#Like freshly mown grass

[tombombadildos]

It’s kind of hot that mown grass smells so good when it’s under attack

[xneens]

golf lesson

you distract rafe during a golf lesson.

"How important is winning this bet with your brother for you?" Rafe asked, watching as you hit the ball right into the lake, the ball nearly hitting a duck.

You glance at him, biting your lip. "Am I that bad?"

He turned to look back at the holes on the grass where you had hit your club, the iron kicking up the freshly mown grass rather than the ball on the tee. The blond bites back his smile, turning back at you, shrugging. "No, you're doing great, baby."

Groaning, you lean against your golf club, annoyed and frustrated. "Ugh, how am I so bad at a game old men play? This is humiliating."

Rafe had spent the whole afternoon trying to teach you how to golf after making a bet with your brother you could win a round with him. The prize: a few weeks in Greece that your parents would fully fund. And you wanted to play your Mamma Mia fantasies this summer, even if you had to listen to your boyfriend teach you all the mechanics of the most boring sport ever.

However, it did have some pros, one of them watching how Rafe's arms flexed when he swung the club, the way his white polo shirt fit him, the way he drove the golf club. It was a wonder how you were able to focus on his presence so close to you.

Rafe chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss on your shoulder, his chin resting on it. "It's a stupid sport, don't get discouraged. And with me as a coach, you'll be the best."

You turn to glare at him, annoyed at how he babied you, knowing full well there was little to no hope with your golf skills. "You're mocking me."

"No, no, I would never." he smiles softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We just need to practice a little more. You're good at everything, I'm sure you'll be good at this, too."

Rolling your eyes, you huff, thinking about all the balls you had lost in the past hour alone. Rafe had to go back to the country club multiple times to grab another pack of golf balls, a smirk slapped on his face every time he came back with a new pack.

"This is hopeless." you groaned dramatically, throwing Rafe another glare as he laughed.

He wraps his arms around you, setting you up for another swing. "Here, let me teach you the proper technique and posture so you hit the ball where you want it to go, yeah?"

"Fine," you grumbled, biting back a smirk as Rafe's hands traveled down your body, hands gripping your waist.

"Make sure your body is turned to face the ball." Rafe murmurs in your ear, positioning your hips. His fingers trail softly up your body, your tennis dress riding up slightly at the movement. "Yeah, just like that."

You giggle softly as arch your back, shifting your legs slightly to grind your ass up against Rafe's crotch, smug at how quickly he froze. "Am I doing it right, Rafey?"

Despite how you hated the stupid nickname, you'd use it whenever you wanted something from him, something he couldn't help give you every time you asked. You'd also use it when you teased him with it, almost like a secret word to hint you wanted him without others knowing.

"Yeah, yeah. Doing great, baby. Grip the club here and here." Rafe cleared his throat. He positions your hands on the club, fingers brushing briefly against the Darry ring he had gotten you for your first week anniversary.

"Hmm, this feels right." you grin smugly, feeling his cock hardening against your ass. Gripping the club, you do a little swing, twisting your hips. "Does that look good?"

"Fuck." Rafe groans, hands tightening against your hips, pulling you up against him, his cock pressed up against your cock. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You always look so goddamn good."

You giggle, eyes drifting towards the group of old men a hole away from you, near enough for them to see you and Rafe, but far enough to not see how you were grinding against him. "Help me hit the ball?"

"Of course," replied Rafe, hands engulfing your own. He leads you through the motion of a swing before guiding you to hit the golf ball. With a straight swing, the club hit the ball, flying in the air for a few seconds before rolling towards the flagged hole. "Good job, baby."

With a victorious smile, you turn to look at him, dropping the club on the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Rafey. You're such a good coach."

"If I was a good coach, I wouldn't have spent half an hour searching the lake for the balls you hit in there." he teased, an arm encircling your waist. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "But I'll take the compliment."

You give him a pout, puckering up your glossed lips. "You're so mean to me, always teasing me."

"I'm sorry, baby." Rafe smirks, not sorry at all. Blue yes filled with mirth, he tilts your chin up with a finger. "Let me make up for it."

He brings his lips to yours, tongue-seeking entrance as you kiss him back. Teasingly, you bit his bottom lip gently, drawing out a soft gasp from the blond. Smiling against his lips, your hand drifts down his chest, down towards his hardening cock.

"Someone's excited." you kiss along his jaw, drawing out another small gasp from your boyfriend. Despite dating for a year, he still had the same reaction to your kisses, almost as if he was surprised you wanted to kiss him.

You squeeze his cock through his shorts, pressing your body against his, hiding the action from every golfer near you. Fingers trailing up and down the length of his cock, in a stroking motion, you bring your lips back to his, allowing Rafe's hand to grab your ass.

Rafe's hands wandered up beneath your dress and you pulled away, laughing as he dramatically groaned. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "No more kisses for you. I know you bet against me, fucker."

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[lipglossanon]

Bound For The Floor

dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x puppy!fem reader (one shot)

Dedicated to 🍁 anon! I hope you enjoy it!! 💜 😘

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader is mid 20’s with Leon being older, appearances from Ark Thompson and Chris Redfield, jealous Leon, masturbation, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, knotting, biting, aftercare

looked over a smidge 🤏

Title from Bound for the Floor by Local H

It’s raining the day you’re brought home. To your new home. You’ve been chosen by a man with kind eyes to keep his other hybrid company while he works. He smells nice and he’s gentle when handling you so you’re more than amenable to joining his little family. Ark is his name, kinda funny but you think it’ll be super easy to remember since it rhymes with bark— something you’re very good at when called for (not that good pups bark a lot). 

He talks to you on the drive from the adoption agency to his home, explaining his routine and describing the dogman you’ll be living with from now on as well. Ark even shows you a picture of Leon on his phone while you’re stopped at a redlight, making your tail wag in excitement at meeting the rugged looking hybrid. 

In shy, halting words, you tell him about your short stint at the adoption agency. Raised with only caretakers, they finally gave you over to the agency fairly recently in the hope of finding you a forever home. You’ve experienced nothing but kindness and understanding with the outside world which might make you a little naive; however, it does nothing to dilute how happy you are at the opportunity to have your very first owner. 

“Leon, we’re home!” Ark calls out into the empty foyer as he sets all of your things down on the floor. 

Your eyes are comically big as you take in everything around you, nose scenting the air and picking up a delicious smell that has you drifting further into the house. A gruff hum pulls your attention to the hybrid Ark had called Leon. 

You smile at him, tail wagging nonstop, “Hi!”

His lip curls in distaste but he only stares you down without saying anything. 

“Leon,” Ark’s voice lilts in warning, “be nice.”

Leon rolls his eyes with a snort, but walks closer to you.

“Hello,” he grits out and your tail wags harder. 

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you smile even bigger. 

“Get along, okay?” Your owner ruffles your ears and you turn your bright smile to him. 

Nodding, you hum in agreement. Ark shoots another stern look to Leon and walks off further into the house. 

“You smell nice,” you offer up to the serious dogman in front of you, “I’ve never smelled anyone as good as you before.”

A red flush bridges his nose and cheeks as he shrugs, “Yeah, right.”

You pout, “I mean it. Can I scent you?”

His body stiffens in place as his look shifts from disbelief to sheer surprise. 

“Uh, I guess—“

“Great!” You walk forward until your chests are nearly touching, “I’ve only ever done this with my litter mates, so I’m unsure on how to scent someone else.”

You can see Leon swallow as he tilts his head, “Oh? You smell like a kennel.”

You laugh, missing his gaze raking down your body, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting on our owner for a day and they keep us in a kennel so nothing happens before the adoption.”

Leon nods although you’ll come to find later that his adoption was much rougher and less pleasant than your own experience. 

You lean forward and bury your nose against his neck, whimpering when you can smell him unencumbered. You breathe in freshly mown grass and a spicy musk that has your mouth watering. Snuffling against him, you don’t realize you’re rolling your hips against his. 

Leon hands grip your hips but he only helps you rock yourself against him in a way that makes you whine and pant against his skin. Distantly, you feel his nose press against your neck and breathe in your own scent. He growls and you whine, tilting your head so he can nip and lick at your soft skin. 

With a low growl, Leon pries himself away from you even as you chase after the pleasurable feeling coursing through your body. 

“Behave, pup,” he murmurs in your ear and you let him pull away. 

“Leon,” you whine at him, pawing his chest as you watch him close his eyes and take a steady breath. 

“I need to go find our owner, stay here,” he walks you over to the couch and presses you down on the soft cushions.

When you go to rise as he steps back he holds his hand out.

“Stay. Be a good girl for me.”

You go hot all over, “Okay.”

His eyes darken but he turns and leaves the room, bringing Ark back after a few minutes.

“I feel hot,” you slur out, eyes pleading up at the men in front of you.

Leon stands behind Ark, stiff as a board while he watches. 

“Poor thing,” Ark soothes, softly rubbing your ears, “looks like Leon may have triggered an early heat.”

