn around and face Percy. “Just go, okay.”

He looks between you and Clarisse.

“O-okay,” he breathes.

You can feel her move, hear her footsteps in the sand, her spear cutting through the wind. She comes around you, and Percy gets scared, so he raises up the bow and let’s it go- pointed straight at her face.

But it never hits her. It hits you, of course, because you have the worst luck in the world.

It hits you right in the chest, and it doesn’t kill you, but Percy is strong and it knocks the wind out of you.

Clarisse throws her spear to the ground and catches you, screaming your name at the top of her lungs.

Gods, this was so stupid. All of it. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to stop her from attacking him. Because Clarisse is bloodthirsty. She cares about no one else but herself.

You were stupid to think she ever did.

But even through all of this, everyone treating you like a rag doll, you stare into Clarisse’s eyes. She’s frozen. She’s watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, she’s watching the way you press your hand into your chest, trying to breathe, she’s looking at the fear in your eyes.

You’re terrified. And Clarisse looks the exact same way you feel.

You mouth her name.

Carrie and Matty are gathered around you, telling you to just breathe, take a breath in, but you can’t.

Clarisse let’s go of you and ignores your hands trying to hold her back, ignores Carrie warning her.

Oh, Gods, you’re in love with her and she’s just your friend, but it all hurts and you just need her right now.

Percy tries to scramble away from what he’s done, but Clarisse grabs him by his shirt and holds him up.

You think she’s actually going to kill him- then the conch sounds.

You all turn around.

The blue team runs to the beach, sticking the red flag into the ground. They all cheer loudly, Luke and Chris at the center of it.

Clarisse throws Percy back down on the ground.

She picks up your bow. Matty helps you stand up, you can breathe now, and you’re really fine. You just couldn’t for a minute. You don’t look at Clarisse, even though you want to.

—-

The four of you end up at the sword practice field, sitting on picnic tables like you did that one day.

Matty touches a few scratches on his arms from where he burst through the woods, scraping himself on something thorny.

Clarisse walks towards a dummy and starts attacking it. She lets all her anger out on it. They didn’t win, and her revenge is incomplete so, its not even worth it. You could have told her that from the beginning, but whatever.

Clarisse can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to you, she doesn’t care about you- not as much as you want her too. Not as much as you care about her.

She’s so wonderfully in her element it makes you want her more. This is where she belongs, in the field in the sun, with her spear in her hands. She belongs here, where she feels closest to her father and farthest away from her responsibilities, from the constant battle it is for her to keep her emotions in check.

Even after a minute of her obliterating the dummy, she seems better. Finally, after another minute, she slows down until she stops.

You don’t stop looking at her until she turns around and looks at you. She breathes out.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

“Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

She hums.

“C’mon, Matty,” Carrie says. “Let’s go back to the cabin, I’m thirsty.”

You’re not ready to get up yet, you’re too comfortable here on the bench, it’s too easy to breathe in the valley.

Clarisse flexes, stretching her spear over her head, and you watch her. Of course you watch her. You don’t think you’ll ever just be able to look at her in passing- you’ll always have to focused, you’ve always have to have your eyes totally and completely on her.

Like she’s some book you have to study. Like she’s all you’ve ever wanted to look at.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” she mumbles.

You sit up straighter. “I’m not. You’re just flexing dramatically all over the place, of course I’m gonna take notice of it.”

“Okay, sure,” she taunts, and you remember what happened, you remember how you felt when she walked away from you to continue with her revenge.

“I-I’m gonna go back to my cabin.” You don’t wanna be around her, not right now at least. “See you later, Clarisse.”

She stands up immediately. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.”

“Y/N, you got hurt because of me.” She crouches down and tugs up your pant leg. “How’s your leg? Your side?”

Matty, Carrie and Clarisse too, sometimes, are always touching you and doing things for you. It’s sweet. They aren’t good with the words, but they show you they love you, and that means more than anything else.

