#uploaded with permission from LeFT!~ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeydippedfiction · 27 days ago

Text

NSFW A-Z LSU!Joe x Angel

Navigation

Synopsis: nsfw a-z with our favorite couple, Angel and Joe while they're at LSU.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, (Graphic depictions of consensual sex, oral sex, masturbation (solo and mutual), dirty talk, choking, cum play, sex toys, power play, praise kink, light bondage (handcuffs), mirror sex, and self-made intimate videos). MDNI🔞

WC: 10.9k

A/N: looove doing this, I'll finish the current version here soon

Join my Taglists here or message me

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Requested: Yes by this lovely anon

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After sex, Angel is all softness and slow breaths, like the world around her has melted into something warm and golden.

She doesn’t rush the come-down. Doesn’t fight it or hide from it. She feels everything—every echo of pleasure still blooming in her limbs, every ripple of satisfaction that moves through her like waves pulling gently back from the shore. Her body is heavy in the most delicious way, sunk deep into the sheets or Joe’s chest, wherever she’s landed. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, glowing in that hazy, spent kind of way that makes Joe stare like he’s trying to memorize her.

There’s no armor afterward, no walls. Just her. Unfiltered. Open. Still trembling a little, still catching her breath.

And Joe—he lives for this version of her.

He pulls her in close, one hand tracing idle shapes on her skin, the other tangled in her hair. He whispers to her, voice low and thick with leftover heat—“You good, baby?” or “Still with me?” And Angel, blissed-out and foggy, usually just hums, curling against him like she was made to fit there. Sometimes she kisses his jaw without a word, sometimes she just smiles, that lazy post-orgasm smile that says you ruined me in the best way.

It’s a quiet kind of intimacy. The stillness after the storm. And she loves it—being held by the man who just wrecked her, letting him bring her gently back down to earth.

Joe is different in the quiet after. The drive and intensity he carries on the field slip away, peeled off with the last piece of clothing. What’s left is the man beneath the shoulder pads—the one who looks at her like she’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

His body, usually coiled with purpose and control, loosens completely. There’s a softness in the way he breathes, in the way he moves—slow, almost sleepy. His hands, large and sure, become gentle explorers of familiar skin, drifting without urgency. He doesn’t speak much, not at first. Words seem too heavy in that hush, so he lets his body do the talking—resting his forehead against hers, brushing his thumb along the edge of her jaw, curling his arm around her like a quiet vow.

His eyes, half-closed and golden in the dim light, don’t wander. They stay locked on her, like he’s trying to memorize her all over again. Every freckle. Every breath.

There’s a certain stillness to Joe in these moments. Not blank, not empty—just full in a different way. Full of feeling he doesn’t always know how to say aloud. He’ll hold her longer than necessary, even after her breathing evens out, as if letting go might undo everything they just built between them.

When he finally moves, it’s not to leave. It’s to care. He gets up quietly, barefoot on cool tile, and returns with a warm cloth, always tending to her first. His touch is slow and careful, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. He doesn’t rush, not with her. Not ever.

And when he climbs back into bed, arms pulling her close again, there’s a noticeable exhale from deep in his chest. Like now, with her wrapped around him again, he can finally breathe. This version of Joe—unguarded, tender, a little wrecked by love—is one the rest of the world never sees.

But Angel does.

Every time.

Σ>―❤→

The cicadas buzzed outside in the sultry Louisiana night, their rhythm as steady as the breath that rose and fell between two bodies tangled in sheets. Moonlight poured through the slatted blinds of the bedroom window, casting soft gold lines across Angel’s bare shoulders, her dark skin glowing like honey in the low light.

Inside the small off-campus apartment, the hum of a box fan filled the silence. The kind of silence that came after everything and before anything else. The kind that only happened when the world didn’t matter—just this moment, and each other.

Angel lay curled against Joe’s chest, her cheek pressed to the space right above his heart, where she could feel every beat. Slow and even now. He always slowed down after—after the heat, after the rush, after the way they clung to each other like they couldn’t breathe unless they were touching.

Joe had a stillness to him that felt like safety. Like shelter.

“You good?” he asked, voice low and a little hoarse, the remnants of emotion clinging to every word.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, fingers drawing lazy patterns on his ribcage. “You?”

A pause. His hand swept up her back, fingers threading gently through the ends of her curls.

“I’m good,” he said quietly. “Really good.”

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. Her body felt like it was floating, wrapped in a warm cocoon of love and sweat and everything that was them.

“You always get like this after,” she whispered, teasing but affectionate.

“Like what?”

“All... sweet,” she said, lifting her head slightly to look at him. “You turn into a damn teddy bear.”

Joe laughed, the sound soft and genuine, vibrating through his chest and into her. He reached up to brush a damp curl off her forehead. “Don’t tell the team.”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone. Coach O, too.”

He groaned and buried his face in her neck, his nose brushing her skin. “You’re evil.”

“I know,” she grinned, then softened, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But you like me anyway.”

“I love you,” he said without hesitation.

There it was—clear, simple, sure. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and it wouldn’t be the last, but every time Joe said those three words, Angel felt the ground under her get steadier.

She held onto him tighter.

A minute passed, maybe more. Long enough for the heat between them to settle into something gentler, more grounded. Joe shifted a little, then leaned back just enough to see her eyes.

“Be right back,” he said, kissing her shoulder before slipping out of bed.

Angel watched him move through the darkened apartment, his broad back disappearing into the bathroom. There was something about watching him in these moments—quiet, focused—that tugged at her heart in ways she couldn’t always explain. Joe didn’t just love her with words or grand gestures. He loved her like this—intentionally, gently, every damn day.

He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, kneeling beside her like she was something sacred. And when he cleaned her up—soft strokes, his hand cupping her thigh with care—he never rushed. Never looked away. It wasn’t just a routine; it was reverent.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice quieter this time.

She nodded, touched beyond words. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He kissed the inside of her knee, lingering there for a moment before taking care of himself quickly. Then he tossed the cloth into the laundry basket and climbed back into bed, tugging the sheet over both of them and wrapping himself around her again.

Her back against his chest this time, she sighed when he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade.

“Water? Snack? I think there’s peach cobbler left that your aunt made,” he offered into her ear.

Angel laughed softly. “You really think that’s still in the fridge? You ate like half of it after practice yesterday.”

“Untrue,” he said, feigning offense. “I shared.”

“Barely.”

Joe poked her side playfully. “I saved you the last bite.”

She turned over to face him, eyes dancing in the dim light. “You always do that. Save me the last bite. Hold the door. Pick out the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms ‘cause you know I hate ‘em.”

He shrugged, his thumb brushing the apple of her cheek. “Because I love you. Because I know you.”

Angel leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. “You really do.”

They lay like that for a while—faces inches apart, hands tangled together. He ran his fingers down her spine, over the slope of her waist, grounding her in every way she never knew she needed.

“You ever think about what’s next?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her, brows furrowing. “Like… next week or next year?”

“Both,” she said, her voice thoughtful now. “Like, when the season’s over. When you go to the league.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear and let his thumb trail the edge of her jaw.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it a lot. But none of it matters if you’re not there.”

Angel blinked, emotion catching in her throat. There was a weight to his words—not heavy, but solid. Permanent.

“You mean that?”

“I do.” His eyes held hers. “You’ve been with me through everything. Since before the scouts started showing up. Before people cared about what number I wore or how many yards I threw. I’m not going anywhere if you’re not coming with me.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, pressing her forehead to his. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“Good,” he whispered. “'Cause I don’t know how to do this without you.”

She smiled against his skin. “You won’t have to.”

Outside, the cicadas hummed on, and the night stretched gently forward. Wrapped in each other’s arms, hearts steady, breaths slow, Joe and Angel drifted into sleep—safe, loved, and ready for whatever came next.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joe has always been drawn to Angel’s body, but her thighs and ass are his undoing. It’s instinctive—primal, even—the way his gaze lingers when she walks past, hips swaying like she already knows what she does to him. And she does know. She teases him with it, carries herself like a woman who’s loved and wanted and fully aware of her own power. Joe doesn’t just notice—he worships.

Her thighs are strong, full, a perfect blend of muscle and softness that make him lose track of what he was saying mid-sentence. When she’s on top of him, knees pressing into the mattress, thighs flexing around his hips—Joe forgets everything but her. And when she shifts, arching her back just slightly, the curve of her ass pushing against him—he swears, it borders on spiritual.

It’s not just about sex, though. It’s the way her body moves through the world. The way she climbs into his lap like it’s her throne. The way he’ll find himself reaching for her—hands full, greedy and unrepentant—when she’s cooking, folding laundry, or even just brushing her teeth. His favorite view is her walking away, and half the time, he’s following just so he can grab a handful and pull her back.

There’s something grounding about it for him. Something safe. Her thighs around his waist, her body flush against his—it centers him, like he’s exactly where he belongs. And in the quiet moments after, when her legs are draped over his, tangled and warm, it’s a kind of peace he doesn’t find anywhere else.

Joe is an ass man, through and through, but with Angel, it’s more than obsession—it’s devotion. He could write volumes about the way she feels in his hands. But he’d rather show her, every time.

Angel is no better when it comes to Joe’s hands and back. She tries to play it cool, but the truth is, those two things ruin her every time.

His back is pure art—broad, solid, carved with muscle and quiet strength. She watches him move across a room, or stretch after practice with his shirt riding up, and it sends a slow, deep ache straight through her. There’s something about the way the muscles in his back ripple under his skin when he’s lifting, or even just reaching for something in the kitchen. It's not flashy strength—it’s controlled, lived-in, earned. And it does things to her. Powerful things.

She’s touched other men before—boys, really—but no one felt like Joe. No one had that weight, that stability, like he could carry anything. Carry her.

And then there are his hands.

God, his hands.

They’re big, calloused in places, worn in that way that comes from years of gripping footballs, lifting weights, bracing for hits. But with her, they’re something else entirely. Gentle. Intuitive. Capable of every kind of touch—from slow and teasing to firm and grounding.

She loves the way one palm can span the small of her back, anchoring her in place when they’re dancing in the kitchen or tangled in bed. The way his fingers splay wide across her thigh, confident and proprietary. The way he holds her face when they kiss, thumb brushing her cheekbone like she’s something precious.

When he wraps his arms around her from behind and she feels his bare chest press against her spine, strong hands sliding around her waist, fingertips grazing her hips—she melts. Every single time.

And in those quiet, post-intimacy moments, when her fingers trace the lines of his back, feeling every dip and curve of muscle, it feels like communion. Like memorization. Like she’s learning him again and again, and never growing tired of the study.

Angel might tease him about being a little obsessed with her thighs, but when it comes to his back and those hands—she has no room to talk. She’s addicted. And the worst part?

He knows.

He’ll stretch deliberately, arms raised behind his head, back flexing as he watches her out of the corner of his eye, smirking when he catches her stare. Or he’ll slip his fingers under her shirt at just the right time, palm resting against her skin like he owns the space—and maybe he does.

Because Angel is completely, shamelessly undone by him. And if Joe’s hands and back are her weakness, she’s never wanted to be strong.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Angel swears she can taste the shift in him when he’s close—his grip tightens in her hair, his thighs tense, and that cocky, controlled quarterback exterior cracks just enough to let the rawness show. And when he loses it? Really loses it? Finishes on her face with a grunt so guttural it echoes in her spine?

She lives for it.

It doesn’t happen every time. Joe usually likes it slow, intimate—her swallowed in the sheets, his name whispered against his lips, the kind of release that melts into kisses and afterglow. But on the rare occasions she’s on her knees, eyes locked with his, mouth slick and pretty and eager, and he lets go—really lets go—painting her cheeks, her lips, her throat?

She smiles.

Because there’s something dark and feminine and utterly feral about it. Something ancient that hums inside her chest when he gives in like that. When he marks her in the messiest, most possessive way. When she watches it drip and feels his whole body stutter above her like he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to.

Joe never says it out loud, but he loves the look in her eyes when she wears it. Like it’s hers just as much as it’s his. Like she chose to take that part of him and wear it with pride.

But his favorite? Finishing inside her.

Always has been.

It’s the heat of it, the weight of it—the way her body clenches around him like it’s trying to keep him there forever. The groan he lets out when he finally spills, hips twitching, chest heaving against hers. And when he pulls out, slow and aching, watching himself leak from between her thighs? That sight alone has him halfway to hard again.

It’s primal. Addictive. A quiet little promise carved between them without words.

Sometimes she cups it with her hand and shoves it back in, biting her lip like she’s teasing him. Sometimes she moans at the stretch afterward, hips rocking like she’s still not done. And Joe? He can’t tear his eyes away. Can’t stop himself from pressing his fingers there, from watching the aftermath of what they’ve just done.

It’s messy. Intimate. Beautiful.

And neither of them would have it any other way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Their dirtiest secret lives in the echoes of the LSU football facility—the kind of memory sealed behind locked doors and heavy silences, known only to them and maybe, maybe, the poor janitor who’s learned to knock twice before entering.

After big games, when the adrenaline’s still coursing through Joe’s veins and the stadium lights are still seared into his vision, sometimes he doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to take her home or make it sweet. He wants her right there—in the locker room, lights low, pads still scattered across the floor, the scent of sweat and victory thick in the air. Angel, perched on the edge of a bench, legs parted, whispering “We shouldn’t,” even as she’s already pulling him closer. He’s still in partial uniform, helmet in one hand, her thigh in the other, telling her exactly how proud he is—and exactly how he’s going to show her.

But the gym? That’s a different kind of filth.

It starts innocent enough—shared workouts, her in leggings and a sports bra that makes Joe forget his reps entirely. But then he's behind her at the squat rack, "spotting," hands too low on her waist, breath hot against her neck. And before either of them can help it, they’re tangled together in front of the mirrored wall, her palms pressed flat to the glass, his voice in her ear saying, “Watch yourself, baby. Watch what I do to you.”

That’s what gets her—the mirrors. The way he makes her look, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, moaning softly as her reflection blushes and bends for him. Joe watches too, obsessed with the sight of her coming undone from every angle, like the image alone could keep him hard for days.

No one knows. Not their teammates, not her friends. But every time they walk through those halls, exchange a glance near the weight room, or pass the entrance to the locker room after a game—there’s a heat behind their eyes that says: we’ve already claimed this place.

And that secret? It only makes everything burn hotter.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Angel is experienced—undeniably so.