You sigh as Ark gently massages your ears and temples.

“Leon, can you take the rest of her things up to her room? I’ll carry her up and we’ll let her rest,” your owner says over his shoulder and your eyes track Leon as he leaves the room. 

“I want—“

“I know,” Ark sighs, “but let’s get you settled in and some meds in you. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

“M’kay,” you mumble, slumping into his chest as he picks you up bridal style. 

You feel him set you on a soft bed and coax you to swallow some icky tasting medicine before allowing you to drift off to sleep. At some point in the night, that delicious smell from earlier seeps into your brain and has you maneuvering until your face is buried in a warm chest. A low pleased rumble makes you press the dough of your thighs together as you sink deeper into sleep. 

The next morning you wake up to the door opening. 

“Leon,” Ark’s voice sighs out, “I thought I told you to let her rest.”

Arms snake out to wrap around your back and pull you further into the warm body in front of you. 

“I was here in case she needed something,” the dogman’s rough voice sent goosebumps skating across your skin. 

Ark’s palm brushes across your ears and you giggle and turn in Leon’s arms to look up at your owner. 

“Are you feeling better?” His brown eyes pinch with worry. 

“Much better,” you smile, “just a little tired.”

Ark’s eyes crinkles when he smiles in relief, “Good. I’ll let you rest some more. Leon can help you if you need anything.”

Your owner ruffles first your ears then Leon’s before slipping back out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Feeling shy, you shimmy away from Leon and climb out of bed. 

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you tug on a loose thread on your shirt.

He grunts in acknowledgment and you look over into his face. His blue eyes stare you down for a split second before he climbs out of bed as well. 

“Yeah, well s’only the right thing to do,” he mutters, “make sure to take those meds.”

He jerks his head to the nightstand behind you and you see that Ark must have brought up medicine and water when he checked in on you. 

“I will,” you nod, smiling at the grumpy dogman as he brushes his hair back, “thanks, Leon.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves you off, following in Ark’s footsteps as he slips out of your room. 

You quickly take the heat suppressants and smile to yourself. It’s nice having a friend. Crawling back into bed, you shove your face in the pillow Leon used and sigh happily. He just smells so good! Your tail thumps against the bed as you breathe in his scent more. A small whine parts your lips as your cunt grows hot and wet, clit throbbing as the smell of fresh grass and spice fill your nose. 

You can’t help yourself as your fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear to tease across your slit. Panting against the pillow, you hump your fingers and let yourself pretend they were bigger and thicker. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, slick coating your hand along with the gusset of your panties. A yawn overtakes you and before you can get up to change, you fall asleep with your face buried in Leon’s scent. 

After that weird welcome home, Leon pretty much keeps to himself. When Ark’s around, he’s nearby, but acts aloof and distant if you try to befriend him. You’re really bummed out, and you don’t want him to snap at you like he did at the neighbor’s hybrid, a nice boy named Steve, so you just try to be polite and stay out of his way. You’re pretty much glued to your owner’s side anyways. He smells almost as good as Leon, like fresh coffee and leaves, so you’re constantly trying to sit in his lap. 

Leon always snarls his lip when he sees you snuggled up to Ark, letting him pet your ears and tail while he watches tv or reads. The first time you offered to move so Leon could get his ears rubbed, he turned his nose up and sat on the other side of the room; since then, you ignore him and happily enjoy Ark’s soft head pats.

But, every now and then, Leon does something nice that makes your heart flutter and leads you to think he likes you more than he shows. Falling asleep on the couch and then waking up in your bed, seeing your favorite food already prepared for lunch, or even simple chores being done before you get to them. Those little things have you seeking him out in thanks, but he always waves you away with a gruff word paired with a small blush on his cheekbones. 

One day, you come home from your walk with Ark only to smell someone new. Your ears perk up as your owner chuckles and gestures for you to walk on into the house while he takes off his shoes. Quickly beelining to the living room where the smell is stronger (a nice blend of sandalwood and vanilla), you stop in place to see Leon laughing at something another dogman is saying. 

“Oh, hello,” you give a shy wave to the two sitting on the couch. 

Leon glances over at you, eyes darting from you to the hybrid next to him. The stranger gives you a wide smile, drawing your eyes to his heavily stubbled jaw. 

“Hi, I’m Chris, you must be Leon’s new pup,” he grins over at the quiet dogman. 

You feel a flush of warmth spread throughout your chest from his words.

“She’s not my pup,” Leon mutters under his breath, but you still hear it making your smile a little dimmer. 

Chris ignores his friend and pats the spot open to his left, “Sit next to me so I can get to know you.”

You nod your head and walk a wide half circle to avoid being in Leon’s space to sit on the couch beside Chris. Quickly taking in his appearance, your tail wags when he smiles at you again. 

“I’ve been meaning to come over for a while. If I’d have known Leon had such cute company, it would’ve been sooner,” he angles his head to wink at you and one of his ears tilts back. 

Smiling, you shrug, “Well maybe you can visit more now. I love making new friends.”

Chris laughs and it causes your tail to thump against the couch. Unbeknownst to you, Leon tenses and elbows Chris in the ribs. 

“Well, as much as I’d love to stay, I’m pretty sure my owner is looking for me by now,” Chris lumbers to his feet and you have to crane your neck to keep eye contact.

“I’ll see you to the door,” Leon stands next. 

You wave while Leon practically steers Chris out of the room. 

“It’s nice meeting you,” Chris calls out before rounding the corner. 

“You too!” You move from the living room to watch Leon close the door behind his friend. 

“He’s nice,” you offer, smiling at the dogman. 

Leon grunts, “Chris is okay.”

You pause, not really understanding why Leon seems upset with you. 

“If-if you want to hang out alone with him, I can ask Ark to take me for walks when he visits,” you fiddle with your shirt hem, “I don’t want to get in your way or anything.”

Leon doesn’t say anything and you nod, slipping off to your room. Your chest hurts with disappointment leading you to curl up in a ball in the center of your bed, falling into a fitful sleep. Later the snick of your door shutting has you raising your head up, eyes slowly adjusting to the figure walking to your bed. 

“Leon?” Your voice rasps with sleep. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, kneeling on your bed before shifting until he can lay down, pulling your back to his chest, arms encircling your waist.

You stiffen against him, confused as to what he’s doing there. 

“I’m sorry,” he presses the words against your ear, “I’ve been pretty rude to you and it’s nothing you’ve done. From here on out, I’m gonna treat you better.”

You hum happily, “Thanks, Leon.”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Sure,” you yawn, sleep already tugging your eyelids closed, “‘m happy we’re friends.”

“Friends,” he laughs to himself, “right.”

Weeks go by and Leon is true to his word. He’s more friendly and hangs around you even without Ark being around. He’s also way more touchy feely to your delight. Constantly scent marking you before you leave the house on your walks, going so far as to let you borrow his clothes if Ark is taking you to the park or even out while he shops. 

It makes those butterflies in your chest swarm and your heart beat fast whenever he does those kinds of things. And since he never asks for his shirts back, you wear them to bed, hands tucked into your panties as you breathe in his scent and get yourself off. You would feel a bit bad, but you see how Leon stares at you the next day—like he can smell the effect he has on you and it makes your skin buzz. 

There’s no telling how long this would have gone on, but luckily for you, Ark forgot to refill your meds and he’s out for the night, leaving you and Leon home alone. You truly only meant to tease the handsome dogman, make him feel as out of sorts as you do when he’s around; however, you didn’t realize how much being off of your medicine would affect you. 

Just being next to him on the couch as you watch television is making your palms sweat and your nipples hard. Trying to sit still is impossible. The more you shift around, the more uncomfortable you are until Leon’s hand comes down on your thigh like a hot brand on your skin. Whimpering, you press the dough of your thighs together, squishing his fingers in between the soft skin. 

“What’s gotten into you?” His low voice rumbles through your ears making your cunt leak into your panties. 

Not thinking it through, you sit up into a kneel and clamber onto his lap. 

“It’s hot,” you whine, grinding yourself down onto him, “want you to make me feel better, Leon.”

“Wha—“

You swivel your hips and feel his cock thicken underneath your ass, pressing against the seam of your shorts and making your eyelashes flutter. 

With a groan, Leon grabs your hips to stop them from bouncing down on his bulge. 

“Sweetheart—“

His voice dips out into a low moan as you lap at a sensitive spot on his neck before licking the shell of his ear. You feel his cock twitch and kick against your clothed pussy and it makes you whine. 

“B-bad girl,” he hisses, head falling back against the couch, ears flopping, “bad girl, bad p-puppy, oh fuck.”

You nip his bottom lip before messily licking into his mouth, grinding down on his thick cock as he leaks enough precum to stain his sweats. 

“Puppy, stop,” he groans, “we can’t, oh god, you need your meds and Ark—“

“He’s out with friends,” you pout, rocking your hips just right so your clit rubs against the seam of your shorts sending a sharp zing through your body, “and I don’t have any more medicine.”

“You never listen,” he growls and your tail droops. 