If she hadn’t done what she did, if she really cared about you, then you wouldn’t mind her touching you like this. You would love it.

“Clarisse- get off of me,” you shake your leg out, which hurts a bit, but she lets go and stands up.

Her face twists into one of anger, her fists clenched.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel really bad about it, so just let me do this for you.”

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, cursing yourself and hoping she doesn’t hear you. Of course she does.

“Then what’s it about?”

You try to turn away, but she clamps her around your wrist and tugs you back towards her.

“What’s it about, Y/N?”

She holds your hand to her chest.

You both know what it’s about.

“Just stop, Clarisse,” but your body betrays you and you make no move to push her away. She notices, of course she notices, and she pulls you closer. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

She blinks and her grip on your wrist loosens.

“And it was fun. It was a fun game, okay, Clarisse. But you can stop playing it now. You showed me today that your care more about yourself then you ever could me. I’m sick of it.” You tug your hand away. “I’m so sick of it, Clarisse.”

She grips you tighter again.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m running around looking like a fool, and you think I care about myself? You think I don’t care about you?”

Your breath is a little shaky again.

“You could have helped me and you chose revenge.”

“For you.”

“What?”

“He slammed his shield into your leg, knocked you over, and then shot you in the chest. Of course I wanted revenge. Not for me, it was about that at first, but then, Gods, did you do something to him?”

You laugh. She smiles, staring at your face like she’s seeing you for the first time.

“Like, he just kept coming after you, I don’t get it. But I… I like you. Like, like you. And I don’t know what that means, but I don’t really care. I just… want you. I want to be near you all the time. And I go crazy when you’re with someone else. I want to touch you all the time, hug you, hold you… I want to kiss you so bad I think I’m gonna fucking explode.”

Fuck is always the first word you think of when you think of her. It used to be because she made you so angry with the secrets, but now it’s just the things the says make you wonder how much more you can fall in love with her.

“Well, I don’t really want you to explode,” you roll your eyes. “That’d be too messy. Besides, I-”

“You’re always such a fucking worrier.”

She plants her hands on your face and presses her lips to yours. You can feel the slight desperateness she won’t say, but she’ll tell you with her body. You can feel everything she won’t show, won’t say. How beautiful you are. How scared she was. How much she wanted you and for how long.

You feel it all just by her lips, and you can’t help but wonder what more she can tell you.

She pulls back and smiles.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“I’m the light of your life, Clarisse.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing you tighter and kissing you again. You grab onto her arms, smiling. You always wondered what he muscles would feel like against you.

There’s only one word to describe the way it feels.

Fuck.

—-

clarisse when she accidentally told y/n she has pretty eyes: PLEASE DONT NOTICE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

y/n my ladybug not noticing: 🧍‍♀️

—-

y/n and clarisse just being insane together WDYM YOURE LAUGHING WHEN A KID FALLS OVER STOP

—-

clarisse: bitch stop WORRYING

y/n: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME SHUT UP

—-

clarisse and y/n both pretending that clarisse giving her a dagger wasnt literally a declaration of love and also clarisse throwing her spear down to catch y/n???? bitch she’s in LOVE

—-

taglist:

@jazhandzzz

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

972 notes · View notes

pretty-little-mind33 · 2 months

Text

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Being partners with Kick-Ass is far more intimidating when you have a huge crush on him, especially when he won't stop talking about his crush.

Prompt: hurt and comfort - "I'm so sick of pretending like everything is okay."

here you go, my darling @lavieenvalentina! ily! seeing you in my notifs always makes me so happy!

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

The night is humid and hot and nothing seems to be going your way.

First, your costume had shrunk in the laundry making the middle feel three sizes too small. Second, it had been drizzling outside and now your hair is frizzy, and third—your partner, Kick-Ass, has been going on and on about this girl Katie from his high school.

You know Katie. You've deduced you go to the same school. She's all sugary sweet on the outside, but she's been casually teasing you since middle school, which is something you can't exactly tell him considering your identity must remain a secret.