She’s had her share of casual hookups, two real relationships before Joe, and more than enough time to learn what she likes, what she doesn’t, and how to read her partner’s body like it’s speaking directly to her. There’s no fumbling, no hesitation when it comes to her in the bedroom—she knows what she’s doing, and she knows exactly how to make someone feel it.

She’s been with women before, dated them, touched them, learned their rhythms and how different kinds of pleasure unfold. Same with men. She never saw sex as a shameful thing, never treated her desire like something to suppress. For her, it was exploration. Discovery. Power and vulnerability all wrapped into one. So when she steps into intimacy with Joe, it’s with confidence—not cocky, but steady. Assured.

She doesn’t need direction, but she’s not afraid to ask. She knows how to please, how to listen—not just to words, but to breathless moans, sharp intakes, and the kind of body language that speaks louder than anything else. And it shows. Joe never has to guess with her—never has to wonder if she knows how good she is at this, how natural it feels when she takes control or falls apart beneath him with practiced grace.

But the real shift? The real change came with him. Because even with all that experience, even with all the partners she’s had—none of them ever felt like this.

Joe makes her feel wanted in a way that turns all that knowledge into something sacred. He doesn’t just appreciate her experience—he reveres it. He knows she could have anyone, has had others, and still, she chose him. And that makes him meet her energy with just as much fire, just as much focus.

She pleases because she pays attention. And because she loves it.

It’s one of the first things Joe noticed about her. That quiet, devastating confidence that didn’t need to brag—she just knew. When she dropped to her knees and looked up at him with that teasing smirk, or when she climbed into his lap and whispered exactly what she wanted in his ear, he realized real fast: this woman could take him apart in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

And Joe? He might not have had the same track record, but don’t let the boy-next-door face fool you. He’s had experience, sure—but more than that, he’s attentive. Detail-oriented. Competitive as hell. Once he realized Angel had been with women too, something clicked. It wasn’t jealousy—it was drive. He wanted to learn her body better than anyone ever had, especially the ones who’d come before him.

Angel’s always known how to please. But with Joe? She gets to be pleased in return—fully, deeply, unapologetically.

Joe’s no rookie when it comes to sex. He’s had his share of experiences—hookups during early college years, a few real relationships before things got serious with football. He’s been with women who were casual, and women who left a mark. So yeah, he knows what he’s doing. He understands pacing, pressure, when to take his time and when to push. He’s confident in his body, in his touch, and in how to read a moment.

But with Angel, everything shifted.

Because Joe wasn’t just interested in sex with her—he wanted to learn her.

Every sigh, every twitch of her hips, every time her breath hitched when he kissed the inside of her thigh—he paid attention. He didn’t come to their bed trying to perform. He came to connect. To understand what made her unravel, what made her feel safest, what made her want.

The first time they were together, he didn’t rush. He explored like he had all night—and he would’ve taken even longer if she let him. Joe asked questions with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. Is this good? Do you like this? Tell me what you need.

And he remembered.

He catalogued the places her breath caught, the way she curled her toes when he hit just the right rhythm. The exact pressure she liked when his hands gripped her hips. The pace she needed when her head tipped back and her nails found his shoulders.

Joe was experienced, yes—but with Angel, he became intentional.

It wasn't just about getting her off—it was about knowing her, mapping her body like it was sacred territory he was lucky to travel. And the more he learned, the more he wanted to learn. Every time was a little different, a little deeper. He’d press a new kiss to her skin and think, Does she like that? Did I hear that breath catch?

And God, when she did fall apart beneath him, when he knew without question he’d found that perfect spot—that noise she made, low and breathless, always left him wrecked. Not because it stroked his ego, but because he gave her something real.

Because he earned it.

Joe had experience, but with Angel, he found purpose. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was trying to understand her.

And he did.

More every time.

Together? They’re explosive. Experienced. Electric.

And they never stop learning each other.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Some nights they play with angles—Joe bending her leg up over his shoulder in deep, dragging thrusts that make Angel clutch the sheets and moan his name like a prayer. Other times it’s from behind, slow or rough, her arch perfect, his grip bruising, and both of them lost in the rhythm of it.

But Angel’s favorite, without a doubt, is when he puts her in a full-on mating press.

Legs folded to her chest, hips tilted just right, Joe’s body heavy and pressing into hers like he’s trying to become a part of her. There’s something about the way he looks at her in that position—possessive, hungry, completely gone—that makes her brain melt. It’s the eye contact, the power in his strokes, the sheer intimacy of being held open and filled so deep she swears she feels it in her throat.

He makes her take it, all of it, hands gripping her thighs, whispering filth into her ear—“You were made for this. For me.”And she is. She feels it in her bones, in the way he moves inside her like he’s never letting go. Her back arching, mouth falling open, thighs shaking from the stretch and the overwhelming pressure of being wrecked exactly the way she craves.

Joe loves all of her—the way she moans in missionary, the way she trembles when she’s on top—but there’s something primal in the mating press that brings out the unfiltered version of them both. Angel coming apart under him, body pinned and perfect. Joe thrusting slow but deep, groaning through clenched teeth, “Take it. That’s it, baby.”

It’s not just about the depth—it’s about the closeness. The way he can kiss her while he breaks her down. The way she can beg and praise and cry out his name all at once, wrapped up in his sweat, his weight, his world.

Every time he folds her like that, Angel swears she sees stars. And Joe? He swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful than the way she falls apart beneath him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Joe’s not the type to dissolve into giggles mid-moment, but neither is he immune to the kind of ridiculousness that sneaks in when you least expect it. There’s a steady fire in him, a focus that pulls him deep, but the space between them is never so heavy that laughter can’t slip through the cracks.

Maybe Angel says something silly, or Joe’s fingers miss their mark, and suddenly the room is filled with their shared breathless laughter — that mix of surprise and delight, where neither can keep a straight face, and the world outside fades into a softer, warmer glow. Those bursts of giggles ripple between them, light as the whispers they exchange, grounding their passion in something joyful and real.

Their playfulness doesn’t end there. After everything — the quiet satisfaction and the heat — come the teasing words, the gentle roasts exchanged with fondness. Joe’s voice roughens with humor as he ribbings her about how she “always cheats when she’s winning,” and Angel’s grin lights up the space, eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

Even in those moments of laughter, the tenderness underneath never wavers. Joe’s touch is soft and sure, a slow trail of warmth down her spine, a kiss lingering like a secret kept just between them. The way they lean into each other afterward, limbs tangled, hearts slowing, is a quiet promise — that this blend of light and deep is theirs alone.

Angel nestles closer, fingers drawing lazy shapes on his skin, their smiles mingling with whispered jokes and teasing confessions. When Joe peels away the last layer between them with a playful flick, the giggles return — sweet, easy, like an echo of the love that’s never quite serious but always deeply felt.

With Joe and Angel, the night is a dance — equal parts laughter and longing, a space where passion and playfulness live side by side. It’s messy, it’s warm, it’s theirs.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Joe keeps it trimmed—neat, clean, nothing fancy. It’s not about vanity; it’s about comfort, practicality. Football is brutal enough without the added friction, the sweat, the sting of irritated skin. He’s learned what works for his body, what keeps things smooth without going too far. His skin is sensitive, and he doesn’t need any extra distractions when he’s already got enough pressure coming at him from every angle. So he keeps it simple—low maintenance but well-managed. He likes control, even here.

Angel is different. Hers is a ritual of its own. Wax appointments booked like clockwork, every few weeks without fail. It started back in high school, after an offhanded comment from a friend—“If it’s hairy, it’s scary. What guy wants wolf coochie?” It was a joke. One of those throwaway lines girls say to each other without realizing the damage it might do. But it stuck. It etched itself into the back of her mind, whispering every time she looked in the mirror.

Now, staying bare is part habit, part armor. She likes how it feels—clean, polished, soft—but sometimes she wonders if she would’ve chosen it on her own. Still, she doesn't regret it. Not when Joe touches her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Not when he kisses down her belly and murmurs, "Pretty, just like this." Not when his hands trail between her thighs like worship, not judgment.

And no, the carpet doesn’t quite match the drapes—not exactly. But Joe’s never cared. He’s not inspecting her like a checklist, he’s experiencing her. He’s far more concerned with the way she moans, the way her body arches into his, the way her skin tastes after a long day. He loves her waxed, but he’d love her anyway.

For them, grooming isn’t about impressing each other. It’s about feeling good in their own skin—about comfort, confidence, control. And a little bit of heat.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When Joe and Angel are in the moment, it’s less about urgency and more about presence. Their connection is quiet but electric—like they’re sharing a secret language only they understand. Joe’s focus is all on Angel, his eyes tracing every curve and every flicker of emotion on her face. He moves with a tenderness that speaks of respect and awe, as if holding something precious in his hands.

Angel matches that tenderness with a confidence that grounds them both. She’s open, vulnerable, yet utterly sure of herself, inviting Joe in not just physically but emotionally. Their touches are slow, deliberate—each caress a word, each kiss a sentence in a conversation of love and desire. They listen to each other’s breath, to the little sounds and sighs that tell them what the other needs.

Romance isn’t just in what they say, but in the silences between, the way Joe brushes a stray hair from Angel’s face, the way she wraps her fingers around his wrist, holding on like she never wants to let go. There’s laughter sometimes, soft and shy, because being with each other feels safe enough to be completely themselves.

It’s not just sex—it’s a dance of trust, a celebration of intimacy where they lose themselves and find each other all at once. In those moments, the world shrinks until it’s just them, two souls wrapped in warmth, desire, and a love that’s growing deeper with every shared heartbeat.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

They both do it—of course they do. But it’s never mindless, never just for the release. For Joe and Angel, even masturbation carries the weight of longing.

Joe only really reaches for himself when their schedules are a mess—when Angel’s slammed with internship hours or knee-deep in a project, and he’s got meetings and practice stacked until the day bleeds into night. That’s when it hits him hardest: the ache of not having her under him, around him, on him. He’ll close his eyes, fist tight around himself, and imagine—not just her body, but the way she sounds. The way she whispers his name like a secret, the way her breath stutters when he hits that spot.

And Angel? She’s the same. When it’s late and her body’s buzzing, and Joe’s stuck at team events or traveling for a game, she’ll give in to it. Pull the covers up, hand slipping low, mind already painting vivid pictures of him—his voice, his groans, the look in his eyes when he’s wrecked and wanting more. Sometimes it’s not even about fantasy. It’s about missing him. About needing that closeness in any way she can get it.

Sometimes, when it’s really bad—when the separation feels sharp and skin-hungry—they’ll call each other. Nothing overt at first. Just soft little “I miss you” and “What are you doing right now?” But one of them always cracks. The shift in their voice, the catch in their breath, the heat curling into the conversation like smoke. Then it's moans over the speaker, whispered filth across miles. The sound of skin and want and barely-contained desperation to be together.

They don’t love doing it alone—but they don’t shame it either. It’s just another way of staying connected. A pulse of intimacy in the in-between. And when they’re finally back together after? They always make up for the time lost—twice over.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Angel has a thing for Joe’s hands—always has. The way they grip the football with precision and power, the veins that pop along his forearms, the way his fingers look wrapped around a glass or lazily tugging at his collar. But when those same hands are around her throat?

She melts.

It’s not about aggression—it’s about trust. It’s about the way his palm rests over her throat, firm but careful, his thumb stroking the pulse point like a silent check-in. Her breath catches, her hips roll, and she goes pliant for him, eyes wide and hazy. He never fully squeezes—just enough pressure to make her feel owned, claimed, completely his. And when he pairs it with his hips grinding slow and deep, with his mouth murmuring filth in her ear?

She doesn’t stand a chance.

Joe, on the other hand, goes absolutely feral when she calls him daddy. Even if it’s in a playful, mocking tone—especially if it is. She’ll smirk, bite her lip, tilt her head, and drop it mid-sentence like it means nothing. “Whatever you say, daddy.” And suddenly, Joe’s eyes darken, his jaw sets, and Angel finds herself flipped, pinned, and breathless in seconds.

But more than that, Joe has a massive praise kink. He gets off on knowing she’s feeling good, knowing he is the reason. Every moan, every “Just like that,” or “You’re so good to me, Joe,” drives him wild. She could be breathless and trembling, legs shaking, and still whisper something like “You ruin me every time,”—and that’s it. He’s gone.

Angel’s no different. She thrives under praise—needs it, drinks it up like honey. Joe knows just what to say, how to say it. “Look at you takin’ me so good.” “My pretty girl’s so perfect for me.” And she’ll come undone from his words alone, eyes fluttering, hands grasping at anything just to stay grounded.

They’ve got the basics covered: choking, praise, a little name play, teasing dominance and soft submission wrapped up in heat and trust. Nothing extreme—just enough to keep it dirty, honest, and theirs. Enough to make every moment feel like it toes the line between devotion and destruction. And they love walking that line together.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Their bedrooms are the obvious sanctuaries. Safe, familiar, worn in with memory—Angel’s bed smells like her vanilla body butter and soft linen, while Joe’s feels like a fortress: warm, solid, and a little too big without her in it. Those spaces are sacred, sure, but they’ve never been the type to stay confined between four walls.

The couch gets its fair share of action. Especially late at night, when a movie’s playing in the background and Angel’s curled into Joe’s side, tracing slow circles on his thigh with that mischievous look in her eye. One thing leads to another—legs straddling hips, mouths searching—and suddenly they’re breathless against the cushions, half-undressed and unable to make it to the bedroom.

The kitchen island is more chaotic. It’s fast, frenzied, usually after she’s just finished making something sweet and he walks in from practice still sweaty, still keyed up, eyes locked on her like he’s starving. He lifts her like nothing, sets her right on the edge of the counter, flour still dusting her thighs, and makes a mess of her right there. She always pretends to be mad about it later. She never really is.

And then there’s Joe’s truck. Parked in some quiet corner of a lot, seat pushed all the way back, the windows fogged up with heat and laughter and her hands in his hair. Sneaking around, hearts pounding like something forbidden. Something electric. The cramped space only adds to the urgency, her knees hitting the dash, his hands fumbling with her waistband, the gear shift digging into his side as they both fall apart in a rush of gasps and stifled moans.