You let out a surprised squeal when Leon shifts off the couch to press you down into the floor. 

“Need me to stuff your pussy, huh?” he bites your ear, making you whimper, “‘m gonna be the only one sniffing around your greedy little cunt.”

Your eyes roll back when he dry humps your pussy, grinding the thick outline of his cock right against your wet slit. 

“First I wanna see if you taste as good as you smell,” he kisses you heatedly before moving down your body. 

He slips your shorts off and tosses them across the living room. Leon buries his nose between your legs, sniffing across your soaked panties. The fabric sticks to your chubby pussy lips allowing Leon to lick at your clit easily. 

“Oh, oh,” you moan, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair, softly rubbing over his fuzzy ears.

He grunts and laps up the slick leaking down your thighs before pushing your panties to the side to lap at your hole. 

“Taste so good,” his muffled voice causes vibrations that make your toes curl, “mmm could eat your little cunt all day.”

“Leon, please,” you hump against his mouth, eyes locked on his blown out gaze.

He hums and the vibrations make your clit tingle as more slick drips onto his tongue. The thick muscle slides in and out of your hole before he licks his way back up to your clit, softly sucking the swollen bud into his mouth. Your thighs tremble as his rough sandpaper tongue swirls around your pudgy clit before sucking it gently. 

“So good,” you whimper, thighs falling open as far as they can go while your tail wags, “Leon.”

He growls, tongue fucking your pussy until sloppy wet sounds fill the room. His broad hands grab underneath your knees to shove your legs up to your chest. Pulling back, you moan as he spits on your cunt quickly followed by him burying his face against your soaked pussy. His rough stubble makes you squeal and pant while he licks and sucks your pussy lips. 

“So soft and wet, pup,” he grunts, pulling back to finally shed himself of the rest of his clothes. 

He strokes his cock to take the edge off and your mouth waters at the precum beading at the tip. With a groan, he notches the tip against your hole and glides the fat head up to smack against your clit. He presses his hips flush against you and you whine, the feel of the blood hot skin of his cock pulsing against your pussy. 

“Look how deep it’s gonna reach, pup,” his voice rumbles low in his chest, making your nipples ache.

He uses his thumb to press his tip down against your skin as your bleary eyes take in how far his cock will be inside your needy cunt. 

“Oh god, Leon, s’too big,” you mewl, ears lying flat against your skull. 

With a warm chuckle, he pulls his cock back to slide across your pudgy bud, grinding the head against your sensitive clit until you’re whining and dripping slick onto the carpet. His cock presses into your pussy making you moan reedily, voice breaking into a gasp. 

He chuffs and gently bites the side of your neck, rocking his cock another inch into your clenching hole. 

“Pussy’s just small, honey,” he coos softly, sandpaper tongue licking up to the shell of your ear, “gotta stretch her out so you can take my knot.”

Your walls clench down on his dick making his hips stutter. His eyes darken and he pulls completely out. 

“How about we make it easier for this soft little cunt?”

Without letting you answer he flips you over into your hands and knees, one palm pressing down in the middle of your back and the other gripping your hip to raise your ass up. He slides in much easier in this position, bottoming out with a loud groan as you claw at the floor. 

Mewling, you press your ass backwards, working more of Leon’s thick cock into your dripping pussy. 

“Wan’ it,” you slur, nails digging into the plush carpet, “want your knot, Leon.”

He growls and buries his cock to the hilt inside your cunt making you cry out from the sudden stretch. Your walls clamp and pulse around his fat dick while you catch your breath.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver all over, “such a good pup for me.”

“Leon,” you whimper, pussy walls fluttering around his thick length as he slowly ruts into you.

He groans and pulls halfway out before bullying his dick back into your sopping wet hole. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he bites your shoulder, canines digging into your skin, “perfect pussy, made for me aren’t you, honey?”

 “Uh huh,” you gasp out your agreement, voice not wanting to work as Leon pounds your cunt hard enough you’re getting rug burn on your knees. 

He grips the base of your tail and pulls, making you scream��� pussy fluttering and pulsing around his dick as your orgasm takes you both by surprise. 

“Good girl,” he coos, dropping your tail to grip the fat of your ass with both hands, “so good, gripping me so tight with that little pussy, working for that knot like a good pup.”

Shuddering, your body trembles as Leon keeps thrusting his fat cock right against your g-spot as the tip kisses your cervix. Drool spills from your mouth as you heave in deep breaths. 

“Want you to cum one more time, pretty girl,” he lightly spanks your ass making you whine, “one more and I’ll knot this pretty pussy til she’s nice and full. Don’t you want that? For your hot cunt to be bred til you’re stuffed to the brim?”

“Please, please, Leon,” you mumble, ass bouncing back against his thrusts, “want your knot, please, want it so bad.”

One of his hands dip below your abdomen to circle the swollen bundle of nerves coated in your slick. Your pussy clamps down on his dick as he softly teases your clit. 

“Oh that’s it, right there,” he kisses your neck, tongue lapping against your sweaty skin, “can feel you getting tighter. Cum for me, let me feel it.”

As Leon keeps hammering into your pussy, his fingers circle and tease across your pudgy bud until one last thrust has your orgasm whiting out your vision. Your ears ring so loud you don’t even hear as Leon curses against your neck while he snaps his hips against your ass before burying his cock deep in your spasming pussy. 

You wail when his knot locks you together, stretching your cunt even further as you feel his hot thick cum spill inside. 

“So good for me,” Leon groans, hands smoothing over your sides and back, “perfect, so fucking perfect.”

You sigh gustily, body going limp as Leon continues to fill your pussy with load after load from his thick cock. He shifts until you’re both able to lay on your sides comfortably, hands petting your body gently. 

“Feels nice,” you mumble, relaxing even further against him.

“Good,” he kisses the back of your head, “once I can pull out, wanna run you a bath. Gonna take care of you.”

Preening, you smile although he can’t see it, “That sounds so good.”

It’s quiet and relaxing as you bask in Leon’s soft touches and praise. As soon as he slips out of your sore cunt, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the bathroom. Setting you down on the edge of the tub, Leon works the taps and fills it with comfortably warm water.

Once he settles down in the basin, he maneuvers you to sit with your back to his chest. His warm hands rub at your arms and shoulders. 

“Let me know if you’re sore anywhere,” he kisses your temple. 

His softness is making your clit throb, loving how Leon treats you. 

After he works your arms and shoulders, he shifts down to your thighs. You moan low in your throat. 

“What if I’m sore here?” You bite your lip and grab one of his hands to shift it to your clit. 

He chuckles causing goosebumps down your body. 

“Oh? Need this fat pussy rubbed?” he slips his fingers down your slit before circling back up to your clit, “is she really sore, honey? 

“So sore,” you mewl, slumping against his chest as he teases across your swollen clit.

It doesn’t take long for his rough fingers to work another orgasm from you, pussy clenching around nothing as your clit throbs underneath his fingertips. 

“So fucking good,” he turns your head to kiss you messily, tongue licking into your mouth as spit drips down your chin.

Leon finishes washing you both off before helping you stand, wrapping a fuzzy towel around you before emptying the bath. Feeling extra sleepy, you don’t put up a fuss as Leon guides you into his room. Helping you slip under his covers, you sigh as Leon’s scent surrounds you. 

“Goodnight,” he kisses the side of your mouth making you turn and pout your lips for a kiss. 

Chuckling, he kisses you gently, running his thumb across one of your ears. 

“Goodnight, Leon,” you smile sleepily, snuggling into his chest. 

[charlottecutepie]

° ❀⋆. Picnic date (William Afton x fem!reader)

tags: outdoor sex, corruption kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, soft to rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, lots of pet names, creampie, riding, missionary

Ah, those beautiful and hot summer days. Mid July.

Nature alive and thriving. The warm sun enlivened the surroundings; the trees shimmered with emerald green leaves as delicate colourful flowers were scattered around, blooming under a clear azure sky. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers mixed with freshly mown grass. A quiet and windless day, you can only hear the unobtrusive but beautiful singing of birds nearby.

There were no people around because only you knew this secret place. You loved spending free time here, often reading your favourite book, relaxing in the shade of large trees.

As it is now, nothing has changed, except that you aren't alone now. You were lying on your stomach, on a blanket, as always reading your favourite book in the genre of old novels. William was next to you, holding a small diary for notes in his hands, carefully reading something in there, all concentrated. He was lying on his back, squinting against the rays of the bright sun. Today was a particularly hot day, so he ditched his usual vests and jackets, replacing them with a light linen shirt and knee-length bermuda shorts.

William looked up from his diary for a moment, glancing at you beside him. What an angelic and innocent little creature you are. Truly beautiful, like one of the blooming flowers. Gentle as one of the weightless white clouds in the blue sky. Innocent as a little fawn. Tender baby, pure and adorable, like a little bunny. Daydreaming little beauty, his beauty.