It doesn't help that you don't know who Kick-Ass is either. Hell, he could be one of the stupid popular jocks for all you know and then you'd so feel silly.

"And her hair is so silky and smooth, I wonder how she—" Kick-Ass continues as you walk, grinning like an idiot. You don't know how much longer you can take this agony, but you try and listen to him anyway.

"You okay?" he asks after more rambling because he can now sense you aren't listening.

You pause, stopping at a crossroads and then you turn to him. "I should go home, there isn't any crime happening," you say, needing some time alone and away from him.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse. It's the tone that makes your cheeks feel warm and your heart flutters uncontrollably. Behind his mask, his bright blue eyes shine and he's looking at you like some poor puppy who can't understand why his owner won't give him a bone.

"Don't look at me like that," you say, taking his arm and pulling him into a small alley.

"Like what?" he sounds genuinely confused as he leans against the brick wall.

"Like a damn wounded puppy!" you exclaim, throwing up your arms in exasperation, "As if I've kicked you or something stupid. Why do you always have to act like the one who's hurt when all you do is hurt me?!"

The words tumble from your lips.

"I hurt you?" he whispers, his concerned expression obvious even with almost his entire face covered. "How? I thought we were friends. You're the best damn friend I've ever had."

"You don't know me," you interrupt him and fiddle with the latex of your glove, "not really."

"Well, I could know you," Kick-Ass says, sounding very determined. "You're the one who doesn't want to know me. I've told you a thousand times you can trust me. I've even told you my name."

Your eyes widen at this revelation. "What? When?"

"The first week we met, you never told me yours but whatever," he shakes his head and then outstretches his hand, "Here, I don't mind. I trust you. My name is Dave," he says casually.

You suddenly click all the pieces in your head and your smile drops.

"Dave Lizewski?" you whisper, suddenly recognizing his voice. Of course, how could you not have recognized him? You sit next to Dave in Pre-Calculus every single day. Dave hangs around with Katie all the time. You look him up and down.

His eyebrows crease. "How did you know that?" he asks suspiciously.

You think, screw this, and untie your mask from behind your head, letting it drop into your hands. You look up, almost afraid of his reaction.

Dave's eyes widen and he stutters out your name, the syllables stuck in his throat as he processes that it's you.

He didn't consider you a friend at school, but you always helped him in Pre-Calculus when you could so he liked you. Plus, you're gorgeous and he can't deny that before Katie Deauxma, he'd thought of you in inappropriate ways—sometimes he still does.

His cheeks burn bright red.

"It's you," is all he can muster.

You shrug and look away from him. "This is so stupid," you say and then turn to him again, "We're so stupid for not knowing. I mean, we talk all the time."

Dave pulls off his mask. Luckily no one is walking around this dinghy alley to see you both. Your breath catches in your throat at seeing Dave, his hair messy and stuck to his skin, his glasses abandoned and dressed in his Kick-Ass suit.

You start to laugh. You aren't laughing at him but at this absurd situation.

Dave doesn't take it like that and he scrunches up his nose. "Are you laughing at me?"

You shake your head and look at him seriously. "No, I'm laughing because if I had known waking up today that the boy I have a crush on was none other than Dave Lizewski from Pre-Calculus—I think I would have pinched myself."

Your words sink and Dave's eyes widen until he looks almost scared. "What?"

"You know Katie thinks you're gay. That's the only reason she's your friend," you interrupt. You feel the need to tell him, like jealousy and pure venom is slipping from your mouth. Is it mean? A little, but you think it's time someone should burst his bubble.

Dave frowns, your previous statement slipping his mind momentarily. "I know that," he tells you, defensive.

"Then why on earth do you have to go on and on about her all the time?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was inconveniencing you, Y/n," he snaps without hesitation, crossing his arms.

"Well, you are," you snap back, glaring at him and looking at him like this, knowing who he is, makes this a thousand times harder.