They’ve never needed candlelight or hotel suites. Just a spark and each other—and maybe a surface sturdy enough to handle it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For Joe, it's embarrassingly easy. Anything Angel does—anything—can light a fire under his skin. She could be brushing her teeth, stretching in the morning, humming while she ties her hair up, and it’s over for him. He’s already thinking about peeling her out of whatever she’s wearing.

But the top of the list?

It’s her, bare-faced and wrapped in his clothes—especially after a long night, when her voice is still raspy and she’s walking around in one of his old tees, sleeves too big, hem grazing just below her thighs. That quiet, soft version of her, glowing without even trying, smiling at him like he’s her entire world? That’s the moment Joe’s officially gone. He’s stiff in his sweats and struggling to pretend he’s not ready to pull her right back into bed.

He’s a goner for that kind of intimacy. No makeup, no show. Just Angel, real and radiant, looking at him like she already knows what he wants.

As for Angel? Please. She just has to look at Joe and she’s halfway to breathless. Can you blame her? She’s dating LSU’s golden boy, the star quarterback with the body built by God and grit, the kind of jawline that makes good decisions go straight out the window.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he carries himself—shoulders broad, confidence effortless, voice low and smooth like velvet when he says her name. It’s how he watches her like he’s thinking things he shouldn’t say in public. It’s the slight flex of his arms when he lifts his helmet, the way his veins pop when he’s lacing his cleats, the subtle smirk he gives when he catches her staring a little too long.

She’s got a whole internal reel of Joe being unintentionally sexy, and it plays at full volume any time he walks into a room.

So yeah, it doesn’t take much. A look, a grin, a flash of bare skin. One touch, one whisper.

They stay ready for each other—always.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are lines neither of them are willing to cross—lines drawn not out of judgment, but out of how fiercely they love each other. How deeply they belong to each other.

Threesomes? Off the table. Absolutely not.

Joe knows Angel’s had experiences with women before, and while a small, curious part of him wonders what that looked like—he never dares ask. He knows her too well. Knows how quickly her smile would drop, how fast her eyes would cut to his, sharp and incredulous. She doesn’t share. And neither does he.

They’re both too possessive for it. If another pair of hands touched her, Joe wouldn’t be able to hide the rage crawling under his skin. He’d take her home, pin her to the bed, and remind her—slowly, thoroughly—why he’s the only one she’ll ever need. And if Angel ever caught someone else trying to touch him? She’d burn it all down before she watched it happen.

Watching? Also a no. No open doors. No cameras. No performative moments for anyone else’s eyes. What they have is private, sacred, theirs. The way he worships her body, the way she moans his name like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered—it’s not meant for an audience. Never will be.

And when it comes to pain? Joe has his limits. He’ll grip her throat, bruise her hips, leave marks on her thighs that she blushes at the next morning—but he refuses to slap her. Even when she’s in her bratty moods, daring and teasing. His jaw tightens at the idea. “I can fuck you until your legs give out, but I’ll never put my hand across your face.” That’s not dominance. That’s a boundary. One she respects, just as he respects hers.

They’ve talked through their turn-offs, set their rules in the kind of trust only two people this tangled together can build. No slapping. No sharing. No degradation that crosses into cruelty. No extremes that twist something beautiful into something detached.

What they have? It’s raw. Intense. Real.And it’s too good to risk on anything that doesn’t feel like them.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Joe swears he could live between Angel’s thighs and never want for anything else. It’s his favorite place to be—warm, soft, sweet, and all hers. He takes his time down there, like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like worship is a slow, methodical act. He learns her rhythms, reads every gasp, every twitch, every arch of her back like scripture.

He says it plain, too, with that lazy drawl and a glint in his eye: “You sit on my face, I’m not coming up for air.”

But that doesn’t mean he’s immune to the sight of her on her knees—bare legs, steady eyes, full lips curved in mischief. That image burns itself into the back of his mind, keeps him up at night when she’s not around. And when she is? He lets her take control, lets her drag her fingers down his abs and lick her lips like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Because she does.

Angel lives for taking Joe apart. For making the man who commands a football field come undone with just her mouth. She’s not called the throat goat for nothing—rumor or not, she’s got the skill to back it up. She watches his face the whole time, takes pride in the way his brows pinch, the way his hands grip the sheets, the way he tries—and fails—to keep his composure. She loves pulling sounds out of him no one else gets to hear. Loves knowing she can make LSU’s golden boy fall apart with nothing but her lips and a wicked look in her eye.

But truthfully? They're both givers at heart. Both obsessed with each other’s pleasure, both greedy when it comes to drawing it out. Joe gets off on getting her off. And Angel? She feels powerful with his pleasure in her hands, on her tongue, between her legs.

It’s not about who gets more. It’s how far they can take each other—how many times they can push the other past the edge before finally tumbling down together.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends. With them, it always does.

Joe isn't a man of one tempo. He’s all instinct and intention, all coiled control wrapped in raw desire—and how he touches her reflects exactly what’s brewing under the surface. If he’s had a long day, if practice ran him dry and his muscles ache with frustration, he doesn’t say it out loud. He shows her. He finds her, pulls her close, and the kiss is rougher than usual, deeper, hungrier. There’s no time for soft. He needs to bury himself in her, lose himself in her, grip her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

And Angel? She lives for it. For the tension in his shoulders, the heat in his stare when he looks at her like she’s the only thing that can settle the storm in him. She aches for the way he throws her around like he’s forgotten his own strength—like she can take it, and more. She craves the growl in his voice when he mutters "mine" against her skin, the way his hands slide under her thighs and lift her like she weighs nothing, like the need might rip right through him if he doesn’t have her now.

But then there are other nights. Nights where the world slows down just enough for him to remember how delicate she is beneath all that fire. When he runs his fingers over her skin like he's trying to memorize her all over again. Kisses her like he’s rediscovering the shape of her mouth, taking his time, tasting every sound she makes. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t grip—he glides. Draws pleasure from her in lazy, lingering waves until she’s trembling under him, whispering his name like a prayer.

Angel loves both versions of him. The rough, unrelenting force of nature and the slow-burning worshipper. There’s something holy in both. Something that makes her feel like the most wanted woman in the world, no matter how fast or how slow he moves.

With Joe, it’s never just about the pace—it’s about the intention. And whether he’s wrecking her with bruising passion or unraveling her with patience, it always ends the same way: with her completely undone, and him right there to hold the aftermath.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies aren’t a compromise—they’re a necessity, an art form, a shared language carved out of chaos.

LSU keeps them moving. Between his practices and her internship, their days are built on borrowed minutes and crashing schedules. But somehow, they always find time to steal something just for them. A kiss stretched too long in the doorway. Hands slipping under clothes while the coffee brews. A moan half-smothered in the crook of a neck. Quickies aren’t plan B—they’re part of the rhythm, part of the heat that coils around them like a secret.

Joe isn’t picky about the when or the where. If he’s got five minutes before warm-ups, and she’s standing there in that damn tank top, lip gloss still dewy from a rushed goodbye kiss—he’s pulling her back inside, locking the door, and pressing her up against it like he’s got all the time in the world.

Angel matches him beat for beat. She’s no stranger to setting a timer on her phone, breathless with laughter as she drags him toward the couch with her skirt already hiked up. She’s learned how to grind against him with precision, how to make every second count, how to finish fast and full, and still feel utterly undone.

They don’t need candles or slow music. Not every time. Sometimes, it’s just urgency—the burn of now—that makes it perfect.

They’ve made it in the backseat of his car, in her shower with the water running ice cold, against the kitchen counter with the fridge still open. It’s messy and rushed and sometimes they forget where they dropped their clothes—but it always ends in flushed cheeks and shared grins. Sometimes it's a promise whispered with teeth grazing skin: Later. Slower.

But until then, they’re not above worshiping in stolen moments.

Because when the clock’s ticking, and desire’s coiled just beneath the surface, quickies are their superpower—and they wear the chaos like a crown.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Of course they are—they live to experiment.

Joe and Angel are the kind of couple that turns curiosity into chemistry. That quiet kind of bold, where boundaries aren't just pushed, they're explored together with trust like a safety net stretched beneath them. They're not reckless, but they are intentional. If something sparks in the back of their minds—some dirty idea, some "what if we tried…"—they don't ignore it. They talk about it. Tease it out of each other like a secret. And then, if the vibe is right? They go there.

They’ve already hooked up in places they shouldn't have—the LSU locker room after a win, the university gym late at night with sweat still clinging to their skin. It’s not just about the thrill (though that’s definitely part of it); it’s about discovery. Pushing the edge of what feels good and finding out what feels better.

Angel's handcuffed Joe to the headboard before, watching him squirm and groan beneath her, all that power restrained and turned over to her control. Joe’s done the same, eyes dark and full of heat as he leaned over her and clicked the cuffs around her wrists, whispering, “Tell me everything you want. Or I’ll take my time guessing.”

They love learning what the other is into—not just physically, but emotionally. What gets their partner buzzing. What unravels them. What makes them whisper do it again.

But always, always, they talk first. There’s a mutual respect laced through every risk, a quiet you okay with this? before they jump. Nothing is off-limits if the foundation feels good, grounded, safe. Because when it comes down to it, their willingness to experiment isn’t about novelty—it’s about intimacy. About exploring every inch of desire together, one boundary at a time.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

During the season, Joe runs on discipline and exhaustion. His body’s a finely tuned machine, but it’s taxed—early mornings, weight training, practices that leave him drained in every muscle. Still, when it comes to Angel, he finds the energy. Always.

Two rounds minimum, even when he's bone tired. That first one is usually fast, raw—weeks of tension and adrenaline crashing into the moment. But the second? Slower, deeper. That’s where the emotion creeps in, where he holds her closer, keeps his strokes controlled, deliberate, like he’s trying to prolong the high just for her. And he does. He always does.

But once the season’s over—when there’s no 5AM lifts, no playbooks to memorize, no looming games to burn through his stamina? It’s a whole different man she gets.

Off-season Joe has time. Has patience. Has something to prove. He’s going for three, sometimes four rounds if she’s up for it. He takes his time between them too—kissing, teasing, whispering things that make her shiver and giggle, only to pull her right back in the moment he feels her hips shift with want again.

Angel never complains. She rises to the challenge like she was born for it. She’ll tease him right back, eyes gleaming, fingers dragging down his chest like, "That all you got, QB1?" And he’ll flash that cocky grin—tired, sweat-slicked, completely wrecked—and still flip her over for one more.

They don’t always keep count. Sometimes it’s not about rounds or minutes. It’s about the echo of it after—the sore muscles, the lazy smiles, the way she curls into his chest and murmurs, “I missed this,” like it’s sacred.

But if you're asking for numbers? In season: two, strong. Off season: as long as it takes to leave them both breathless, dazed, and entirely satisfied.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Angel had fallen for the hype—like everyone else, she’d let the rose whisper sweet promises to her body on lonely nights, let it bloom against her until her legs trembled and her breath came in desperate gasps. She’d laughed about it with her girls, even said no man could ever measure up to that kind of precision, that kind of efficiency. And then she met Joe.

Joe isn’t a man threatened by toys. Not really. He doesn’t sneer at them or toss out ultimatums. He just doesn’t see the point—when he’s around.

Because when he’s there, he wants to be the pulse beneath her pleasure. The breath in her lungs, the burn in her thighs. He wants to work her up slow, make her wait, make her beg, remind her of all the ways his hands can outpace even the most advanced motor. It’s not about being the best. It’s about being hers. The only one who gets to taste the way she shudders, who memorizes every flicker of her moans like verses to a song no one else will ever hear. He wants her bliss to bear his fingerprints, his rhythm, his name on her tongue.

Still, he’d slipped her a box on her birthday with that signature smirk—the one that spells trouble and triumph all at once. Inside? A mold of his dick. Hyper-realistic. Almost obnoxiously so.

“Figure I’d stay with you, even when I’m not,” he’d murmured, low and amused, as she stared at it with wide eyes and a laugh caught in her throat.

She keeps it tucked away. Not because it doesn’t work. Because it does. Not because she doesn’t miss him. But because nothing comes close to him—the heat of his body, the command in his voice, the way he touches her like she’s sacred and wild all at once. When he’s near, nothing battery-powered stands a chance.

She still uses the rose sometimes. But she never tells him. And he never asks. Somehow, they both know—it’s always him she’s thinking of when her knees start to shake.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Joe and Angel’s teasing was never just innocent fun—it was a deliciously wicked dance, a game that twisted desire and laughter together until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began. Tonight, that familiar heat was thick in the air, settling like a charged storm between them.

Joe lounged beside Angel on the couch, his fingers barely grazing the bare skin at the curve of her waist, teasing just enough to make her shiver. His voice dropped low, gravelly with mischief. “You know I love making you squirm, right? It’s like a secret weapon.”

Angel’s breath hitched, eyes darkening with a wicked sparkle. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she purred. “And I’m going to make you pay.”

Joe’s fingers slid under her shirt, tracing slow, tantalizing circles over her ribs, his touch feather-light but loaded with intent. “You’re all talk, Angel.” His lips found the tender skin behind her ear, nibbling and sucking, sending sparks trailing down her neck. “I’m the one who gets to decide when this game ends.”

Angel moaned softly, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers digging into muscle as she pulled him closer. “Then maybe it’s time to change the rules.” She leaned in, breath hot against his jaw. “Because I’m not just going to take your teasing—I’m going to make you beg.”

Joe’s grin was devilish, eyes smoldering. “Is that a challenge?”

Before she could answer, Angel’s fingers slipped lower, trailing just inside the waistband of his pants. The sudden boldness of her touch made Joe’s breath catch, his hips twitching forward. “You like playing dirty,” he murmured, voice thick with want.

“Only with you,” she whispered, lips brushing his earlobe, her voice a wicked promise. “I know exactly how to push your buttons, and I’m not afraid to use every single one.”

His hands roamed with increasing urgency, pulling her shirt up just enough to expose the smooth curve of her waist, the soft skin begging to be touched. Joe’s mouth found hers again—this kiss slow and demanding, lips parting and tongues dancing as the heat between them spiraled.

Angel’s hands slipped under his shirt, nails grazing his skin in feather-light scratches that had him groaning low in his throat. “You’re so unfair,” she teased breathlessly, “but damn, I love it.”

Joe chuckled darkly, fingers tightening at her hips as he pressed closer, their bodies flush and humming with need. “Unfair’s just another word for irresistible.” His voice dropped, nearly a growl. “Tell me you want me as much as I want you.”