Your hair shimmers beautifully in the summer sun, William wants to stroke it, to run his long fingers through your strands. Your lips, as always so soft, just begging to be kissed, bitten, eaten. Your ethereal eyes, which follow the words in your book, shine with naive curiosity about the plot. Your cheeks, so adorable as they turn slightly pink every time you come to the part where the characters in the novel do something more than just kissing. Your fingers, so small compared to his long ones, turn the page of the book, William wants to bring them to his lips and kiss each one, whispering how charming you are.

His precious girl, dressed in a white dress that accentuates your figure, his heart stops. It perfectly fits every curve of your body, emphasizing your every movement and the beauty hidden inside you, like long-awaited flowers after winter. You're lying here in the warm rays of the sun, reading your novels and waving your legs, so adorable. Your dress is a real dream, short enough to give William a wonderful view of your body.

Blood rushes to his cock. Oh, how he wants to destroy your innocence. How he'd like to corrupt and ruin his precious girl right here, under the sun, on this blanket, where the sweet smell of flowers surrounds you both. All sorts of vicious thoughts roam in his head: kissing your delicate neck, running his fingers along your spine as they finally reach your core. He wants to defame your purity. That angelic voice of yours must break down in sobs and moans as you whimper "daddy" while he roughly fucks you. Those eyes must be filled with tears, those lips parted in moans, those hands around his neck when he pounds you. William's fingers are clutching the blanket, he's frowning. No, he shouldn't do that, just not right now.

"Want me to read it for you?" a cute offer comes from him. Smiling warmly at your nod, he began to read your novel aloud. His voice rich and seductive, like dark velvet, captivating you. He was reading about an intense encounter between two characters that made your heart beat faster; it took your breath away from the passion-filled words unfolding in front of your imagination. Lost in his fascinating narrative, you snuggled closer to William, seeking solace in this newfound sensation pulsing through your veins — an inexplicably sweet mixture of shyness and pleasure intertwined in your feelings for him.

Suddenly, your eyes sparkled mischievously as you took a juicy ripe strawberry from a bowl.

"Want some?" you playfully teasing him. William doesn't even have time to react as you shut his mouth with strawberry. You laugh softly, seeing how he enjoys the taste, and coquettishly run your finger over your lower lip, a wide smile on your face. Such innocent teasing that thrilled him more than anything else.

"Mmm. . ." He murmured, swallowing fruit down as you giggled. Your fingers lightly brushed against his lower lip to remove any trace of strawberry residue. "Thank you, darling."

Oh, so his girl wants to play.

"Someone wants to play, hm?" he cooed, moving closer to you. He carefully put one of the strawberries between your parted lips, looking at you hungrily. William couldn't help but feel an irresistible desire to touch your soft lips, completely covered with the sweet essence of strawberries. "Guess I'll take my revenge sweetly," he murmured before leaning forward and capturing you in a soft, gentle kiss. His tongue teased at your lips, begging for entry, and when you parted them slightly, he slipped his tongue inside tasting the sweetness of the strawberry. William groaned softly, savouring the taste. His hand gently caressed your cheek.

As the kiss stopped being innocent and William put your book aside, you leaned on top of him, devouring his lips in a passionate kiss now. William barely restrained himself from cumming in his pants. His precious girl is so hot, so daring, brave even, not afraid of daddy at all. His innocent girl just doesn't know what he's capable of.

"Oh, daddy. . ." you moan into his mouth, fuck, such an angelic voice you have, your lips slightly swollen from a hungry kiss you both shared. "oh, daddy, daddy, daddy. . ." you nuzzle into his neck, pressing your whole body against him. William's hands stroke your hair, then go down to your back, caressing tenderly. His hardness pressing against you, a pleasant friction that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You grind on his bulge slightly, craving more. William gently thrusts up into you, his clothed erection pressing in your panties, causing you both to moan softly.

"My sweet girl," he whispers. You move your hips back and forth on his bulge, your needy pussy rubbing against his cock through the thin fabric of your panties. His cock twitches in response. "So wet for me, princess, oh my god," he groans in your ear. "I need to be inside you, darling, need to fuck my precious girl, fill you up real good. Right here."

You shuddered at his words, nearly crying from how needy you are. "Yes, yes, please! fuck me, want to feel you, daddy. . ."

His hands immediately and impatiently undid the zipper of his shorts as he lowered them along with his underwear. His hard cock was already leaking with pre-cum, demanding to be inside you. You lifted yourself up slightly, your dress pulled up. William's fingers pulled your panties aside, exposing your wet and leaking entrance. He bit his lip, nearly till blood. Fucking fuck. He can't believe his eyes, his little and innocent angel is so. . . So lustful, depraved, sinful, just begging him to fuck her, to cum inside her and claim her.

"Daddy will fuck you so good, baby," he says, thrusting his cock into your tight pussy. Summoning all his strength, he refrained from cumming in the first seconds. God, your cunt feels like heaven, so tight and warm, just made for him, William moves his hips up and slips into you fully. "Oh fuck, angel, oh fuck! such a good girl for me." he whispers.

Unable to keep your balance as you feel dizzy from his cock, you lay down on him again, clutching the blanket under you with one hand and holding on to him with the other. He groans in pleasure as he lazily fucks into your wet cunt at a slow, but steady pace.

"Mmm," you purr, nuzzling his neck. "Love it when you fuck me like this, daddy, ohh. . ."

He ran a hand through your hair softly. "You're beautiful," he murmured back to you, gripping one of your ass cheeks through dress possessively. "I could spend all day like this."

You gasp loudly at his touch as you dig nails lightly into his skin in response, your cheeks burning, but not from heat of the hot summer. Your pussy tightening around his shaft, feeling how his tip rubs against that sensitive sweet spot deep inside you.

You cling to him tightly, your body trembles as pleasure overwhelms you. He slammed into you harder, your bodies moving in way that took your breath away. "Yes, daddy, yes!" you cried out. "Fuck me harder, please!"

William doesn't need to be told twice. He pulled out of you, staring down at your glistening pussy with lust-filled eyes. You spread your legs wider for him, wanting to feel his big cock filling you up again.

"Lay down." he rasped huskily. You obeyed immediately, changing pose, lying back on the soft blanket as he climbed between your legs once more. He positioned the swollen red tip of his dick on your clit, rubbing, teasing you mercilessly. You bucked beneath him, trying to get more friction, but he abruptly grabbed your wrists above your head, pinning them to the grass and not letting you move. "Patience, angel," he breathed harshly. "Daddy's going to ruin that angelic pussy now."

Finally, he slipped inside you slowly but firmly, stretching you wider as he filled your pussy. You gasped in pleasure, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, he entered deeper from that angle. He began to rut into you hard and fast, your cunt clenching around his cock as he slammed into you over and over again. You let out desperate moans, writhing beneath him as pleasure overwhelmed you. "Fuck, Daddy!" you cry out. "Im close!"

He gave a low growl in response, fucking you even rougher than before. Your pupils blown at his fast pace. Your head fell back on the blanket, your hair messy, eyes teary as you being fucked roughly but lovingly. Your pussy squeezed his cock, coating his base with your slick.

"Cum, angel, cum on your daddy's cock." he groaned, thrusting even deeper where it already hurt. Your pussy flutter around him as you cry out his name and he kisses you, roughly, biting your lips and nearly fucking your mouth with his tongue. God, you taste like strawberry, such a sweet, sugary girl. He's damn dizzy, his cock throbbing inside you as his balls slaps against your ass. "Fuck, fuck! Yes— Oh, fuck, yees, angel!" he moans loudly into your mouth, breathing heavily. You're close, so damn close to coming hard around his cock as you choke on your own moans and squirm under him.

"Daddy— Daddyyyy!" you felt a powerful orgasm building up inside you, your walls clenching down tightly on his cock as if trying to milk him dry. You screamed out in pleasure as it washed over you, your cunt spasming around him hard enough that he almost lost his footing. "Oh, oh! Noo, no, I'm sensitive, William!" he squeezed your wrists harder, leaving a red mark on your skin. Oh yeah. When you call him by his name, it means you're being serious, but he doesn't give a fuck. He knows his little angel can take another orgasm. Despite this, he kept pounding into you relentlessly as if trying to push even deeper inside, his tip brushing against your cervix.

"Take it, angel, fucking take it." you writhing beneath him, your sensitive pussy still spasming around his dick, tears in your eyes from overstimulation. "Again," William growls. "I want to feel you cum again." he slammed into you harder, faster; your body shivering. William let go of your wrists, instead his hand went to your neck and squeezed it. You immediately gasped, grabbing his hand, a little fear in your eyes brought him closer to the edge.

His grip tightened, making it harder for you to draw air. The lack of oxygen heightened your sensitivity, intensifying every thrust that he made into your wet pussy. It was almost too much to bear as his cock rubbed against your sensitive spot again and again. The squelching sounds your little cunt made had William completely lose his mind. His grip on your neck firm as you drooling over his hand, eyes rolling back from pleasure and lack of air.

"That's right, angel, let daddy fuck you stupid." you reply him with choked mewls and whines as your another orgasm grows nearer. He smirks, hand reach down to your clit as he rubs it with his calloused rough fingers, earning sobs from you.