If Kick-Ass did turn out to be a stupid, meat-head, jock then this would be so much easier. Only he isn't. He's Dave Lizewski and Dave is sweet and he's funny and he's brave and—

"I'm so sick of pretending like everything is okay," you blurt out and bury your face in your hands.

Dave is quiet for a moment until he walks closer and pulls your hands down so he can look at you. "Okay, listen, can we please rewind for a second?" he asks, "y-you said you have a crush on me."

You shake your head and warmth spreads across your cheeks.

"You did," Dave insists.

"Doesn't matter, it's stupid."

"It does matter," he says and his hands cup your cheeks, hair falling and tickling his wrists as his mask hangs from his hand. "It matters because you're lovely and kind and I really like you."

"Not the way I like you," you counter, "you like Katie Deauxma."

Dave winces and he can't argue. His feelings don't just magically disappear, although he can admit that for some reason—after seeing you in this light—something inside him shifted. Something he can't explain right now.

"Y/n, you don't know me either," he tells you honestly, "you may know Kick-Ass a little, and you may like him, but you don't like Dave."

Not yet, you want to finish but you don't. You keep your mouth shut. He has a point.

"Just don't talk about her anymore, will you?"

Dave smiles a little, nodding his head. "Okay. Promise," he looks into your eyes, his gaze flickering to your lips.

He has a really strong feeling he won't need to talk about Katie anymore.

tags: @earth-elemental18

#dave lizewski kick ass #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski imagine #dave lizewski x fem!reader #dave lizewski x y/n #dave lizewski blurb #dave lizewski fluff #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson kick ass #kick-ass #dave lizewski

360 notes · View notes

heavyhitterheaux · 4 months

Text

Notice Me

AN: We're going to pretend that Latto was the headliner on day one because SZA is the face claim lol

Synopsis: While at Gazebo Fest with your best friend, you happen to meet Jack, and the two of you quickly take to each other. Once you part ways, you are heavy on Jack’s mind, and he's determined to see you again

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Why is it so got damn hot out here?!” Your best friend Kayla asked as she was digging through her clear backpack to find something to fan herself with.

“You do realize that it's the end of May and almost June, right?” You replied as you laughed at her and took a sip of water.

The two of you were in the VIP section of Gazebo Fest and couldn't wait to see all the different performances throughout the entire weekend, but you were most excited to see your celebrity crush for as long as you could remember, Jack Harlow.

You had gotten there two days before so that it could give you some time to explore Louisville before having to go to the festival. You and Kayla had gone to Churchill Downs, Morris Deli, and to see his Hometown Hero banner. Before the two of you went home, the goal was to hit up Barrels and Billets to make your own bourbon to take back home with you.

Glancing at the time, you quickly opened the Gazebo Fest app on your phone to see who would be performing next and got excited when you saw that it was Paris Texas. As you were sliding your phone in your back pocket, Kayla started hitting your arm repeatedly.

“Ow! What is your problem?!” You exclaimed while turning to look at her.

“I spy a mullet and that can only mean that it belongs to your man. Look to your left. Okay slowly turn and look. I see Clay too!”

Doing as you were told, you quickly saw him and you felt your heart skip a beat. Kayla liked Jack and his music, but she was more so here for Vince Staples as well as the younger Harlow.

“Maybe you'll get a marriage proposal before we leave on Monday.”

“Kayla, as much as I would like that… shut up.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened.” She replied while holding her hands up in defense.

Once Paris Texas set was over, the crowd dispersed and only a few of you were left at the barricade talking and mingling amongst each other when Kayla leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“I need to pee.”

“What the? Why are you whispering? Is that supposed to be a secret?”

“I don't want to go by myself and the girl next to me told me that she would save our spots.”

“Come on then.” You said as you went and grabbed her hand.

The two of you started walking to the VIP bathrooms when your breath hitched in your throat as you saw Jack was sitting in the driver's seat of a golf cart surrounded by people on his team.