Angel’s eyes locked with his, her smile sultry and fierce. “I want you to lose control. I want you to forget everything but this moment—me, you, and the fire we’re setting.”

Joe’s hands slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers trailing teasing, maddening lines over the bare skin of her hip. Angel gasped, arching into him as the teasing turned urgent.

“Not so innocent now,” Joe whispered against her lips. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

“And you’re going to love every second of it,” she breathed.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Angel is not quiet—and she’s never tried to be. She moans without apology, breathy and beautiful, sometimes broken by gasps of “Right there,” or “Don’t stop, Joe, please—” She’s vocal in every way: the whimpers when he hits just the right spot, the cries when she’s close, the soft, drawn-out sighs when she finally comes down. She feels everything fully, and she lets him hear it.

They’ve gotten more than a few noise complaints—especially during the off-season, when they’ve got time to be unhurried, unrestrained, and thoroughly loud about it. Angel once joked they should bake cookies for the neighbors as an apology. Joe smirked and said, “Or we could just keep giving them a show.”

Joe’s no better. He doesn’t moan—not usually. That’s not his default setting. He’s a talker. A low-voiced, dirty-mouthed, in-control kind of talker. He praises her in real time—“So good for me,” or “You feel perfect, baby,”—and when she’s close, he’s egging her on, whispering things just rough enough to make her fall apart even faster.

But Angel on her knees? That’s the exception. That’s his kryptonite. All that composure, all that swagger—it goes right out the window. When she’s looking up at him with those big, doe eyes, her lips wrapped around him like she was made for it? He’s groaning, low and guttural, one hand in her hair, the other braced somewhere—anywhere—just to keep himself from unraveling completely. And yes, sometimes a moan escapes, half-formed and helpless. He can’t help it. Not with her.

Together, they’re loud in the way that love and lust demand. Walls shake. Beds creak. Words echo. And neither of them has any intention of quieting down.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

It started as a question, whispered against Joe’s bare shoulder one lazy night when the world felt quiet and small around them.

"What did you used to watch... you know, before me?"Joe chuckled, arm draped around her waist, lips brushing her forehead. “Why, you tryin’ to take notes?”

She rolled her eyes, but the curiosity lingered. So he showed her—nothing crazy, just clips saved in the depths of his phone’s browser, grainy videos he never expected to share. But when Angel curled into his side, watching with wide eyes and her teeth tugging on her lip? He felt heat stir low in his gut. Especially when she asked, soft and breathless, “You ever think about me like that? When I’m not here?”

And that’s all it took.

Curiosity turned into tension, tension into hands wandering, clothes peeling, and suddenly they weren’t just watching anymore—they were reenacting. Their own version. Sloppier. Wetter. Real.

From then on, watching together became a thing. Not often. Just now and then—when the mood struck and they wanted something more than skin on skin. Something visual. Something dirty that felt like both a tease and a promise.

Then came the night Angel, hair still mussed from earlier, reached for Joe’s phone and said, “What if we made one?”

His eyes darkened. His grin said say less.

They’ve made a few since—never posted, never shown, just little secret windows into nights when the world didn’t exist beyond their bed. Shots of Joe whispering filth against her skin. Clips of Angel riding him, head thrown back, his hands locked tight on her hips. One video where he finishes on her face and she laughs, breathless and glowing, pulling him down for a kiss.

Sometimes, when she’s away or he’s had a long day, he’ll queue one up on the TV. Sit back and watch her take him like she was made for it. And when she’s there too? They’ll watch together, letting the sounds of their own moans echo off the walls while they do it all over again.

It’s dirty. Intimate. Undeniably them.

Their own private cinema—unedited, unfiltered, unapologetically theirs.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We all know why he wore the ‘Big Dick Joe’ hat. He’s packing and he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Their sex drive? Off the charts.

Even during the season—when Joe's body was beat to hell and sleep was sacred—his need for Angel never dipped. Sure, he might’ve only had the stamina for two solid rounds, but the want? The hunger? It simmered constantly under the surface. She only had to walk past him in one of his shirts, hair pulled up, hips swaying like she didn’t even know—and it was over. Practice or not, tired or not, he'd find time. He'd make time.

But the offseason? That was a different beast entirely.

No playbooks, no curfews, no limits. His sex drive bloomed into something relentless, like all that restraint had just been waiting to unravel. Angel barely had to look at him a certain way before he was on her—lips on her throat, hands under her clothes, voice thick with need. They’d lose track of time in bed, on the couch, even in the shower when they were supposed to be getting ready to leave.

As for Angel—hers has always burned hot. Restless. Past partners made her feel like it was too much, like she had to apologize for wanting too often or too eagerly. She used to carry that shame quietly, curling it into herself, afraid of being "too needy."

But Joe?

Joe worshipped it.

From the first time she reached for him like her body couldn’t wait another second, he made her feel powerful for wanting. He never once made her feel like a burden. If anything, he took it as a challenge—a privilege. Something that made him proud, knowing his girl was always ready for him, always aching for more.

Now, it’s just who they are. A touch here, a look there—and suddenly the air between them is thick with heat. They’re in sync. Starved for each other in a way that never really calms, just hums beneath the surface until one of them finally breaks.

It’s not about how often—it’s about how completely they need.And they’ve never tried to hide that from each other.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Angel wants to stay awake after—it’s not like she’s in a rush to close her eyes. She loves the quiet part just as much as the chaos that came before it. Loves listening to Joe’s breathing slow down, loves feeling the way his fingers trace lazy patterns against her skin. That little window where they’re still tangled up, all limbs and heat and softness, where they talk in hushed voices about nothing and everything—she lives for that.

But her body has other plans.

Because once the high fades and her muscles finally start to unclench, once Joe starts running his fingers through her hair or tucking the blanket over her hips, it’s over. Her eyelids get heavy, her voice starts to slur around the edges, and all that warmth and safety just lulls her under. She fights it sometimes—murmurs about wanting to stay up, to keep touching him, to hear him talk a little longer—but then she’s yawning mid-sentence and curling tighter into his chest.

Joe always notices before she does. Always smirks when her breathing evens out and her body goes limp against him. Sometimes he’ll kiss her forehead and whisper “Tried to hang on, huh?” before adjusting the covers and pulling her closer.

Angel’s always the first to fall asleep, wrapped in his arms, completely spent and utterly content. And Joe wouldn’t have it any other way.

Σ>―❤→

After the quiet hum of their closeness, sleep doesn’t rush in—it drifts slowly, like a soft tide pulling them deeper into the calm. They lie tangled in the tangled sheets, bodies still warm, breaths mingling in the heavy Louisiana night. Joe’s arms curl tighter around Angel, anchoring her to him like a lifeline, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Their fingers trace lazy, familiar patterns—no need for words now. The world outside falls away, replaced by the steady buzz of cicadas and the gentle whisper of the box fan. Neither rushes into the dark, but instead savors the silence, the softness between heartbeats. Angel’s head rests just above his heart, every beat a reminder that this—this closeness—is their sanctuary.

Joe shifts slightly, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder, then pulls her closer still. There’s a quiet understanding in the way their bodies settle, a gentle slowing that carries them toward sleep like a lullaby. His eyelids flutter heavy, golden eyes dimming as he holds her like a secret he never wants to forget.

Minutes stretch, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing—deep, even, and safe. Finally, the weight of exhaustion settles in, pulling them down, wrapping them in the warmth of the night and each other. Their bodies soften completely, and together, they drift off, not rushed but embraced by the lingering sweetness of a love that speaks without words.

205 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 1 month ago

Note

CONGRATS ON A DESERVED 600 CAAAYYY <3333 KEEP SLAYING!! This next bit will come as unsurprising but I literally fought my demons between size and spit,

Luke, prompt J, she/her

THANK YOU PRETTY LADY <333

thank you sweet meg for being such a wonderful trooper and sticking it out FIVE months for this.. we’re now at 8 0 0 amazing followers

THE EVEN BIGGER DEAL YOUR BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!! RAHHHH

with out further delay I present you….

warnings: SMUT, porn without plot, (<- more or less left the plot behind), spit kink, sprinkle in size kink, sorry you waited 5 months for THIS, MDNI, 18+!!

The evening had settled into the comfortable lull that only a good movie and a shared bowl of popcorn could bring. The lights were dim, the TV screen flickered with the latest blockbuster, and the couch cushions had molded perfectly to their bodies. Luke's hand, which had been mindlessly tracing patterns on Y/n's waist, grew bolder, slipping under the hem of her oversized (his) shirt. His touch grew more deliberate, his rough, calloused fingertips grazing up and down her smooth skin.

Y/n felt a warm shiver run through her as Luke's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer into his embrace. His movements grew more purposeful, the brushes against her abdomen now a gentle but firm guide that led to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled desperately, seeking more of his touch.

“Luke.” She whispered breathlessly. He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing, and took a greedy handful of her breast. His thumb circled the erect peak, teasing and taunting, as she arched into his touch with a quiet gasp.

Their eyes met, the air around them crackling with a newfound intensity. Luke leaned in, his warm breath fanning over her face, and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips, mimicking the actions of his hand, as he explored her mouth with a passion that was growing more feverish by the second. She moaned into the kiss, her hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, her other hand sliding down to grip his thigh, feeling the growing bulge beneath his sweatpants.

Her nails dug into his flesh, sending a thrill through him. He pulled away briefly, his eyes dark with desire, and whispered, "Is this okay?" She nodded fervently, her eyes never leaving his eyes, and that was all the permission he needed. His hand traveled back up her body, scrunching her t-shirt as he moved, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps as they approached her chest. This time, his touch was more deliberate, his palm flattening over her breast, his thumb now pressing firmly against her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her parted lips.

Their kiss grew more heated, tongues dancing together as their breaths melded. The sound of fabric tearing echoed in the quiet room as Luke roughly pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bare breasts to the cool air. He took one in his mouth, sucking and biting gently, his hand mauling the other as if he couldn't get enough.

Y/n's nails scored down his back, her breath coming in panting gasps as he worked her into a frenzy. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck, and she felt her core clench with anticipation. The friction between her thighs grew unbearable, and she reached down to untie his sweatpants, freeing his hard cock.

A sight that never failed to take her breath away. Long, thick, and pulsing with need. She wrapped her hands around him, feeling his size in her palms, and he groaned into her ear. “Fuck. Always forget how small your hands are. Having to use both.” His hips jerked. “S’small. All for me. All mine”

Y/n smirked, stroking him gently from base to tip. She felt his breath hitch, and his grip on her breasts tightened. The pressure was exquisite, a delicious ache that made her wetter. “Want me to put it in my mouth?” She asked, voice low and teasing.

“N-No. Not tonight. I want you to feel me here.” He stutters on his words as she continues stroking him. He presses against her stomach to show where he's going to fuck up inside her.

He kissed her again, deep and hungry, before moving her onto her back and sliding her shorts off. He kisses her stomach and thighs, working his way down to her panties. He hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls them down, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She's already soaking wet, and the sweet smell of her arousal fills the room.

With a wicked smile, Luke hoists one of Y/n's legs up onto his shoulder, giving him the perfect angle to look at her glistening pussy. He spits directly onto her clit, watching as the saliva runs down her slit. Her eyes widen, and she gasps at the sudden wetness and the feel of his saliva on her most sensitive spot. He takes his time, savoring the moment, before he rubs the wad of spit the blunt head of his cock.

Her body trembles with anticipation as he lines himself up with her entrance, the saliva mixing with her slick, acting as a lubricant for what's to come. He nudges her opening with the tip of his dick, spreading her lips apart as he pushes in. Y/n's eyes roll back in her head as she feels the pressure build, her walls stretching to accommodate his large size.

He groans with satisfaction as he sinks in deeper, the wetness from her arousal mixing with his saliva, creating a sloppy, needy sound with each thrust.

“Fuck, you feel..” He zones out, moans taking over his words.

Y/n's nails dig into the couch as he starts to thrust, filling her with each stroke. The sensation of his spit mixing with her wetness and the feel of his cock stretching her out is almost too much to handle. She’s so wet that his movements are slick, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room.

With a growl, Luke takes her hand and presses it firmly against her lower abdomen. She feels the pressure build with every thrust, his cock pushing into her deep, and she knows he's enjoying the way her stomach bulges with his size. "Who fills you up like this?" he asks, his voice a gruff whisper in the dark.

Y/n can only whimper in response, and the sensation is too intense for words. The feeling of his cock stretching her, combined with the pressure from her hand, sends waves of pleasure through Y/n’s body. She clenches around him, her pussy tightening, and he groans out.

“No one else.” She manages in broken words.

“Damn right,” Luke grumbles.

He grabs hold of her face and makes her look at him. He squeezes her jaw, signaling her to open her mouth, and she does. “This pussy, this heart, this..” He pauses by dropping a wad of spit into her mouth. “All belong to me. Now and forever.”

The salty liquid pools in her mouth, and she swallows it down, the act sending a shock of arousal through her. She nods, eyes wide with need.

"Mm, that's right," Luke murmurs, his hips moving faster. "You love this, don't you? Being filled with me, being claimed by me."

Y/n nods, unable to form coherent words, as she feels the orgasm building. The realization of him sharing his kinks, the pressure from his cock, and the newfound dominance in his voice are too much for her. Her body starts to spasm, her muscles tightening around him, and she comes hard, her juices mixing around his dick.

The sensation is intense, and Luke feels her pussy squeezing him tightly as she cums. It's a feeling that sends him over the edge, and with a loud moan of her name, he empties himself into her, his cock pulsing as he fills her.

#cay chats✿#cay writes #: ̗̀➛meg✨#luke hughes smut #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x yn #lh43 #lh43 x reader #lh43 smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEG!!!!

245 notes · View notes

tsukii0002 · 4 months ago

Text

That Mc and Lucifer did What?

Mc has returned to the human world, everyone's spirits are down, Devildom is duller, sadder and this is directly reflected in the student council. Especially for the seven demons who shared housing with Mc for a year. What no one knows is what happened the last night Mc was in the Devildom.

Extension: 2k words

Warning: Possible grammatical and spelling errors. This is a fic with comic and fluff overtones, not romantic or explicit content as such.

It had been a couple of weeks since the exchange program ended and Mc and the other exchange students returned to their respective realms. And oddly enough, most students had noticed, especially since the student body wasn't the same since the little human left. Mammon no longer looks for business to cash out, Asmo wasn't partying or even uploading photos!!! Satan remains eerily quiet always with a dull look on his face…. Even the prince seemed less lively.