Oh, his precious girl is so cock drunk, so dumb, drooling stupidly as your pussy being ruined. What a sight. William took a deep breath. You were completely at his mercy as he fucked you on the picnic blanked. He stared down at you, captivated by your angelic beauty. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples perky, fuck, even seen through the fabric of your innocent little dress.

His precious lovely girl. You lie under him and take his big cock, while beautiful flowers bloom and smell around you both, and sunlight falls on your pretty rear-stained face, illuminating the picture of sick yet lovely bliss on it. Everything around you is so alive and natural, tall trees, green meadow, blue sky. Your beautiful moans are mixed with the singing of birds, oh, his precious angel, cry as much as you can, William considers your moans a prayer. His prayer.

"You—… Fuck! Fuck!" his words are slurred as he fell into the abyss of lust and sin, fucking his innocent angel. Your pussy so warm, just too fucking good that he can't stop pounding you. His grip on your throat loosened and you finally inhaled a portion of air. "Oh, princess, gonna cum inside you, gonna fucking breed you."

At such a moment, you wanted warmth from him, despite how roughly and harshly he slammed into your pussy, you needed his hugs and kisses. So you wrapped your arms around William's neck, pulling him to you. He lay down on you with his whole body, continuing to thrust, he left a kiss on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet aroma of ripe strawberries next to you both.

"Ooh— Daddy, so good! Ugh, so good!" you melted under him like vanilla ice cream under the scorching sun. Another powerful orgasm snaps in your stomach. You screamed his name, clawing at the blanket beneath you as your cunt pulsated all over his shaft. William felt it too; your tight pussy milking his cock brought him close.

"Fuck, im cumming." he growled. His body tensed as he slammed into you one final time before releasing his warm seed deep inside your womb, filling you to the brim, coating your walls completely. William shudders against you as spurts of his cum shoots inside you, forcing soft sobs from you.

Sighing heavily, a soft smile appeared on his face, which he gives only to his angel, his precious girl. William pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss of warmth and stretch as his cum starts leaking out of your little hole to the blanket.

"You did so well for me, darling," he leans down to your face, holding his weight on his hands now. "always such a good girl for me."

"Thank you, daddy." you look at him with innocent yet naive eyes, what nearly makes his already soften cock hard again. "can i have strawberry ice cream?"

William's eyes widen at your question. You've just been roughly fucked and choked and now you're asking for. . . some ice cream? William freezes for a second and then bursts into laughter.

"Oh, angel, of course, of course you can!" he chuckles softly, studying your face. Your fucked out expression, but cute smile. "I love you, princess." William leaves a kiss on your nose and embraces your body.

[smoshyourheadin]

Maybe u could do a Spencer besties to lovers? Like they've known each other a long time yk

Thankssss no pressure if ur busy ofc <3

It’s Always Been You

cw: reader has a boyf who she breaks up w bc he’s an alchaholic!! don’t read if you aren’t comfortable, i’ll catch you another time ml 💛

a/n: EEK IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON 🫶🫶💛💛 also im taking this as smosh spence not cm spence so feel free to re-request if you’d like <33 ps, ive written that he listens to pink floyd here so thats who syd barrett is if you don’t know :))

requests r open!!

///

pairing: spencer agnew x fem!reader

florida, 2002

you and spencer were scurrying around in the freshly mown grass of his backyard, playing tag.

“you didn’t get me, you cheated!” you exclaim, ducking as he reaches out to get you again, tumbling to the floor.

“did too!” spencer retorts, his grazed knees dropping to the floor so he can lean over you. he meets your eyes, pulls a tongue, and hoists himself back up to run to his tyre swing.

all 11 years you’d known, you’d known them with spencer. your moms had been great friends since way before you were born, being in the same book club. or was it an art night? you didn’t exactly know, but you did know that because your moms were best friends, so were you and spencer.

as you sprung back up to your feet, your moms watched your antics through the kitchen window.

“whoever can swing the other the highest gets to have the last red popsicle!” he yelled as you ran over

“oh you’re so on!”

your hands gripped the tyre and you pushed like your life depended on it.

“y’know,” your mom said “one day, they’re going to end up together.”

his mom looked over at yours and smiled,

“i’d be surprised if they didnt honestly.”

los angeles, 2024

you walk through the door of your apartment, and you kick the door closed behind you. your bag slides off your shoulder, and you throw your keys onto the dresser next to the door. you only manage a long groan before flopping onto the couch.

“heya, charlie!” you scrunch your face up as you feel your dog’s cold, wet nose press against your cheek, as he gently wags his tail

“i missed you too boy, work was so tiring today.” you work at smosh with spencer, and have done for the past seven years after you left your job at another channel to join him. it was basically the best decision you’d ever made, every day filled with laughs; practically just a 24/7 hangout. you work with spencer on smosh games, but rarely ever go on camera, even if spencer’s there. you enjoy it anyway though.

you sit up and scratch behind his ears. he wiggles his body contently at your fondness. and then your stomach growls. it made sense, it was currently 6:43pm, and you last ate at noon, so you get up and drag yourself to make some mac n cheese.

as the pasta boils your phone starts ringing.

it’s james.

rubbing your hands over your face, you answer the dreaded call from your boyfriend james.

“heyyy~ sweetheart, y’doin okay? you were hic bein’ a bit of a bitch today, didnt answer my calls, what, you hate me or sumn?” he rambles, most of his words just slurring off.

“james, are you drinking again?” your voice is agitated, hearing the chattering and the low bass of a bar in the background.

you know he has a problem, and you’ve tried to get him to stop so many times. but you just can’t. he just won’t take your help.

“wha- i mean- well- no- but um- well y’r just gonna be mad at me like y’allways are” he stammers, not wanting to tell you the truth.

“no, i’m done with this. you say all this to me when you’re drunk, and then act like everything is fine! i’m sick of it! you spend so much time at the bar, and its the only place we ever go on dates, and i just end up babysitting you! so yeah i am mad! but for the last time! fuck you james.”

you hang up.

you start to tear up, the knot in your chest tight as your emotions come rushing to you, face heating up as tears begin to fall. the hissing of something behind you snaps you out of it.

“shit!” you rush over to to your stove, where the water from your pasta spills over the sides, the flames licking at the bottom of the pan.you take it off the heat and turn it off. it looks done anyway. you add some butter, and, of course, cheese. stirring gently, you sob.

james was so nice to you, always showering you with gifts and praise and love. but it was all for nothing. he just didn’t love you like he loved drinking in the end.

pouring the mac n cheese into a bowl, you call spencer.

“hey lemon! how’s my favourite person this fine evening?” you smile at the nickname.

florida, 2007

“spencer, you’re a boy. why are you so complicated? i mean, its just annoying!” you walk into his bedroom after his mom let you in, clearly pissed off. being 16 isn’t fun, especially when boys you like are rude to you.

“what did he do?” spencer doesn’t look up from his computer, just slightly turn his head.

“he said that i must eat lemons because of how bitter i am. i mean come on!” you lie on his bed and watch him play runescape.

“lemon… hmph” he just smiles and continues whatever he was doing on his game.

“what? nothing to say? ugh! you suuuuuck!”

los angeles, 2024

“yeah, i mean, no. i broke up with james.” you sniffle, and eat a forkfull of your food, elbows resting on the cold marble of the kitchen island.

“i mean- um- yeah thats horrible…” he says

“you’re allowed to celebrate, i know you hated him. and so did everyone. but still. im fragile right now!” you giggle through your gentle tears

“well, i mean, honestly? glad he’s gone. he sucked dude. not sure why you didn’t do it sooner. well, one positive to come of this, your pillows won’t stink of beer next time i nap at yours!” he replies, clearly happy for you.

“yeah,” you chuckle at the memory of spencer falling asleep on your bed, then completing his hair smelt like budweiser “that is true.”

“all seriousness though, are you okay?” his voice is genuine this time, filled with concern.

“no, not really. it’s just… different i guess. but, not much has changed y’know? like, it already felt like he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore…” you begin to ramble for at least 20 minutes, only to be met with the occasional ‘mhmn’ and ‘yeah’ from spencer. mid sentence, there’s a knock at your door.

“oh one sec, someone’s here.” you get up from your table and swing the door open to see a very sympathetic looking spencer, two target bags in his hands.

your jaw is on the floor. you were just crying to him over the phone, and he’d stayed whilst going out to get what you can only assume is things like sour patch kids and vanilla ice cream, which you could see at the top of the bag. your favourites.

“girls night?” he smirked and raised the bags at his sides.

all you can do is smile ear to ear, and wrap him in a tight hug. he leaned into you, basking in your sweet citrusy perfume.

“you’re my favourite, spencie.” you say into his shoulder.

as you both walk inside, charlie comes bounding over to spencer, his favourite person.