“Sike! I don't have to pee, but go over to your man! He's looking at you and smiling!”

“Kayla…” You said through gritted teeth since you knew that she knew how shy you were.

All she did was slightly push you forward as Jack waved you over to come to him.

“Hey pretty girl, enjoying yourself so far?” Jack asked you as you had finally worked up the nerve to approach him. Your heart was racing a mile a minute.

“So far, I have no complaints so my answer is yes.” You responded while smiling.

Your only goal was not to look absolutely crazy in front of him. But you were going to kill Kayla later.

“Is it your first time here in Louisville?”

“No, I've been here before, but this is the first time that I actually got to explore the city. I was here for every NPLH you had.”

“Where are you from?”

“The DMV. Maryland specifically.”

“The D stands for Delaware right?” Jack curiously asked, but you immediately shook your head no.

“Do me a favor. When you go there again, do not let anyone hear you say that. It stands for D.C. Now Delmarva is Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia.” You answered while trying not to laugh.

“Then it's a good thing that I asked you, huh?”

“Yes, because somebody would have taken offense to that, believe it or not.”

“What song do you want to hear me do tomorrow?”

“I… How am I supposed to do just one?!”

“Fine. Give me your top five.”

“I need you to do every song you've ever recorded, but five does give me a little more wiggle room. Hmm, Heavy Hitter, Ghost, Sundown, Eastern Parkway, Dark Knight, and I NEED Smells Like Incense because you've never done that one live.”

“Oh, I got a day one in my presence. And that was six songs by the way.” He replied while giving you a boyish grin.

Jack was captivated the first time he laid his eyes on you earlier that afternoon from behind the Gazebo stage as he saw you and Kayla at barricade.

“I told you that it was hard for me to choose. You're lucky I didn't say Power Tools.”

“Damn, not you going back to The Handsome Harlow.”

“Have to admit it's one of my favorites.” You replied as you shrugged.

“I don't want to keep you from your friend all day, but I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Hearing him say that made you feel as though you were going to burst from having so many butterflies.

“You won't have to look far either. I'll be barricade.”

The rest of the day you and Kayla made the most of it watching all of the performances, getting drinks, and taking pics with Urban as well as other members of Private Garden.

The next morning, both of you woke up when your alarm went off at 8 ready for the day ahead. Both of you started off with mimosas and quickly moved to taking a few shots before it was ultimately time to get ready.

What stopped you in your tracks was a notification on your Gazebo app saying that because of the weather, the doors wouldn't be opening at 1 and to stay close to your phone to keep up with the alerts.

“You can't be fucking serious. We need to get barricade!” You said as you ran to the window to look outside at the weather. For right now, the sky was simply cloudy and gloomy. Not a raindrop in sight.

“What's wrong?” Kayla asked as she opened a bag of doritos and began stuffing them in her mouth.

“The opening of the gates are delayed.” You replied as you rolled your eyes.

“Until when!?”

“I'm not sure, it didn't say. I guess they'll send out another update so we can know.”

Kayla then grabbed her phone to pull up the weather app and simply shook her head.

“Babe, I don't know. I think we just might be under a tornado warning.”

“A WHAT!? NO! WHY TODAY? CAN IT WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW?” You exclaimed while running back towards the window.

“Apparently not.”

“Let's just pray that they don't cancel it. I know you have a date with your baby daddy later. I saw mine yesterday.”

“He is literally the entire reason I came this weekend and now that might be ruined.”

“Let's just try and stay positive. We don't even have a concrete answer yet. Things could always change. But let's get our outfits together so we can be ready.”

It was now around 4 PM on Sunday and Jack was stressed. He had put so much time and effort as well as money into this and all he wanted to do was bring a music festival back to his city while having some of his favorite artists perform. He was trying not to sulk, but it was looking more and more like day 2 of Gazebo Fest wasn't about to happen.