But undoubtedly those who had noticed Mc's absence the most were the seven brothers. The person who had made the House of Lamentations a home, a warm place full of laughter and activity, had left and the six youngest ones seemed like souls in pain. What no one expected was that the eldest of the brothers, Lucifer, also missed the human terribly, their signs of affection, their laughter and their courage to scold him, Lucifer himself.

Throughout that year he had become deeply attached to the human and had wished to become intimate in their relationship to the point of making a pact with them. The last night Mc and Lucifer had made a pact, they had formed a bond that united them beyond the physical, just as his brothers, he had taken the small and “weak” human as his master. Although of course, he would never admit that, and he was not willing to tell it to the world. No one, not even Diavolo, knew that the two had a pact.

That morning, as was becoming customary, the six demons were lying at the student council table, depleted of energy. Lucifer sighed at the attitude of his brothers, but he could not blame them. Diavolo entered, waving, accompanied by Barbatos as usual, however, a second person was following them that morning.

Asmo: Solomon? What are you doing here??

Solomon: I am glad to see you.

Lucifer was looking at the documents distractedly, Solomon was not of special interest to him and he was not going to try to hide it. Diavolo and Barbatos took their respective places and everyone joined in, because, if Solomon was there, was there any chance of seeing Mc soon?

Diavolo: Solomon has come to deliver a list of the new pacts that the Sorcerer's society has made with some demon in the last year.

Satan: Is there a record of that?

Solomon: Yes, at least from the society, we have to keep a record so things don't get out of control.

Diavolo: We can also check if any demons have gone to the human world without permission.

Levi: Lol, nothing escapes the prince of hell.

Asmo: *glancing at Solomon's list* Doesn't that mean we should be on this list too?

Lucifer looked up at his brother's words, frowning, it was true that in recent times records were made of the pacts demons made with humans, but Diavolo had never asked any of his brothers. Mammon joined Asmo, followed by a curious Satan.

Mammon: Ha, there is no pact as incredible as the one of the great Mammon and Mc.

Satan: Don't talk like you're the only one.

Belphie: *joining his brothers* That's right, Mc has a pact with six of us.

Solomon: Ha, ha I still don't quite believe that a human like Mc has accomplished such a feat.

Lucifer could notice a trace of envy in the annoyed sorcerer's words, and a proud smile came across his face.

Beel: So, should we register our pacts as well?

Diavolo: Mmm, I hadn't thought of that, I think the simple fact that six of the lords of hell have made a pact is enough of a record.

Barbatos: I agree.

Solomon laughed, though he clearly looked pissed, Lucifer held back a chuckle.

Belphie: What do you have to do to make a record?

Diavolo: Well it's an official document, so it has several formalities like the terms of the contract.

Solomon: And the reasons why the demon has agreed to make the pact.

Levi: Only the demon? What about the human?

Solomon: Well the price to be paid by the human is usually recorded, but the reasons for making the pact of the demons are more taken into account, since they are the one who is left in a more burnerable position.

Diavolo: Exactly, usually the demons make a pact for power, because they will receive an extraordinary compensation or sometimes, in an extraordinary way, *looking at the brothers* because said human has something that impresses the demon significantly.

Solomon: Like Barbatos with me.

Barbatos: Fu, fu, I guess, although most of your pacts are either for the purpose of gaining power or to get a piece of your soul.

The brothers looked at each other, it was clear why they had made a pact or at least was clear now, sometimes they wondered if someone else had taken Mc's place, would they have done the same?

Satan: And what do you do with the registry?

Solomon: Basically you classify the pacts, depending on the power involved.

Levi: Power? As the characters of a video game?

Solomon: Yes, it depends on the power of the human and the demon, a human with little magical power, even if he has a pact with a moderately powerful demon, will not be very high in the ranking.

Satan: So the ranking depends on the combination… interesting.

Solomon: That's it, although it also depends on the demon, if they are important demons, the ranking would go up.

Diavolo: For example, your pacts would be at the top, just because you are you.

Mammon: Ha, no one could surpass us.

Asmo: As expected *happy*

Solomon: Ha, ha, ha, exactly because if we were talking about power, your pacts would be at the bottom, since Mc has no magic power.

The brothers looked at Solomon sharply, the sorcerer raised his hands in innocence, laughing. Diavolo looked pleased, took the list and glanced at it.

Diavolo: Thank you for taking the trouble to bring them here, Solomon.

Solomon: No problem.

Diavolo: No doubt Mc has surpassed everything imaginable, they are a human full of surprises, they will go down in history for that, but it is true that they are not a powerful sorcerer, it would not make sense to keep a record to monitor the use of their pacts.

Mammon and Asmo, looked at each other annoyed, no one messed with their human, the others looked at them sideways, complicit. Satan took a couple of blank sheets of paper, Belphie and Beel sat next to him, while he started to write and Levi began to speak.

Levi: Well we begin the record of the pacts of Mc the human!!, the one and only incredible human who has achieved the feat of forging pacts with the lords of hell.

Diavolo laughed loudly, clearly delighted with the situation, Solomon and Barbatos too, they were fascinated by the affection those demons had for the Mc, and how they defended them from any kind of attack, harmless or not, as long as they interpreted it as a threat or disrespect to Mc, the brothers would strike back.

Satan: Uniting their soul in a firm and lasting bond to the soul of the demon due to the virtues that have attracted said demon, starting with...

Copying the whole formal part of one of the records the brothers began to enunciate their reasons for making a pact with Mc.

Mammon: The great Mammon the Avatar of Greed!!! Their first, by the cunning and serenity of knowing how to use the weaknesses of their enemies.

Levi: Uooh! *motivated* followed by Leviathan Avatar of Envy, for the bravery to face any battle even if they have to lose, and the pure heart to be friends with their enemies.

The six brothers seemed suddenly animated, Diavolo approached them, enjoying it too much, Solomon also sat nearby, he knew that many epic stories had emerged that way, magnifying an event that had been much simpler.

Beel: I'm next, Beelzebuh Avatar of Gluttony, *grinning like a puppy* for their strength and conviction to protect the people they love.

Okay, that was heartwarming, everyone felt their heart skip a beat.

Asmo: Me, me!!, Asmodeus Avatar of Lust, for their hidden power and determination to get what they want.

Satan: Followed by Satan Avatar of Warth *smile*, for their wisdom and cunning when facing problems and difficulties, and their ability to seek solutions to any problem

Lucifer smiled, they were blowing things way out of proportion, making great epics out of situations that had been simple, even comical in some cases. He had stopped reading documents long ago, though he kept looking at the papers, all his attention was on his siblings.

Belphie: And finally, Belphegor Avatar of Sloth, for their steadfastness to follow what their heart dictates and the kindness to forgive all those who hurt them.

Everyone fell silent. Somehow, almost everyone present had threatened or even tried to murder Mc, they had undervalued them, they had thought their opinion or whatever they thought weighed less, Diavolo looked at the paper, even he had not taken them seriously for being an ordinary human, Solomon put his hand to his chin.

Barbatos: I think it's a lovely record, full of everyone's feelings.

Solomon: No doubt, no one could have come up with something like it.

Lucifer looked at the words of the documents, Mc had achieved much more than making pacts with his brothers, they had done much more than achieve something that not even the most powerful sorcerer had achieved. Mc had healed his family, they had fixed what they in millennia had not dared to fix, they had accepted each of them with their wounds and their bad things, which were not few, and they had loved them unconditionally. He knew it, they owed Mc much, he much more. He smiled, he could write and write everything he felt for Mc, everything he admired about them, everything they had meant in his life, but it wasn't necessary.

Lucifer: And do not forget, Lucifer Avatar of Pride, for repairing and uniting what no one could.

Absolute silence.

WHAAAAAAAAAAT????!!!!!!

Lucifer covered his ears, suddenly everyone had swarmed to his side, firing all sorts of questions at him. His brothers looked upset, even offended, on the other hand Diavolo was smiling from ear to ear, although there was a slight hint of jealousy in his eyes, and Barbatos was watching the scene genuinely surprised. The funniest thing of all was to see Solomon with his mouth open, and that indescribable expression. Mc had done it, they had done what no wizard, witch or human of any kind had ever accomplished, they had made a pact with Lucifer Morningstar, and not only that, they had completed the task of making a pact with the seven brothers, the seven lords of hell.

Mammon: What do you mean Lucifer? ????!

Levi: Are you an idiot, Mammon? Well you are... not fair Lucifer...

Asmo: Kyaaaa how??!! How did you form a pact??

Beel: He, he, so Lucifer too.

Belphie: When?! I'm sure Mc would have told us!

Satan: And why did you keep it so hidden??

Solomon still hadn't recovered, he put a hand to his head with a half smile, Diavolo was next to him with a similar expression.

Diavolo: I never thought this day would come.

Lucifer felt his chest swell with pride, he really felt his sin in all its splendor. Despite this he tried to look disinterested, returning to his documents.

Lucifer: Well it was the last night.

Belphie: That's why Mc didn't come back??! Because they were making a pact with you???!

Lucifer: Oh *grinning mischievously* we did a lot more than just that.

All: !!!

While all the brothers, Diavolo and Solomon included, began to make a fuss, looking for answers, Lucifer laughed with pleasure, no doubt if there was some kind of competition to measure the pacts with Mc, he had won it. Barbatos, recovered from the surprise, laughed too, it was not unusual to see the brothers so upset but it was certainly gratifying to see the sorcerer like that. A beep made him look at his cell phone, he had sent a message to a certain Lucifer obsessed archangel.

“That Mc and Lucifer did what?”

It's one of the scenarios I've given the most thought to since I played the first and second seasons four years ago. How everyone found out about Mc and Lucifer's pact. Honestly I have many different situations for this scenario, but this one has been chosen to share with you😂😂😂😂. In the future I might write the other scenarios, going for more spicy content or more angs, etc. Who knows.

Still I hope that if you have made it this far you have enjoyed it, thanks for reading. 🩷

359 notes · View notes

everlastingauthor · 2 months ago

Text

When You Cook With Them

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Please do not re-upload my work or feed it to AI, if you wish to translate my work and upload please get my permission first and credit me that's all I ask for, please remember to stay hydrated, take your vitamins and medicine, and remember you are loved. I'm basing this based on headcanons from the fandom, like Mihawk being Romania or Crocodile being Italian.

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are cooking or baking with them! 🍳🍥🍝🍴

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧: Yes

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, established relationship, Cooking, Baking, Fun In The Kitchen, Different dishes, & Cute Moments

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Dracule Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Shanks, & Smoker

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: Click Here | ﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒ 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬: Click Here

Usually, Mihawk cooked dinner by himself while Zoro trained, Perona made adorable dolls, and you did whatever you could to keep yourself busy. But this time, you wanted to cook with Mihawk to assist your stoic swordsman in the kitchen; Mihawk agreed to let you help him in the kitchen as long as you followed his directions and the recipe. " Those who can't follow simple instructions, especially the recipe, don't deserve to have a tasteful meal. " He would say. Mihawk washed his hands with you and helped secure your apron he told you that you both would be making. Sarmale (Cabbage Rolls), Mititei, & Balmos. Mihawk grabbed a book from the kitchen shelf where he kept all his recipe books. He had all kinds of books from The Secret Of Spices, The All Blue Cooking, Southern Style, & Ancient Desserts. Mihawk and you began cooking. He would watch you from time to time and assist you if he saw that you were about to mess something up.

He wouldn't yell or berate you but he would have a firm and gentle tone. " Be careful, dear, or else the cabbage will be too spicy, and we wouldn't want you coughing up a storm. I'm sure Zoro will appreciate the spice of the meal, but my only concern is making sure you enjoy what we cook together. " Mihawk would stand behind you and help you chop a few things gently guiding your hand with the knife. Before returning to his own task. Seeing Mihawk cook was like watching a talented artist or someone focused on studying. Mihawk was no stranger to the kitchen, and he was showing you just that, but you could see he was also enjoying himself that cooking was kinda like a hobby to him, a break away from the blade.

When you and Mihawk finished, you watched as he placed the food on the plate making sure that the dish looked presentable. Seeing how Mihawk planted the food made you think that if he had never become a warlord, he could have opened up his own restaurant. Mihawk had you go get Zoro and Perona to tell them that dinner was ready. So you left off to go call the swordsman and the ghost princess. All four of you were seated at the table eating; Mihawk sipped on his wine, watching as Zoro filled his mouth, probably hungry from training. Perona, like always, tried eating with grace. After dinner, you and Mihawk did the dishes together, he washed, and you dried. " I had fun cooking with you today, let's do this some more. " Mihawk said, without looking at you. You smiled and nodded your head as you and he continued to do the dishes in silence.

" Burrata Pizza Sandwiches? " You looked at Crocodile. The both of you were standing in the kitchen as you yawned, rubbing your eyes. " Yeah, you'll love and it will fill us both up. " Crocodile walked around grabbing what you guys needed to make burrata pizza sandwiches with. It was nighttime, and you woke up hungry; you noticed Crocodile wasn't in bed, so you went searching for him. He was in his office reading important documents when he saw you and asked what you were doing up. You told him you were hungry, which made his stomach growl; he had missed dinner, so here you two were now, and he was going to teach you how to make these delicious sandwiches. " I used to get these when I went on walks, I also know a family recipe. " Crocodile had you chop a few things while he did his own task. Crocodile wasn't much of a cook. And neither were you.

Crocodile usually had the cooks prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner for him. But the cooks always left after dinner time and Crocodile shooed away the cook that tried to bring him dinner earlier. You, on the other hand, ate dinner, but sometimes, once in a while, you crave a midnight snack. Crocodile talked about Italian cuisine with you, telling you that it was something that should be cooked with love and respect and that you should take time to appreciate Italian cuisine. You listened to his words and continued to help him.

" Hey! Don't add too much black pepper! " Crocodile yelled, rushing over. You were already sneezing. Crocodile rolled his eyes and pulled you away from the food while he finished up the last of the work. Once the sandwiches were done you and Crocodile sat on the couch eating them as his pug named Gator sat in between the two of you. " How is it? " Crocodile asked. " Delicious! " You told him while taking more bites. Crocodile smirked as he wrapped his arm around you and rubbed your arm. " That's what I like to hear, maybe we should do this more often if we both happen to be awake during the middle of the night. " Crocodile took a bite of his sandwich. And this indeed did happen more often.