“who’s a good boy! charlie is!” spencer was now crouchedby your kitchen island, fussing over your dog as you walked to put on something more comfortable. you slid on some track pants and an old atari hoodie. walking back into your kitchen, spencer has unpacked the bags, and is creating his favourite conconction, The Agnew Sundae. basically the most sickeningly sweet ice cream ever. his dad made it for you both in the summer, and it consisted of:

vanilla ice cream

chocolate syrup

caramel sauce

whipped cream

sprinkles

mini marshmallows

chocolate chips

m&ms

and some crushed oreos to finish.

god, you know you’re going to regret this later, but boy was it a good way to cheer you up.

also strewn on the counter was his switch and copy of animal crossing, a few of his dvd’s for you to watch, and his mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

“spencer, how on earth did you get these? your mom lives across the country!” you hold up the baggie, and raise an eyebrow.

he looks up from his ice cream assembly station, and smirks.

“a magician never- ow!”

you cut him off by lightly jabbing his arm

“okay okay, she visited not to long ago - when she took you to the mall? and she gave me these to freeze and keep for an important event. i think she’d agree this is important.” you cant help but smile at his remark. you missed you moms.

“i’ll have to ring her later to thank her.” you say.

the night goes on, and you and spencer sit on the couch under a blanket watching barbie princess charm school. because what else are you going to watch?

as the movie goes on, and the effects of the agnew sundae kick in; you were dozing off on his shoulder. towards the end of the movie, so does he. he drifts off, comforted by your soft hair occasionally brushing against his face.

you stir awake, the sun beaming into your eyes through your semi-open blinds, and you’re hit by a wave of memory. everything that happened last night comes flooding back.

james’ call.

spencer’s call.

spencer showing up for you.

at the latter, you smile slightly. you prop yourself up on the sofa, and notice the absence of spencer’s warmth by you. frowning slightly, you walk into the kitchen.

“morning sleepyhead” his sweet voice rings through the room

“hey. i thought you’d’ve gone home”

“no, im not that mean! who do you take me for?” he retorts, his attention turning back to the pancakes on the stove.

“pancakes? what time is it?” you come up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder.

“yeah, and it’s about 10:30.” he leant his head on yours, flipping one. you had to admit, they look pretty good.

“10:30!?” you lift you head in surprise, looking at your phone “shouldn’t we be in work?”

“nope, i called us in sick. said my mom was having surgery. which she is, but i made it sound dramatic so we could stay off.” he looks at you, and smiles slightly.

“well, send her my love! i think i’ll go get dressed now.” he hummed, and you left the room.

opening your closet, you pick out a yellow baggy t-shirt and some grey sweatpants. you pull on some fluffy socks, and slip on a zip up hoodie. walking back out into the living room, spencer walks in with two plates piled high with pancakes, drenched in syrup and strawberries

“so,” you say, a fork full of pancakes in your mouth. “whats the plan for today?”

he looks over at you, and shrugs slightly. “not sure, we could go to the book store you like?”

“ah, you know the way to a girl’s heart“ you put a hand over your chest and giggle a bit.

a few hours later, you walk into the store, door creaking just a bit as a small brass bell chimes overhead. the air is filled with a comforting mix of old paper, leather bindings, and a hint of freshly brewed coffee from the corner cafe that you and spencer like to get tea from. you breathe it in deeply, a sense of calm washing over you. as you walk over the creaky wooden floorboards beneath you, soft warm light filters down from antique lamps, and cast a gentle glow over the rows of books. you ghost your fingertips over the cloth spines while the quiet murmur of whispered conversations and the occasional rustling of pages create a soothing background noise, almost like a lullaby. through spencer’s airpods, syd barrett serenades you both, and his voice blends seamlessly with the ambiance of the store.

“anything good today lemon?” spencer says as he shimmies up next to you in the aisle of towering book shelves, his voice like honey rolling off his tongue. his hair was unruly as always, but he looked so pretty in this light. his face was littered with freckles that you wish you could kiss. he’s smiling at you, and it snaps you back to reality, and reminds you of the fact you’re staring at him

“uh, yeah, i think i’ll get this one” you smile back, holding up a copy of memoirs of a geisha by arthur golden

“cool, shayne likes that one i think. but he likes every book so…” he smiles at his own remark “um, you want me to grab our normal seats in the cafe while you pay for that?”

“yes, please!” you reply eagerly, smiling as he walked off.

you walk up to the cashier, an older lady who always gives you a bookmark.

“thank you m’darlin’, have a lovely day!”

“you too mrs bryson!” you reply, heading over to spencer who’s sat in some plush leather armchairs. as you sit in comfortable silence with him, time seems to slow down, and for a moment, it's just you, spencer, the books, and the comforting atmosphere of this charming bookstore.

“i got you your sweet tea.” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with your favourite tea.

he remembered.

fuck.

you were in love with spencer agnew, and it took you him handing you your favourite tea to realise it.

“thanks spence.” you say, still grasping the feelings in your chest.

while you read you book and drink your tea, you feel your attention drifting to him. you can't help but glance up from the pages every now and then, watching him as he sits across from you, his focus on his own book. his fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowing as he reads. the way the sunlight filters through the small window, casting a warm glow across his hair, highlighting the subtle streaks of lighter brown among his dark curls. you find yourself smiling at the sight of him, wondering when these small, mundane moments began to mean so much to you. the bookstore is quiet, aside for the murmur of others reading or talking in hushed tones. yet, with spencer sitting just a few feet away, the world feels like it's faded to the background. it's just you and him, sharing this space, this moment. you watch the way his lips move slightly as he reads, how he occasionally tilts his head in concentration, and the way his eyes light up when he finds something particularly interesting. as he looks up and catches you watching him, you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest. he smiles at you, a slow, easy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. he raises an eyebrow, and you quickly look back down at your book, feeling your cheeks flush. but you can't help it; your gaze finds its way back to him, like he's the most interesting story in the room. he seems to notice the shift in the air between you. he closes his book and leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “just... glad to be here with you.”

he nods, his smile growing a bit wider. “me too.”

as he settles back into his chair, you realize that this simple exchange has changed something. the air feels lighter, the connection between you stronger. you may have come here to read and relax, but now, sitting across from spencer, you know you've found something else entirely - something you never want to let go of.

as you leave the store, you’re panicking slightly as you realise you don’t know what to do. so instead you make up an excuse.

“i forgot my keys ," you blurt out, looking back at the bookstore. it's a thin excuse, but spencer doesn't seem to notice. he simply nods, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"do you want me to wait for you?" he asks, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

"no, it's fine," you reply quickly. "you can go ahead. i’ll just be a minute."

spencer seems reluctant to leave, but he nods, offering a warm smile before stepping out onto the street. you watch him walk away, his figure blending into the crowd as he heads toward the main crossing. your heart sinks a little as he disappears from view, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse.

the bookstore feels different now. the warm glow and soft murmurs are still there, but without spencer, it's like the color has faded a bit. you stand by the door, uncertain of what to do next. you could go back outside, catch up with him, and just say it. tell him how you feel. but the words seem stuck in your throat, and the thought of laying your feelings bare feels like too much, too soon.

you step back inside, pretending to look for something you might have left behind. the stacks of books seem to stretch endlessly in front of you, a maze of comforting distractions. you wander through the aisles, hoping to calm your racing thoughts, but all you can think about is spencer - his smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the warmth of his voice.

eventually, you find a quiet corner and sit down, closing your eyes for a moment. you know you have to do something. you can't just let him walk away without knowing how much he means to you. but the fear of rejection, of changing everything, feels overwhelming.

you realize you need time to sort through your feelings, to figure out the best way to approach this. with a heavy heart, you decide to make your way home, hoping the familiar surroundings will bring clarity. as you step out onto the street, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you.

on the journey home, you replay the moments with spencer in your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of how much he means to you. you know you can't keep hiding your feelings, but you also know you need to approach this with caution. as you unlock the door to your apartment, you make a silent promise to yourself—to take the time you need, to listen to your heart, and to find the courage to follow where it leads, even if it means risking everything for him.

when you get home, spencer tries calling you as he paces around his bedroom, his phone pressed against his ear. the ringing continues, but there's no answer. he frowns, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach. maybe you're still in the bookstore. maybe your phone is on silent, or maybe you're just busy. he tells himself there's a reasonable explanation, but the doubt lingers.

as he walks to his kitchen, he dials again. this time, the call goes straight to voicemail. his instincts tell him something isn't right. the keys excuse felt odd, and your hurried departure only amplifies his worry. he takes a moment to think, then leaves his apartment, jumps in his car, starts the engine, and drives toward your apartment.

the streets pass in a blur as he navigates through the evening traffic, his mind racing with possibilities. he finds a parking spot near your building and heads to your door. the hallway is quiet, save for the distant sound of a tv from a neighbouring apartment. he takes a deep breath and knocks.

nothing.

he knocks again, this time a little louder. the knot in his stomach tightens. what if something's wrong? what if he's too late? he knocks a third time, and this time, he hears a faint rustling from inside. the door opens slowly, and there you are, standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and confusion.

"spence?" you say, blinking at him as if he's the last person you expected to see.