“At least we had a good first day. You can't be mad at yourself for that.” Urban said as he sat down next to him.

“I know. I just don't want to compromise anyone's safety. People are going to be pissed.”

“They'll be pissed but they'll be alive.” He heard Clay say as he walked into the room.

“Then I need to call it.”

After he posted to his Instagram story the sad news of it being canceled, his thoughts immediately went to you.

“SHIT!”

“What? What's wrong?” Both Clay and Urban asked as they looked at him.

“The girl I was talking to yesterday.”

“You talked to a lot of girls yesterday?” Clay responded, confused as to what he was getting at.

“Not as long as I did her! The one with the curly hair!”

“Oh in VIP?”

“Yeah, and I totally forgot to ask her what her name was. Fuck.”

“Yall got a date or something we don't know about?”

“I was going to ask her when I saw her today, but now that's damn near impossible.”

Now not only was day two not happening, but he wasn’t about to see you either, until an idea came to him.

“Do you two remember what she looks like?” He asked both Urban and Clay as they nodded their heads.

“Okay, this might be a long shot, but maybe we can find her on instagram?”

“What the? How the HELL are we supposed to do that?” Clay asked, looking at his older brother in disbelief.

“The gazebo tag.” Urban answered for him and Jack simply nodded.

“Let’s get to it then.”

The three of them had been searching for a total of two hours when Urban had finally found you. He took a quick screenshot of the picture that was posted on Kayla’s page and cropped it before handing his phone to Jack.

“Found her!”

“Let me see!”

As Urban was handing Jack his phone, it slipped out of his grasp onto the carpet below and Jack quickly dove for it, but it was too late. The screen had hit the home button on the app and everything had refreshed.

“You cannot be fucking serious! It refreshed your feed!”

“Wait, I got a screenshot!”

Urban quickly took his phone back and pulled it up in his gallery to show him as Clay was now looking over both of their shoulders to see what was happening.

“But you cropped it! It doesn’t have the username anymore!” Jack said before sighing and defeat was quickly washing over him.

“Hold on, now I have an idea.” Clay said while smirking.

Jack eyed him and motioned for him to continue.

“Post the screenshot and ask your followers on instagram to find her for you.”

You and Kayla had been in your hotel room sulking for hours at the fact that Gazebo day 2 had been canceled. So the two of you quickly decided to watch Jack’s interview along with WMCJ to pass the time, until Kayla screamed at the top of her lungs while looking down at her phone.

“BITCHHHHH!”

“Leave me to sulk in peace.” You replied while putting the comforter over your head.

“I don’t think you’ll be sulking too much longer. Jack is looking for you.”

“Excuse me?” Now this caught your attention and the comforter was now lying beside you as Kayla shoved her phone in your face as you saw his post on instagram.

Liked by urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, gazebo, quiiso, taylorrooks, and 1,284,096 others

jackharlow: I need a favor. Someone find the girl on the left for me.

When you were done looking at it, you handed Kayla back her phone and laid back down.

“Bitch, what the fuck are you doing? Your HUSBAND is looking for you! Respond to this man!”

“But… I don’t know…” You said while playing with the ends of your curly hair.

“You don’t know what? He obviously wants to talk to you again so what’s the problem?”

“What if this isn’t even what we think it is?”

“Y/N, he made an instagram post asking millions of his followers to find you. I think he’s making it pretty clear that more than likely he wants to date you.”

“I… now I know your ass is delusional.” You said while looking at her and shaking your head.

“Well, what do YOU think the reason is? Because I KNOW my ass is right. Just respond and see what he says. It can’t hurt. You didn’t get to see him perform today so this is the next best thing. You have to learn to take chances and not be so scared all the time.”

You sat there contemplating what you were going to do when you noticed that Kayla was staring at you.

“What?”

“If you get to fuck Jack Harlow, I want a five page research paper with sources and a title page in APA format when we get back home.”