When you told Buggy you were hungry and craving a burger you sealed your fate. " One Buggy Belly Busting Burger coming up! " Buggy told you as he grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen. " But I'll need a special helper. " Buggy fitted an apron on you. He ran around gathering ingredients like beef, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, different types of cheese, pickles, potatoes, and hot peppers. All these things for the burgers made you aware of why Buggy called them belly-busting; Buggy hummed a tune as you both chopped up tomatoes, onions, and lettuce. Buggy started cooking the meat while you went on to cut the potatoes for fries. " Make sure not to make them too small or too big. " Buggy said. As he went to see if the buns were soft and not hard, Buggy grabbed the fluffy buns and gave a light press. " These buns are soft, kinda like yours~ " Buggy winked at you.

You blushed and quickly turned around as Buggy roared with laughter. And kissed your cheek, his hands resting on your shoulders. " I like seeing you all flustered sweet cheeks~ " Buggy kissed you on the cheek twice. Buggy pulled away as he got the oil ready for the fries, he wanted you to put the fries in because he was scared of the oil popping him. Despite being a pirate captain, sometimes your boyfriend was a scaredy cat.

When the fries were done and seasoned, Buggy began assembling the burgers and putting the fries on the plate. Once he finished, you two sat down to eat. You knew the burger was going to be big, but you didn't expect them to be this big; also, when the hell did he add bacon to the burger!? You ended up using a knife and fork to cut it in half while Buggy wolfed down his burger. After the two of you finished, Buggy lay in your lap while rubbing his stomach. " If I fall into a food coma, kiss me awake. " Buggy closed his eyes. You rolled your eyes and eventually fell asleep, too, due to the large meal.

You had a sweet tooth and wanted to try something sweet, so you asked Shanks if he wanted to bake something with; he gave a wide grin as he was watching the sunset and turned around, to look at his beautiful partner. " Baking? Someone's got a sweet tooth, sure let's go bake something delicious. " Shanks stood up, walking with you to the kitchen. He decided that you two would be making Irish Cream Poke Cake. Shanks talked to you about the ingredients and how he used to eat for breakfast when he needed something sweet and energetic for breakfast. You and Shanks cleaned yourself up and got to cooking, both of you even deciding to make enough for the crew to enjoy. You weren't much of a baker, but Shanks seemed to know his way around the kitchen.

He let you help him make two cups of heavy cream and put three cups of instant espresso powder into a bowl. " These will cure your sweet tooth, maybe even keep you up. " Shanks grinned pulling you close as he kissed you. Before pulling away, it was beautiful to watch Shanks bake to see how he looked peaceful and focused, wanting the sweet treats to be perfect.

Everything was close to being prepared, Shanks had you pour the pudding mixture on top of the cake. " Make sure each hole gets filled~ " Shanks rested his chin on your shoulder giving a lewd grin. You rolled your eyes and finished. After a bit, the delicious treats were finished, and you and Shanks brought the large tray out to share with the crew, who also enjoyed it as well thanking both you and Shanks. " Sweet and delicious, just like you~ " Shanks winked at you, holding you close as you continued to eat the Irish poke cake while cuddling your boyfriend.

You and Smoker were on vacation; it had been a while since the two of you had taken a vacation. But the only thing is that you both didn't know what to do. You tried reading while Smoker worked out. He even asked you to sit on his weight while you read; later on, the two of you did some cleaning around your shared home and took a nap together, afterward, you both went on a walk to do some shopping. " Do you want Angel Food Cake, when we get back to the house? " Smoker asked while getting some fresh strawberries. " We could make it together. " Smoker said while paying for it. Smoker purchased a couple of other ingredients, but it wasn't much since you both had a Marines discount when it came to buying food, clothes, or even daily essentials. You and Smoker made your way back to the house to get started on baking.

The smoker made the white sugar while you prepared the egg whites; thankfully, he wasn't smoking in the kitchen; for once, he set aside his cigarettes and focused on preparing angel food cake with you; this was better than sitting around bored. " Don't drink that you idiot! " Smoker yelled seeing you trying to sip on the vanilla extract. Smoker ended up keeping the vanilla and almond extract with him, he had you sift together the flour, sugar, and salt five times.

Smoker already had the oven set at 325 degrees and you both let the yummy dessert bake until it was golden brown and let it cool. Smoker carefully garnished it with strawberries, you haven't seen him this focused unless he was hunting down a criminal pirate. After it was finished you and Smoker sat down eating the delicious treat. " Let's make Texas sheet cake next time. " Smoker said, before taking another bite. You smiled and agreed, it was fun cooking with your partner.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ One Piece Taglist: @asura0nepiece @anonymousewrites

Comment to be added to the taglist for every character or even certain characters! 🌹🕊

238 notes · View notes

alsofoundinpeas · 7 months ago

Text

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost.

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t.

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted?

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.”

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to.

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile.

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben.

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel.

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest.

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make.

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence.

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person.

Was.

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds.

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist.

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances.

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break.

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life.

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt.

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer.

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength.

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force.

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death.

After a year and one day, he was gone.

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free.

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years.

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers.

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips?

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?”

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go.

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone.

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went.

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up.

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.”

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often.

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.”

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again.

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.”

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds.

“Et tu, Y/N?”

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny.

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.”

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her.

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?”

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind.

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him?

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain.

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire.

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women.

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta.

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one.

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea.

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval.

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers.

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed.

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight.

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her.

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room.

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.”

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband.

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.”

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he?

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it.

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered.

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack.

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.”

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true.

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia.

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly.

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.”

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words.

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life.

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!”

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard.

“I— uh. Um...”

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again.

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.”

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.”

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more.

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here.

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him.

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her.

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth.

She was so tight. So wet. So warm.

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was.

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own.

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.”

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care.

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes.

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her.

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself.

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence.

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now.

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear.

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well…

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him.

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes.

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs.

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife.

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit?

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man.

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t.

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s.

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff.

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped.

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there.

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!”

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening.

“Get out of my fucking house.”

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!”

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses.

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

That’s his girl.

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face.

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.”

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could.

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch.

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death.

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up.

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?”

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room.

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.”

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf.

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.”

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them.

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her.

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her. Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg smut #virgin!Spencer reid #virgin!reader x virgin!Spencer reid

367 notes · View notes

duskvsdawn · 3 months ago

Note

Hello if ur still doing requests can i request prompt 26 with Claude or Kaelix. Either is fine. I’ve been enjoying your fics a lot! Hope you’re having a good day/evening/week/month etc. 😊

≫ A/N: Haiiii! ofcourse you can! Tell you what, I'll do this one for both of them! I hope you enjoy! ❤ wow, this turned out way longer than I inteded but I guess I was really feeling it!

CW: reader is female, reader is a camgirl, both the boys spoil you with lavish gifts, reader falls in love with the boys as much as they love her (i know this is super cliché but it's adorable, let me indulge ok T_T) reader will eventually meet up with them and give them a "special treatment" ;)

Art credits Claude. Art credits Kaelix.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

If you like my works, please like, comment and reblog! It is much appreciated ❤ And if you really enjoyed it, please follow me so you can be kept up to date on future uploads! Please do not re-upload, translate, or use for AI training.

My favorite camgirl

Kaelix

Kaelix was tuning into your stream again, like he religiously did. He would always spoil you with so many donations that his wallet would be crying by the end of the night. You had a special treat planned for him today. You were wearing an ocher coloured lingerie set, and when he saw that, his heart hammered in his chest. He had to spoil you extra for that, of course.

"Oh my god, Kaelix, honey! Thank you so much for the 100-dollar dono! You've been throwing money left and right tonight, be sure to keep some for yourself, alright?" you said as you blew a kiss towards the camera. You wanted to spoil him just a tiny bit more to show the chatters just how much you loved his attention, so when you came after getting yourself off with your favourite dildo, you moaned his name. If Kaelix wasn't flustered before, he surely was now. Seeing you cum made his own masturbating session that much more intense, and shortly after you did, he came as well. He was jerking off to you every time you were streaming, but tonight it felt that much more special in a way.

You decided that you had to give your favourite chatter some extra love, so you said: "Hey Kaelix, if you're still here, shoot me a DM. You have my permission," you said with a wink. Kaelix immediately slid into your dm's asking you why he was allowed to message you in the first place. "Because I wanted to exchange numbers so we can talk outside of streaming hours as well. You've been so incredibly generous that I think you deserve this as a reward," you said. The two of you talked over text when you weren't streaming for about 2 weeks, when you made him a proposition he couldn't refuse. He was offered to be on stream with you, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted to you.

The day came when he was coming to visit you, and he was so incredibly nervous. He dressed up nicely, put on his best cologne and even bought you flowers. Was this incredibly stupid? Yes. Was he so madly in love that he was hoping he could win you over so the two of you would become a thing? Also yes. He knew his chances were super slim; he wasn't that stupid, but he was still willing to try. With a deep inhale and exhale of breath, he knocked on your door, exactly on time.

You opened the door and clasped your hands in front of your mouth in surprise. He was looking so handsome in that outfit, and the flowers were incredibly beautiful! You knew he was trying his best to win you over, and it was working. You took the flowers from him, gave him a long hug and a kiss and happily skipped towards the kitchen to get a vase for these beautiful flowers. Only when you told him he could make himself at home did he relax and sit down on your couch. You came back to him after a little while, vase in hand, to put it on the coffee table in front of him. You were giddy and giggly, and slowly but surely falling more in love with the man who would move the entire world for you.

It was kind of awkward for a little bit; it felt like a first date. Which was kind of weird, considering all the lewd messages and things you had done over the phone already. He didn't know why he felt so nervous when you had already exchanged messages like that, but he eased up a bit when you took one of his arms in yours as you put your head on his shoulder, and you nuzzled it. "You smell so nice, and you look so handsome. I knew you liked me, but I had no idea you were this down bad," you joked, but honestly, you were incredibly flattered. Yeah, being a camgirl gave you lots of admirers, but Kaelix seemed to be different from all the other guys who just wanted you to do as many filthy things as possible while they beat their meat to you. He was genuinely trying to steal your heart, and so far, he had all the points he could earn; he was far ahead of the other competition that he had.

"I uh... Thank you. I know you hear this a million times a night and it sounds super cheesy, but... I really, really like you. And uhm... My heart is beating a million times a minute, and I have no idea how to even approach this offer you proposed," the bouncer sheepishly said as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had such a bravado over text, but seeing you face to face, he felt so small and vulnerable. "Well," you said, "how about we just casually talk and cuddle for a bit? If you want to, of course. It's a few hours left until the stream, and it will be nice to spend some time together before then," you suggested. Kaelix told you it was a good idea, and immediately struck up a conversation about what you two would be doing tonight. The two of you discussed boundaries, wishes and a safe word. He wasn't planning on going that far, but he still wanted to give you a good time tonight.

The evening came, and you greeted your chatters. "Hello everyone, I have a very special guest tonight! You might know him because he's basically always watching me. And because he's been so generous with his donations, I wanted him to have a special treat." You told the chatters with a wink, and Kaelix meekly waved at the camera and said a soft "hey..." You were practically naked already, wearing that special yellow colored lingerie set just for him, but you knew Kaelix was feeling on edge, so you just decided to sit on his lap for now and make out with him. The thoughts of all you would be doing later got you so aroused that you left a wet splotch on his pants through those thin panties of yours.

💬: oh my god what a lucky bastard! 💬: fr i envy him so much look at how wet she is for him 💬: guys, we lost, we're never gonna win if he's the one on stream 💬: it should be me she's fucking. i'm out, bye. Kaelix tried his best to ignore the messages in chat that were calling him names and boost his ego with the ones that said that they envied him. It gave him a bit more courage to gently grab your hips and start moving them forwards and backwards so you could grind on his leg. You whimpered into his neck, somehow feeling incredibly embarrassed now that you were on stream with the guy you liked so much. Even though you always did the most wanton things on stream when you were on your own, you felt much more exposed with him there. He noticed you were feeling tense, and he decided to give you a passionate French kiss to ease your mind a bit.

After the two of you made out for a bit, you helped him undress and asked him what he wanted to do first. Kaelix steeled his nerves and said with as much confidence as he could, even though he was shaking like a leaf: "Ride me, reader."

So you did just that, moaning his name like a whore the entire time. His grip on your hips was so firm, and his head was buried into your neck as he desperately whimpered your name in return. But at the same time, you could feel so much love put into every move of his hips, since this was something he had been craving for so long, and he finally got it. When you managed to keep your eyes open for a bit and you looked into his eyes, you could practically see hearts in them, and he could see the adoration in yours as well.

💬: inb4 porn with plot soon 💬: whaha what a pathetic idiot he's so in love with her 💬: you will never win her over, you know. stop trying 💬: he looks like a lovesick puppy what a fucking moron ahahaha 💬: idk guys, i think she really likes him actually 💬: shit you might be right, look at the way she's holding him! 💬: damn she's riding him like a whore, she must really like him

"Fuck, I'm close baby..." the bouncer sensually whispered into your ear as his grip on your hips tightened while he licked the shell of your ear. "Ahn... Me too, fuck. Cum inside... Please..." you whimpered into his shoulder as your hold onto his back tightened. The coil was so close to snapping, and when he bit into your neck, your orgasm washed over you as you loudly moaned his name. He groaned yours as he emptied himself inside of you. He felt so loved, so thankful that you had invited him over, since this had been something he had dreamed of for a long time. Chat was going absolutely mad, and the chatters were a mix between jealous and mad that he was the one you chose.

💬: guys i think that's the loudest i've ever heard her moan 💬: damn i came so hard when she came 💬: look at this dude, absolutely spent already.

But unbeknownst to chat, he wasn't really that spent. In fact, turns out he had stamina for days. The two of you had fucked for the remainder of the stream, using all different kinds of positions and toys. He fucked you so hard and so good that you were a whimpering and crying mess by the end of it. You couldn't remember the last time you had been dicked down this good, it made you absolutely delirious.