"i - i was worried," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "you didn't answer your phone, and i - i didn't know if you were okay."

you tilt your head, trying to process why he's here. his eyes search yours, and you can tell he's anxious, almost desperate to explain himself. "i'm fine," you say, "just had some stuff to think about."

he nods, but you can see he's not entirely convinced. there's something else, something deeper. he takes a step back, as if he's about to leave, but then he hesitates. "i - i have to tell you something," he blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. "i like you. like a lot. like i think i love you? and i know it might be weird, and i don't want to mess things up, but I just had to say it - because i couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

he looks at you, his eyes full of emotions you can't quite decipher yet. you nod, urging him to continue, even though your own heart is racing. there's something in his gaze that makes you realize this isn't just any confession - this is something that's been building for a long time.

"i've liked you since we were kids," he says, almost breathlessly. "i mean, you were always the coolest person I knew. you didn't care what anyone else thought. you were smart and funny and just... so genuinely kind. i remember when we used to ride our bikes around the neighbourhood, and you'd always be the first one to try something new. like, remember when you climbed that huge tree in mr lawson's yard just because you wanted to see the view from the top? i thought you were so brave."

he chuckles softly, his gaze softening as he reminisces. "and then, when we got older, you were always there for me. when my parents split up, and i felt like everything was falling apart, you were the one who came over with a pizza and just listened. you didn't try to fix it; you just let me talk. that's something i've always loved about you. you're a great listener, and you care about people. like, really care."

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes locking with yours. "it's not just that, though. It's the little things, too. the way you laugh at the dumbest of angela’s jokes, the way you get excited about your favorite books, and how you always know the right thing to say when I'm feeling down. you make everything feel... lighter, you know? like, even when things are tough, you find a way to make it better."

spencer pauses, his voice growing more earnest. "so yeah, i've um, been holding onto this for a while, and i just, couldn't keep pretending that i didn't feel this way. i like you - a lot. and i don't know if you feel the same way, but i just couldn't not tell you anymore."

he takes a step back, the tension in his shoulders indicating that he's prepared to leave if needed. "i don't want to make things weird between us. if you don't feel the same, that's okay. i just had to say it, because you're the best thing in my life, and i can't keep acting like you aren't."

his confession takes you by surprise, but as he speaks, you feel a surge of warmth in your chest. the words you were struggling to say are suddenly so clear, so obvious. you watch as he starts to turn away, his shoulders slumping in resignation. before he can take another step, you grab his arm and pull him back, your lips pressing against his in a gentle, yet desperate kiss.

he freezes for a moment, stunned by your sudden action, then his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. when you finally break the kiss, you look into his eyes, and there's no doubt, no hesitation.

"it's always been you," you whisper, your voice soft but sure. "you're my person, spencer."

he hugs you tightly, his grip firm and comforting, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. it's a perfect moment, one that feels like the beginning of something new, something beautiful.

and as you stand there in each other's embrace, you know that everything's going to be okay, because you have each other. and that's all that matters.

[fruitjoos]

sweet revenge

stanford!art x stanford!tashi x reader

summary: you and art broke up months ago, yet you still can’t get over him. he moved on a lot faster than you thought he would. if you were going to be miserable, so was she.

warnings angst, slight bullying, maybe? i guess

You stood by the court, arms crossed, the early evening sun casting long shadows over the freshly mown grass. The tennis balls bounced in time with your heartbeat as you watched them, Art and Tashi on the other side of the fence, in their own little world. He leaned in close, whispering something that made her laugh, her hand lightly swatting his chest in that playful, teasing way that used to be yours. They exchanged love taps, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, they were searing hot brands pressed into your skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. You were supposed to be over this. Over him. It’s been months, months since the final, hollow “goodbye.” The final, “we’re not right for each other anymore.” Months since you swore you wouldn’t let him get to you again. But here you were, rooted in place, your chest tight with anger and pain, humiliation, longing. Why her? Why not you? Why did it seem so easy for him to move on, to laugh like that, to be happy?

Your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you turned away, unable to watch anymore. You hated the way he could still twist you up inside, the way seeing him happy with her made something bitter bloom in your chest. He was supposed to be yours, or at least the memory of him was. But watching him with Tashi only solidified one thing: it’s over. Really over. And it would never happen again. No second chances. No rewinds. You told yourself that over and over, but the mantra didn’t stick. Instead, it made your blood boil.

That’s when you started making Tashi’s life difficult. You couldn’t stop Art from moving on, but you could make sure she didn’t enjoy it. In the locker room after practice, you waited until she wasn’t looking, then scraped her expensive deodorants into the trash. You moved one of her tennis shoes to the opposite side of the locker room, making her late for warmups. You cut in front of her in line at lunch, bumping into her just enough to make her spill a drink. When she complained—oh, how you reveled in her complaints. You just ignored her, pretending you didn’t hear, didn’t care. You wanted her to feel what you felt: powerless, insignificant, alone.

But one day, Tashi went to Art. You didn’t see her that afternoon, but you heard from someone else that she’d been crying. And that, apparently, was enough to spark Art’s rage.

You didn’t expect to see him standing outside your lecture hall that day, not after all this time. His tall frame blocked the doorway, his expression dark as he waited for you to pack up. He didn’t say a word as you slung your bag over your shoulder, but when you walked toward the door, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make you stop, hard enough to make your pulse skip in a way you hated to admit. The force of his grip sent a shiver up your arm, part fear, part something that still simmered just below the surface.

“Leave Tashi alone,” Art said, his voice low and sharp. His words were clipped, his anger barely restrained, and for a moment, you were stunned. Not by what he said, but by the way his touch still made your heart flutter. You hated that he still had this kind of hold over you, even after everything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, batting your eyelashes and feigning innocence. You tried to pull your hand free, but he only tightened his grip. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something that told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “Tashi told me everything. The stupid deodorant thing, the shoes, bumping into her—” He listed off every petty, vindictive thing you’d done in the last few weeks, and you felt a slight satisfaction that he noticed. That he cared enough to confront you about it.

But your face remained blank, a mask of boredom. You stared at him, expressionless, as though every word he said was just background noise. The little games you played with Tashi were nothing compared to the way he had gutted you, left you behind like you were just some phase in his life he was done with. You blinked slowly, taking in the storm in his eyes, feeling something close to triumph in the fact that he was this worked up.

Then, just as quickly, he delivered the final blow. “Hating her won’t make me love you again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, winding you. For a split second, your carefully constructed walls cracked. He didn’t even realize the impact his words had, didn’t stay to watch the devastation in your eyes. Art let go of your wrist and shoved your hand away like it was nothing, like you were nothing, before turning his back on you and walking off into the distance without so much as a second glance.

You stood there, frozen, as his words echoed in your mind. Hating her won’t make me love you again. He had walked away before, but this felt different. Final. The sting of rejection, of abandonment, was overwhelming, and you realized with a sickening clarity that he had moved on. He was never coming back.

Your throat tightened as you watched him disappear down the hall, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. All of the venom you’d been spewing, all the petty revenge, suddenly felt hollow. Useless. The truth was, you didn’t hate Tashi. You hated what she represented. She was everything you weren’t, everything you used to be, when Art still looked at you the way he now looked at her. She had the life you used to have, and no amount of sabotage or cruelty was going to change that.

And now, you were left with nothing. Not even the hope of him coming back.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Growing Pains (S.R.)

Summary: When Spencer finds unfamiliar lingerie in the laundry, he didn’t realize how difficult it would be when he confronted his wife… and learned it didn’t belong to her, either. It belonged to their daughter. Request: reader and Spencer are happily married and have a 16-year daughter. She has a new boyfriend (her first boyfriend) and her parents are worried. They meet the boyfriend. A/N: Who doesn't love a little Dad!Spencer? Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Domestic Fluff (16+) Content Warning: Awkwardness, father & daughter relationship, protective Dad Spencer, lingerie, meeting the parents, firearms mention, Spencer finds his daughter’s lingerie and thinks his wife is cheating on him, it’s hard to explain, mentions of sexual themes, innocent kissing Word Count: 3.7k

There is something so mundane yet so serene about suburban life. That idyllic air that carried small bits of freshly mown grass and children’s laughter. That wasn’t to say that my life was uneventful, however.

After all, it would be nearly impossible to have a boring life while married to Spencer Reid.

But it was rare for me to feel any level of discomfort as I patrolled familiar halls. Mild annoyance, maybe, but never before had I felt such a sense of foreboding.

Not until that fateful day where I arrived home from errands to find that the clean laundry has already been pulled from the dryer. That in itself wasn’t bad—I was more than happy to let someone else do the folding—yet when I walked up the stairs, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.

“Spencer?” I called.

“In here,” he answered without his normal enthusiasm.

Now that was unnerving.

The situation only got worse when I did finally open the door to find him awkwardly pacing around the room. My attention followed him back and forth a couple times before he came to a sudden stop.

“Hi honey,” I offered as gently as I could, “What’s up?”

“Hi,” he replied, still dejected and distant. He didn’t come any closer to me before he began fiddling with his fingers.