It had been around six in the evening when you had seen Jack’s post and still hadn’t thought of a way to creatively respond to it. It was now ten at night and you and Kayla were getting ready to go to an after party that Ace Pro was hosting not too far from where your hotel was when you had gotten the perfect idea once you were settled in Kayla’s car. You had quickly explained to her what the plan was and it seemed as if she was more excited than you were about you finally responding to him.

“I knew what I was doing when I picked out that outfit for you! He is bound to see you in this and rip it off the second that you two are in person.”

“KAYLA!”

“What?! Just telling the truth. Now pose so we can get a good one and post it.”

Liked by mahkaylaaa, jackharlowsource, urbandjack26, gazebo, and 348 others

barricadebaddie: word on the street is that jackharlow is looking for me. Is that true?

Your location was set to Streets of Louisville and you were hoping that he would see it and respond.

You just hope that you didn’t take too long to answer him.

It took less than fifteen minutes for a notification to pop up on your phone saying that you had a new message on instagram.

1 New Message from jackharlow

“KAYLA HE SENT ME A MESSAGE!” The two of you had just pulled up to the club that the after party was going to take place in when your heart started beating a mile a minute once more.

“WELL OPEN IT!”

jackharlow

I meant what I said when I told you that I looked forward to seeing you today. I wanted to meet up with you tonight if you were up for it.

You

Of course I’m up for it

jackharlow

If you’re at Ace’s party I’m on my way there

You

See you when you get here

jackharlow

Then I was hoping we can go somewhere by ourselves

Your eyes went wide as you shoved your phone into Kayla’s hand who quickly took it and read the message.

“Oh yeah, yall fucking later. If you need condoms, I got you.”

“I swear I can’t take your ass anywhere.”

“Look, don’t get mad at me for being prepared.”

You

I’d like that and I’m definitely up for it

Jack had liked your message before you saw that he quickly followed you.

You and Kayla went inside and had gone all the way in the back in the far left corner as the two of you ordered drinks and simply waited for Jack to arrive. A lump felt as if it was growing in your throat that you quickly swallowed back down knowing that it was your nerves getting the best of you.

As shy of a personas you are, many times you thought about leaving and heading back to the hotel, but Kayla was right. You needed to stop being scared of your own shadow and live out of your comfort zone.

It was around 11:30 when a lot of commotion was happening near the entrance of the club, and that could only mean one thing.

Jack was finally here.

You quickly opened instagram to shoot him a message letting him know where you were and simply waited until he made his rounds as he was speaking to different people and also got into the DJ booth with Ace. When he finally glanced down at his phone, your guess was that he was reading your message and he quickly looked to his left and spotted you. A small grin came across his face as he slid his phone back into his pocket and made his way over to you.

“Have fun, I’m going to get another drink.” Kayla said as she saw Jack headed over towards you and quickly got up to make her way towards the bar before you could protest.

Once Jack had finally reached you, he leaned down to embrace you into a hug and he lightly pulled you into him, making you stand all the way up before leaning down and whispering in your ear.

“For a minute there, I thought you weren’t going to respond to me.”

“Hmm, I admit I was hesitant, but I figured why not? You obviously wanted to find me for a reason, so here I am.”

“When I see something I want, I’m persistent until I get it.” Jack replied as he played with the ends of your hair and you just knew for a fact that you were about to faint right then and there.

“And after all of that yesterday, I forgot to ask what your name was.”

“It’s Y/N.” You responded while laughing, having not even noticed that you never told him your name.

“Well, Y/N, you ready to get out of here?”

“On one condition.”

“And what’s that pretty girl?”

“A private show.”

“Hmm, of my songs or were you thinking about something else?” He asked as he leaned down to whisper in your ear once more, but this time kissed the shell of it.

“I’ll take both if you’re up for it.”

“It took me all damn day to find you, so I’m definitely up for it.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fanfiction #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fluff #jackman thomas harlow

259 notes · View notes