The two of you would soon officially get together, and chat HATED it. You lost viewers now that you were taken, but you didn't care much. He would occasionally appear on stream with you, and for some reason, that brought in more viewers than you would usually get. Over time, the anger that chat felt seemed to dissipate, and they were less uptight about the two of you dating, and the number of views and donations would slowly rise again to the level you were at before. You had no idea why people were returning, or maybe it was new viewers, but you weren't complaining. He would still spoil you, but he could do it in person now. He felt like the happiest guy on the planet with you by his side.

Claude

Claude was a bit shyer than Kaelix was when it came to talking to you when you were streaming. He would be using one of those throwaway names so people wouldn't know it was him. But even though his name was a cryptic one, you would still thank him from the bottom of your heart every time he would make a donation.

"Ahw, thank you. ilovethisgirlsomuch for the dono! Thank you so much! I've been seeing you in my streams a lot lately! Are you enjoying yourself, love?" you asked him, batting your eyelashes as cutely as possible. He replied that he really enjoyed seeing you stream and that you were so pretty. He thought it had gone unnoticed by you, but it definitely didn't; you just decided to not put him on the spot more since you knew he was a little shy. Later on in the stream, you had a question for the chat.

"So, guys, I was thinking... Should I open a P.O. box? That way, you can send me stuff you want me to use in future sessions! If you want, you can attach a note to them saying your username so I can thank you properly when I open them. What do you think?" you asked chat, and they reacted very enthusiastically. Several of the chatters had already said what they wanted to send you, and you replied to them, saying you would be honoured to receive such gifts.

P.O. box day came, and you were opening the massive haul of boxes that you got to your home with some effort. In between them was a relatively small box compared to all the others, so you wondered what was in it. You opened up the box and read the note that was in it. It said:

"Hey reader, this is ilovethisgirlsomuch. But the personal information in this note is for your eyes only, so please don't share it with chat. I put something in the box that I think would look super pretty on you. I know you really wanted this one, so here you go! Seeing you in it would really make my day. PS: I also attached a toy for you in a matching color, I hope you like it :$ it's uh... it's my own size... PPS: My real name is Claude, but please never tell anyone, okay?"

You looked at the contents in the box, and it was a beautiful lavender lingerie set. It was super lacy and silky smooth and had some cute ribbons on the hips. You had seen this set before, and you were thinking of getting it, but it was super expensive. You had shown a picture of it to your chat, and several had said they would happily buy it for you. But looks like he actually did, and you were getting a little flustered. This is the most expensive gift you have ever gotten, and you felt so honoured. There was also a purple dildo in the box, which perfectly matched the lavish lingerie set. You had decided that this was the best gift that was between all the other boxes, so you would be using this on tonight's stream.

"Heeeeey guys! So, as you all know, I went to pick up the packages at the P.O. box today. And there was a special gift in there. Like... A really expensive gift," you said, and then uncovered the camera.

"Do you guys remember this set I've been gushing about? Well, someone bought it for me! Isn't it incredibly pretty? They wanted to stay anonymous, and that's obviously totally okay! There was something else in there. I wanna use it on tonight's stream, but good god it's so big, I think it will snap me in half... But just thinking about having something so big inside of me makes me drool," you said with a blush covering your cheeks as you showed the dildo to chat.

💬: holy shit that's indeed super big 💬: damn i will totally nut seeing that split you apart 💬: there is no way that will fit inside of you, babygirl 💬: damn someone really wanted to see you suffer or moan like a whore, either of those two

And then you saw a message from the one and only person who sent you this very gift. He didn't want to reveal himself, so he tried to play it cool. You did notice, however, that he had changed his name and message colour. If anyone were willing to play detective, they would pick up on this subtle hint for sure. 💬ilovethisgirlsomuch: Oh my god, looks like someone actually bought you that set, huh? You look absolutely stunning, reader.

You went on with tonight's stream, playing with the dildo in all sorts of ways the entire night. When you came while you used it inside of you, you squirted all over your bed. Chat was used to seeing you do that by now, but Claude was slightly amused by the fact that you were struggling to walk straight to your pc after that intense masturbation session. You were wrapping up tonight's stream, kissed the chat goodnight and went offline. But you didn't get off your pc just yet. You sent your not-so-secret admirer a message first. A message with your address, your phone number, a purple heart and the text "message me anytime you like ;) and maybe come over soon?"

The two of you talked over the phone a lot since then, often engaging in phone sex as well. His voice was incredibly attractive to you, and when he finally showed you a picture of himself, you were gushing even more. His eyes were a stunning mix of magenta and aquamarine, and his hair was an opal kind of colour with beautiful lilac tips at the end. After some gentle nudging from your side, he finally showed you a dickpic. And he wasn't lying. He really was that big. You immediately called him after that and told him you really wanted to see it in person soon.

So the two of you met up at a mall near your house. "Today, everything is on me. You want it? I'll buy it. Please, let me spoil you." Claude said, and the first shop the two of you went to was an expensive lingerie store. The two of you picked out a few sets you thought would look ridiculously pretty on you. While you were in the fitting room, he sneaked in, hugged you from behind and left a searing kiss on your shoulder. "Shit... You look absolutely incredible in this set. Can't wait to rip it off of you." Claude whispered the last part, and it made you a blushy mess. The two of you went to the cash register, and when the saleswoman said the total price, a gasp of horror left your mouth. There was no way he would be paying for all of that, right? But Claude didn't seem deterred in the slightest. He whipped out his card and paid. The woman packed everything into a bag for you, and the two of you left. You went to get some ice cream next. While you were enjoying your caramel ice cream, you said:

"You know, you really didn't have to buy me all that... But I am incredibly thankful. Seriously, why are you being so generous with me?" you asked meekly as you entangled your hand in his as the two of you walked out of the mall. "Reader, I refuse to believe you're this dense. I am madly in love with you. I would buy you anything you would ever want. No matter if I have to live on water and dry bread for the rest of the month. I will do it in a heartbeat," the cleric replied casually, and you stopped walking. Claude stopped after you did, tilting his head and wondering why you suddenly stood still. You went to stand right in front of him, got on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss. "Truly... Thank you... Will you come home with me tonight?" you whispered timidly, and Claude happily accepted your offer.

The two of you went over to your house, and you told Claude to wait on your bed for you. You disappeared into your walk-in closet and came out wearing that very lavender set. You sauntered over to him and sat down on his lap. "I wanted you to see it in person. I thought you would like that even more. Don't worry, all the other sets are for your eyes only, and I will model them for you anytime you'd like." you whispered into his glowing ear, and his hands were instantly on your boobs, gently cupping them and squeezing them. "You look absolutely stunning in this set, reader. Just so beautiful..." Claude said as his mouth found your neck to suck and nibble on it. You moaned as you put your arms around him and hugged him close. You guided his face towards your breasts, and he instantly put his face between them, leaving some kisses there.

You went on to undress him, but you kept the entire set on because it was an expensive gift, and you wanted him to enjoy it to the fullest. You started by giving him a boob job with your bra still on, and the cleric was enjoying it so incredibly much. The entire time, he was a moany, whimpery mess, and you thought that was incredibly cute. You really struggled to properly jerk him off using your boobs since he was so incredibly big, but you were trying your best. You used your mouth on him as well, keeping it wrapped around him when he came so you could savour every drop of cum he had to give you.

You weren't done, however. You softly pushed him onto his back while he was still catching his breath, moving your hand down his chest and to his dick to jerk him off to get him hard again. He was feeling slightly overstimulated, but seeing your hands being so tiny compared to his cock as you tried to stroke him to hardness made it all worth it. You moved your underwear to the side so you could sink down on his cock. You were taking your time because he was huge, and that was ok with Claude. He sat up so he could wrap his arms around you and gave you some time to adjust. After about a minute or so, you started bouncing on his dick, throwing your head back and letting such wanton moans spill from your mouth. Claude was no better, however, moaning out loud and feeling so happy to finally be inside of you. After a little bit of time, your legs started burning, but Claude didn't mind helping you out. His hands quickly moved to your hips and held them firmly so he could help you move up and down. He angled you slightly differently so his dick would be rubbing against your g-spot.

"Claude! Ah, fuck! So good!" you practically screamed as drool spilt from the corner of your mouth and you shut your eyes tight. You were holding onto him for dear life as the pleasure made you go absolutely insane, and the pressure in your lower stomach was slowly building. His hand snaked towards your clit to rub it, knowing full well that's what gave you the most intense orgasms. And it didn't take long for you to squirt on his cock as you buried your face into his neck while screaming his name when your orgasm washed over you. "Fuck... I'm not sure I can hold back much longer, baby... Where do you want it?" the cleric moaned as his grip on your hips tightened and his began to stutter. "Inside, inside please!" you whimpered in overstimulation, but you wanted to be filled up with him so bad. With just a few more moves of his hips, he emptied himself inside of you. The two of you fell back on your bed, spent but really satisfied.

You two engaged in some pillow talk afterwards, and when you woke up, you got a new dose of some good loving. When you came that morning, Claude forced you to keep looking at him as he was on top of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and more drool trickled out of your mouth.

You and Claude would quickly make it official. You had told your chat you were taken, but you didn't let them know who it was at Claude's request. You were often wearing that lilac lingerie set, and Claude's heart skipped a beat every time he saw you in it. And oh, he would dick you down so good whenever you needed it. He would do anything for you, after all.

#nijisanji en #nijisanji #meli writes #nijisanji smut #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en x reader #claude clawmark #claude clawmark x reader #claude clawmark smut #kaelix debonair #kaelix debonair x reader #kaelix debonair smut #meli's prompt list #prompt list #request #nijisanji en smut

133 notes · View notes

erinwantstowrite · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I left this as a comment on the ao3 story in question (Leap of Faith by you and alighterwood) but I figured I'd send it on tumblr too just in case you don't check your comments over there.

I recently found out someone reuploaded one of my fics without permission or credit from ao3 to fanfiction.net and noticed their whole profile is full of other reuploads I can only assume they didn't ask for permission to reupload either and unfortunately Leap of Faith is one of those :/

I had to Google search chunks of the writing to track down where the fic originally came from bc this user intentionally changes titles (in this case, removing the spaces as well as the A from leap, leaving it as lepoffaith) and does not include the original author's name on their reupload. Here's the link to the reupload: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14352736/1/lepoffaith

I've left reviews on the reupload of my own fic a few times asking them to take it down to no avail, but I figure maybe if more authors also ask them then they'll have to do it.

Mentioned this in the ao3 comment I left too, but if you don't feel comfortable clicking a link from some rando in ur ask box just shoot me a DM and I'll send you screenshots of the reupload!

alright so that's just GREATTTT isn't it?? thank you for letting us know! truly the amount of fics they have reuploaded is insane. i went ahead and sent an email to fanfic.net's support letting them know the situation. hopefully they do something about it soon. the idea that they do this for text to speech is honestly ridiculous (as said in their bio).

so... to anyone who is looking for a text to speech app to listen to LoF: there is a free app called "Evie" that I know of for samsung phones. you can find it on google play. there are also other apps that let you do this (make sure not to use AI!!). i'm sure you can find one. uploading fics onto another website is not the way to go and is super disrespectful

just a reminder to everyone: i ONLY post LoF on ao3. if you see it on another website, it is not me. DO NOT go harass anyone. just help get it taken down if you spot it by contacting the website and letting me know. this goes for other fics as well! fic authors are doing this for free, and stealing content is never okay.

this also goes for if you're reading ao3 on an app... there is no app for ao3. you should not be getting ads on ao3. it is a website. free yourself.

#i've had my art stolen a couple times but the entire fic?#ao3 #ao3 authors #ao3 users beware #i also blocked this person on ao3 but that only stops them from commenting #they can still see LoF #ao3 users #ao3 fanfic

153 notes · View notes

intervex · 8 months ago

Text

It was Indigenous People's Day so I made some intersex + Indigenous flags

Since I've been on a roll in making intersex flags. First: flags for the three major types of Indigenous groups whose lands were stolen to create the country I live in (Canada):

Left: intersex and First Nations (American Indian Movement) Middle: intersex and Inuit Right: intersex and Métis

Then I made some intersex flags for some specific First Nations whose cultures I have at least basic familiarity with: Left: Haida ©️........... Middle: Huu-ay-aht ©️....... Right: Musqueam ©️

Note: The last three are confederacies of multiple nations. Order is based on geography, going west to east.

Personal Note: I am a settler and am not a member of any of these nations. I've moved many times in my life, and these nations are the rightful stewards of the lands that I personally feel I have the most connection to. 💜

Tagging for archival: @intersexflags @varsex-pride @radiomogai @beyond-mogai-pride-flags

Edit to note: at the time I made this post I was under the impression all of the First Nations flags above were public domain. I have since learnt that the license information of many of the original flags on Wikimedia Commons were incorrect.

The Haida, Huu-ay-aht, Musqueam, and Anishinaabe flags are all definitely copyrighted. You can still use and share the intersex versions, just don't go uploading them to Wikimedia Commons, or using the designs for commercial purposes (unless you get permission from the relevant First Nation!)

The AIM, Inuit, Métis, and Haudenosaunee flags are all public domain, and so my intersex versions are public domain too.

The copyright status of the Blackfoot flag I'm not certain about - I haven't been able to track down that information one way or the other.

#intersex #actually intersex #indigenous peoples day #fuck thanksgiving #indigiqueer #intersex flags #american indian movement #inuit #metis #haida #huu-ay-aht #musqueam #blackfoot #anishinaabe #haudenosaunee

348 notes · View notes

bittertasteofhoney · 30 days ago

Text

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 13

Good As Us

Summary: Joel doesn’t come back from patrol one night and it sends you into an early labor.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!joel x f!reader, age gap (but legal!), reader is afab, pregnancy, labor, gunshot wounds, blood, hospital scene||

Notes: We only have one more to go folks! I am genuinely torn on how to end this fic so because I cannot be decisive to save my life, I will be uploading TWO different endings and will leave it up to you if you want an alternate ending or a series-accurate ending. Basically, choose how much pain you want to put yourself through! 😭

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

From that night on, keeping your hands to yourself wasn’t the only issue. Things between you and Joel got intense. If you weren’t already his obsession, you sure were now. He watched your every move, and when it was just the two of you together, there wasn’t much that could stop him from getting on his knees and making you cry out his name. Sometimes, it didn’t even matter if someone was in the room. All it took was one look from you, and he would clear a room for just a few minutes with you.

He was consumed with making you feel good. Your comfort was the only thing on his mind. He was always nearby, and if he had to be away for a patrol or a project, he would run back to you as soon as it was over.

The more your stomach grew, the more worried he became, which led to a heated argument when he surprised you at the gardens one afternoon with lunch to find you on your knees picking turnips. Your yelling attracted the attention of every other gardener, and they all watched with amusement as you stomped out of the marked area with Joel on your heels. The tension between you was a ticking time bomb that the entire town watched like a favorite soap opera.

Safe to say, both Tommy and Maria got an ass-chewing from Joel for not arranging someone else to take over your more manual chores. You had been so embarrassed, hiding your red cheeks behind one hand as he yelled. No one in the council was upset, and a few did feel bad you had been working so hard with just a few weeks to go in your pregnancy. But mainly, they all did their best to hide smiles in response to his yelling. The man was head over heels.

There was no doubt now that Joel was fiercely protective of you in a way that could only translate to love. Still, the two of you had yet to completely soothe the distrust between you enough to say the words.

After the two of you began sleeping together again, it didn’t take long for Joel to temporarily move in with Ellie to keep a closer eye on you during the pregnancy. Ellie was ecstatic to spend more time with you, constantly your shadow and asking you a million questions about your life before Jackson, how weird it felt to be pregnant and how you felt about Joel and if he was the one.

The latter questions left you blushing more than a few times, but all you could do was shrug in response to her prodding. You didn’t know. You knew it wasn’t easy getting to where you were, and the two of you didn’t even know what to call what you were. But you knew having him around felt better than before.

Tommy and Maria also came over regularly with their new baby in tow. Maria was more than happy to pass off her squirming infant for a break, and you were beaming any time he was in your arms. You told yourself she and Tommy came over for company and a little parental relief, but deep down, you knew it was so Tommy could sit right by Ellie and smirk their asses off, watching you and Joel interact.

Some nights, it was perfectly wholesome. Joel, with his eyes glued to you as you rocked Benji in your arms. And others, well…it was a good night if the two of you simply snapped at each other. Those were the days when Joel usually let his protective side win, telling you to stop running around on your feet and to sit down. You appreciated his help but were weeks past your limit of feeling like a fragile doll. You were used to getting things done alone, and to have all this help sometimes felt overwhelming as much as you hated to admit to yourself.

You loved that you found community and family, but between growing a literal human inside of you and struggling to define what you and Joel were, you found it hard to breathe most days. Again, that was no help, thanks to the baby who loved to kick into your lungs. And bladder. And kidneys. You were so ready to get this baby out.

One day, when Joel was off on patrol with Tommy, Ellie sat in the kitchen sketching on a beat-up pad while you made some potato soup. It was getting close to when Joel would be getting home, so you put the sprinkling finishing touches over the top of the pot before letting it simmer and moving to the table to take a seat.

You watched Ellie’s pencil fly over the page in admiration. “God, I wish I could do that.” Her pencil paused, and she looked at you shyly before shrugging.

“I don't know. It’s fun, I guess. I really only draw the same thing over and over.”

“It’s still really cool.” You rubbed your belly and smiled at her. “The most I can draw is a deranged happy face. You’re talented. Don’t diminish that.” Now, Ellie was blushing. She tapped the pencil a few times before nervously speaking.

“I wish I could play guitar like you.” You laughed and hummed.

“There’s no guitar playing on my horizon at the moment, babe. I barely have enough room to balance it on my knee. But I do miss it. The second this baby is out, I’m playing them a song.”

Ellie smiled and scooted her chair closer to you. She hovered a hand over your belly before looking at you questioningly. You nodded, smiling softly. She gently placed a hand on my abdomen and pressed it. It took a moment, but the baby kicked her hand in response. Ellie’s cheeks turned red as she giggled.

You smiled, looking at her, but then it dropped slightly. “I know you and I never really talked about this, but…are you okay…with this baby? I know it’s a lot, and none of us really know what’s coming, but…are you happy to be…a sister?”

Ellie looked at you with scrunched eyebrows and blinked a few times. “Were you worried about that?”

You bit your lip and nodded. She dropped her hand and, in a swift motion, stood up and hugged you fiercely. You laughed at its intensity and wrapped your arms around her in tandem.

“Of course, I’m happy about this. The thought of having a little sibling is so fucking cool!” Your eyes watered, and you hugged her back tightly.

The two of you stayed like that for a beat before Ellie retreated to her seat to continue drawing. You checked on the soup and absentmindedly stirred it. You glanced at the clock to see Joel was now thirty minutes later. Things happened on patrol. You knew this. But ever since he moved in, it was rare that he was late. He would move heaven and earth to be at this kitchen table.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you began to catastrophize and imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong. You turned off the gas on the stove and slowly waddled to the front door to peek out the window. No sign of him.

Ellie walked in as well to see what was going on. After she saw your nervous face, she offered a pat on your shoulder to bring you back down to earth.

“They probably tracked a trail further than they anticipated. They’ll be back soon.” You nodded, trying to let her words soothe you, but you couldn’t get your mind off the what-ifs.

Once Maria was at your door with the same worried look and Benji in her arms, you began to pace the living room. You couldn’t stop worrying and thinking of him hurt out there.

For two days, you waited. Maria tried to hold you together, but you were a wreck with anxiety. You couldn’t sleep, but Ellie and Maria did their best to keep you relatively calm and fed. The stress was the one thing you were struggling to maintain. And you tried, you really did. You knew it wasn’t good for the baby, so you did the breathing exercises Maria lectured you about. You appeased her and Ellie by laying down, but sleep never came.

As soon as the sun rose those two days, you made your way to the front gates for an update. After the first day, Tommy finally radioed in to say he and Joel had been ambushed by raiders, and Joel was shot in the arm. Before you could even react to the news heard over the walkie-talkie, Maria was in front of you, reminding you it wasn’t a fatal wound. You nodded, doing your best to listen to the words coming out of her mouth, but all your mind could circle around were the words Joel was shot. Joel was hurt.

But he was coming back. They both were. No townsperson was brave enough to tell you to go home once you knew he was returning to you. Little Miss Sunshine had turned fierce, and no one could navigate this new version of you. If someone tried to move you inside, you shot them a cold look and ripped your arm away. The most you would do was sit in the chair Ellie moved outside for you and eat the food Jesse pushed into your hands.

When they finally returned on the second day, Tommy had to drag Joel through the gates. You walked to the pair with Maria by your side as fast as possible. You looked at her in confusion, and she just shook her head. It wasn’t just an arm wound. He was bleeding from the abdomen now, too. He was barely conscious from the blood loss, and all you could do was watch in horrified shock.

Grunting with the effort of holding his brother up, Tommy relayed the story of the second surprise attack by a raider they missed the first time. The guy came back to avenge his friends and, thanks to Tommy’s sniper shot, never got the chance. But Joel didn’t make it out unscathed, now sporting two gunshot wounds.

Ellie and Jesse were on either side of you as you watched Joel get lifted onto a stretcher. The two of them knew better than to fight with you on whether or not you were following the procession to the hospital.

Each step was agonizing as the pressure in your pelvis grew, but you bit back any groan that might escape. You had to get to Joel. Ellie and Jesse assumed it was just the stress of the situation, and to a degree, they were correct. But a growing sense of dread told you it was a bit more than that.

After he was brought into a triage room with Tommy’s help, you ran in right after him. Tommy shot you a murderous look. “Now is not the time. You need to go. Now. I promise I’ll look after him but you can’t see this.”

You walked up to the bed and saw Joel was now out cold. You cut your eyes at Tommy and, in a venomous voice, “Don’t you fucking dare. I’m not leaving.”

His eyes widened in shock. You never talked like this. He wasn’t even sure he remembered you speaking to him in any sort of unkind tone. Joel was the first to ever receive your bite. Now that Tommy was on the receiving end, he didn’t know what to do. So he just nodded and did everything he could to help the limited medical staff on duty tend to Joel.

When you noticed Ellie in the room, you grabbed her hand, knowing better than to tell her to leave. So, the two of you held each other steady as they worked on Joel.

They removed the bullets from his arm and abdomen and stopped the bleeding. It felt like hours, waiting for him to come to as they cleaned and dressed the wounds. You squeezed Ellie’s hand as the contractions started to rock through you in waves. She looked at you in concern, but you still didn’t make a sound. Not until Joel opened his eyes.

The second those perfect brown eyes scanned the room and met yours, you pulled Ellie to his side. He reached for her hand, gripping it in relief and panting from the effort. You white-knuckled the railing and tried to control your breathing. You felt his hand cover yours, and you met his eyes. You let out a breath of relief and shook your head, “Joel.”

He swallowed and grunted in pain. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” You shook your head, and he tried to smile. “I am. Like hell am I going to leave y’all behind now.” Ellie threw herself on him, and he let out a low laugh and then a groan as she accidentally landed on his wounded side. Her eyes widened in apology, but he wrapped his good arm around her. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Only he would console the both of you when he was the one on the bed bleeding.

Once his levels began to somewhat normalize and he could sit up, with help, his hand was permanently gripped in yours. Ellie left to see if she could find some coffee, thinking it would help lift his spirits. He wasn’t sure if he was up for coffee, but he was grateful for the brief time he spent alone with you.

The room was tense for a moment before you broke the silence. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

His face was soft as he nodded. He squeezed your hand weakly, and you met his eyes. Tears streamed down your face, but you smiled at him. The two of you sat like that before another contraction ripped through you, and this time, you couldn’t bite back the groan. You squeezed his hand and supported yourself against the railing.

“Darlin’? What’s going on?” You couldn’t speak through the pain, and that’s when it all clicked for him. “Goddamnit. Tommy! Fuck, just breathe baby. TOMMY!”

Tommy sprinted into the room and immediately clocked you bent over Joel’s bed, panting in pain. “Shit, this fucking family.”

He ran out of the room and returned with a nurse and another bed. With their help, you were lifted onto the bed, not without a few yelps of pain from you and laid down. The duo began to wheel you out of the room, but you and Joel shouted for them to stop.

“No! Please. Don’t make me do this without him. Not now. Please.”

The nurse began to argue, but Tommy just shook his head at them. “They just nearly lost each other. Just let them be.”

The nurse wasn’t happy about it, but your bed was positioned right next to Joel’s so you could grip his good hand. When Ellie returned to the room with two cups of coffee, she immediately dropped them, spilling the hot liquid all over the floor. “HOLY SHIT!”

The two simultaneously shouted, “Ellie!” It's safe to say that Tommy escorted her out of the room as a doctor walked in to help bring your baby into the world.

It wasn’t an easy birth. Contractions were punctuated by Joel fighting the doctors to remain in the room and fighting to stand so he could be right by your side. You could barely think through the pain, but Joel held you steady, rooting you right beside him as you moved through the waves this labor was pushing you through. It was white hot pain and agonizing waves of nausea, but somehow, within a few hours, a sweet relief poured over you, and you knew everything was okay.

She didn’t cry at first, needing a little backrub to find her voice, but the sweetest song filled the room when she did. She was a howler.

You panted from the relief of the absent pain and the relief from knowing your baby was okay, but all Joel could do was look at you like you were a goddamn miracle. He couldn’t tear his eyes off you to even look at his newest child. You were okay. He leaned forward to press a kiss on your sweaty forehead, and you weakly raised a hand up to his cheek to hold him there. He was okay. The baby was okay.

You didn’t even register the tears running down your face as the doctor handed you the baby. She was perfect. You let out a breath, stunned into stillness at her perfect face. Joel still looked at you. His eyes glued to your face as he watched you see your child for the first time.

But when he finally did look, he was entranced. She had Sarah’s nose. Now, it was he who gripped the railing to still himself.

You took a shuddering breath and smiled. “Sorry, kiddo. Your daddy tried to overshadow your debut.” Joel laughed and then groaned from the pain of moving his side. You looked at him in fear, but he shook his head.

“I’m fine, darlin’. How are you?” He pressed another kiss to your forehead and then leaned forward to ever-so-gently place one on your daughter’s nose. You watched in complete bliss.

In a whisper, you said, “Guess we should give her a name. Any ideas?”

He smiled, still looking at her perfect face and shook his head softly. “I thought something would come to mind the second I saw their face but all I can remember is this memory. Of Sarah.” His voice caught. “She had this little doll. Called her Holly. Would carry her around everywhere like she was a little sister.”

You used your free hand to cover his over the railing. “I think we found our name.” You looked down at your daughter and smiled weakly. “Well, hello there Holly.”

It took you and Joel two weeks to fully recover from his wounds and your delivery. Your community of Tommy, Maria, Dina, Jesse and Ellie took turns helping look after your little family. Ellie was by y’all’s side as often as possible but spent her nights at Maria and Tommy’s.

When you were finally cleared to go home, you placed Holly in a newly gifted baby carrier and left the hospital for the first time as a family. Joel carried your baby, much to your dismay, but like hell, he was not going to let you strain yourself further. You, him and Ellie took slow steps toward your home, letting you take it easy.

When you were finally at the front door, panting from the walk, Joel gently set Holly down to unlock the door. Before he opened it, he paused and looked at you. His face looked unsure, and it sent a cold feeling through you. Did he not want to be back here? Now that Holly was here, were he and Ellie going back home?

You swallowed nervously. “Thank you. For walking us back. If you and Ellie want to go back home, I’ll be fine, I promise.” He and Ellie looked at you with mirrored, confused faces, eyebrows equally scrunched together.

Finally, Joel cracked a smile and shook his head. “I was just thinkin maybe, we’ll stay.” He looked at Ellie. “For good.”

Ellie beamed at you, waiting for your answer. All you could do was look at the two of them in surprise.

“Really?” He nodded and waited at your door, at the mercy of your decision. You swallowed back the rising tears, but it was no use. You walked up to him, your daughter sitting in her carrier between the two of you, and wiped your cheeks. “Sorry, it’s the hormones. Yes, please stay.”

He let out a laugh, and his eyes were also filled with tears. “Is forever okay?”

All it took was a nod from you before he leaned over Holly to grab your face and kiss you.

Ellie was eating this shit up. Finally. Now, the four of you could go home.

Final Chapter.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85 @secretlettersfromyourlove @nosebeers @boscogirlsworld @aleemendoza2425-blog @puppi-sonnenschein @needz1nk @ashleyfilm @melmel-fandom

#bitter taste of honey #good day sunshine #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #spotify #the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #pregnancy fic #unplanned pregnancy #Spotify

92 notes · View notes