After a tense moment of silence, I asked again, more directly, “Are you alright, Spencer?”

“I have something very difficult to discuss with you, and I-I just want to ask for you to be patient with me.”

My heart sunk at the realization that the sense of foreboding was coming from him. The muscles straight up stopped beating, turned to rocks, and tumbled into my stomach.

I shook my head to try to stave off the stupor associated with shock.

“What are you talking about?” I asked because I needed to know just how much my simple suburban life was about to change.

Was he cheating on me? Was he going back to prison? Were their federal agents standing outside, ready to tear our family from our home?

When he finally began to speak, however, it was far from a satisfying explanation.

“I know I’m not always the best husband, and I know I can be absent and that the stress of the job and the kids and the state of the entire world, really, can get in the way of our time together,” he said with an increasing tempo.

“Spencer,” I said as a beg and a warning, “Just say it.”

He held his hands up in surrender as he pleaded back, “Please, just…”

I could feel my pulse in every extremity. My skin burned with blood and my lungs cried out for oxygen.

“I know you, I do,” he assured me before he continued, “and I know this sounds so unbelievably horrible for me to even accuse you of something like this, but…”

Me?

In that terrifying silence, I ran through our lifetime of memories to try to find something I might have done wrong. But no matter how hard I searched, I found nothing that might make him want to leave me like this.

Unless…

And then he said it.

“Are you… cheating on me?”

So quickly, my fear shifted to white-hot rage that came out of my mouth so ungracefully that I nearly knocked the lamp off the bedside table in my confusion.

“What?! No!” I shrieked, “Oh my god, what made you think that?!”

At first, Spencer relaxed. The veracity of my answer had been convincing because it had been true. But Spencer, clearly still concerned that I was somehow an award-worthy actress, continued to wring his hands together throughout his poorly planned confrontation.

“I, um… I found… lingerie. In the laundry,” he said with a tilted timbre. “And I know I’ve never seen it on you before, and I also know it wasn’t new.”

The busy blood in my veins immediately knew to cower. Before it had even struck me how utterly fucked I was, I was practically trembling with concern.

Spencer saw the fear, and instead of realizing it was about what he had no way of knowing, he interpreted it as a different kind of admission.

“So, whose is it?” he asked.

Stepping towards the bed, I motioned for him to take a seat. When he didn’t? I urged him, “Honey, sit down.”

“… Oh,” he muttered before practically collapsing on the bed.

Slightly annoyed by the dramatics, I rolled my eyes and sighed before I explained, “No, not that.”

He didn’t believe me, so I sighed again.

“Spencer, I am not cheating on you.”

That time, he sighed. I let him enjoy the brief reprieve before I threw him headlong into the worst kind of turmoil.

“What you found… isn’t mine,” I stated very clearly.

“But—?”

“It belongs to our daughter.”

The room fell silent. I watched as the realization dawned on him. Slowly, his glazed over eyes began to reflect the harrowing reality.

Then, all at once, his entire world came to a devastating end. Jumping up from his seat on the bed, Spencer grabbed his head and yelled in utter disbelief.

“What?!”

“Spencer, calm down,” I tried.

It didn’t work.

“What do you—she’s only 16! What do you mean it’s her—?!”

I watched from the sidelines as his brain short circuited. He tried to pace, but ended up just trapped in the same spot with flailing arms and wild hair.

Eventually, he settled on the question that had made me so nervous in the first place.

“Where did she even get it from?!”

“I bought it for her,” I said.

The fight left his body immediately. Spencer fell back on the bed and buried his face in his hands with a dramatic groan.

I sighed, again.

I was fully prepared to let him wallow in the grief of his daughter’s childhood, too. But then he had to go and say something silly again.

“Oh my god, I wish you had been cheating on me,” he strained, “That would have been so much easier than this.”

“Spencer!”

“I’m sorry!” he conceded immediately, “I didn’t mean it. I love you, I’m glad you aren’t cheating on me.”

Despite his well-intentioned apology, he remained inconsolable. I thought about giving him a moment to spiral, but I also knew that this was a bandaid that had practically fused into his skin.

At a certain point, it just became necessary for us to discuss it—with or without the dramatics.

“I know this is upsetting for you, but our daughter is almost a grown woman,” I explained to my pitiful husband who continued to make sounds of general protest. “I don’t want her to think of her body as anything less than something worth feeling good about.”

Finally popping up from behind his hands, he returned a bitter laugh.

“Okay, but is she doing it to make herself feel good, or to please some piece of shit asshole quarterback?” he spat.

He didn’t appreciate the way it made me laugh, but I couldn’t help it. It was a ridiculous notion and he deserved to be mocked for it. 

“Spencer, your daughter would not be interested in a quarterback.”

He knew I was right, but in typical Spencer fashion, he refused to admit it.

Instead, he just huffed, “How would I know?!”

But I knew he would, eventually, respond to reason, so I didn’t relent no matter how much he begged me to.

“Sex shouldn’t be a scary thing for a teenage girl! I wanted her to know she can feel comfortable telling me things. Like if she needs condoms or the pill or, heaven forbid—!”

“Oh my god, please stop,” he groaned, “Just, give me a second, please!”

I allowed him the moment because I knew he needed it.

Sure enough, after a couple seconds of reflection and a few deep breaths, Spencer returned to his normal eccentricity. He even managed to chuckle to himself a little bit, although I’m sure he’d still felt his dramatics were justified.

He didn’t protest when I took a seat beside him on the bed. In fact, he was quick to lean on me.

I wrapped my arms around him and tried to stifle my laughter at how downtrodden he’d become. My hand smoothed over his hand and I tried to offer him reassurance that everything would be alright if our daughter grew up.

“Oh, honey, nothing has changed. She’s still our baby girl,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he sighed. Then, through laughter he muttered, “It was just a lot for me to go from thinking you secretly hated me to our daughter wearing lingerie, alright? It’s a lot.”

He buried his face against my shoulder and took another deep breath before he held me back. The simple gesture reminded me just how much he’d probably been through in past hour. Of course, it had all been self-inflicted and based on comical perceptions. But it was a lot, and I always loved the chance to comfort him.

We sat like that for a while. We sat with the knowledge that we’d made it this far. There was something special about this fear, because it meant that we had done at least a few things right.

That didn’t really help assuage any of the fears for the future, however. 

“Is she having sex?” he asked.

I wished I had a better answer.

“I don’t know,” I admitted with an exhausted groan, “My plan didn’t work. She won’t tell me anything.”

“What do we do?”

It was a question I’d spent hours pondering only to end on the same-old, unsatisfying answer.

“I guess we just… wait until she’s ready to tell us about her boyfriend.”

Silently, Spencer lifted his head and turned to me. The foreboding returned with a vengeance, but this time, I was prepared for the question to follow.

“… her what?”

I’d always heard people say that domestic suburban life could be hell on earth. I’d always shrugged it off, convinced that I had figured out the impossible and remained happily in love with my wife and the proud father of a very well-adjusted daughter.

But as I stood in my bedroom, bereft of even the basic will to live while my beautiful, loving wife fixed my tie, I realized that they had been right.

Fatherhood was hell, and my wife was the devil’s favorite accomplice.

On any other occasion, her preening would have me melting between deft fingers. In that moment, however, I felt nothing but disdain at her attention to detail.

Because she was not doing it for my benefit. She was doing it so that my disheveled appearance wouldn’t upset another man. A cruel man who sought to steal away the brightest light of my life.

That night I had to meet my daughter’s very first boyfriend.

“Are you ready?” my wife asked.

“No, you took away my gun,” I replied with the utmost sincerity.

Clever eyes darted up to mine before she laughed. The sound brought me little comfort. I tried to be upset at how she took joy in my suffering, but my lips turned to a pout before a frown.

“Yes, you’re very scary, dear,” she hummed.

Then, without warning, she pressed her lips to mine. Perfectly painted lips felt different but still tasted sweet.

Those damned fingers smoothed over my shoulders until stern muscles relaxed once more.

Eventually they crept up and cupped my jaw. Gently—at first.

So quickly they turned brutal, pressing hard enough on my cheeks to force another pout from tired lips.

“He’s a sweet boy and you’re going to be nice to him, alright?” she warned.

If she hadn’t been squeezing me so tightly, she would’ve seen me smile.

“We’ll see about that,” I deadpanned.

Again, she laughed, and that time, it brought me all the comfort I could ever need.

That darling devil of a woman stole one more kiss before she whispered, “Good enough.”

For a moment, it was. But then the doorbell rang and, despite all her efforts to lift up a heavy heart, it still plummeted to my stomach at the sound.

So quickly, my favorite girls had fled towards the door and left me frozen in the lurch. My hands and feet felt numb as my heart tried to reason with a stubborn mind.

There were some things a father had to eventually face.

My little girl was growing up, and my bad knee probably wouldn’t survive the jump out of a second story window.

There was only one way out of this. I had to go through it all.

I could hear their voices, so full of joy and love that it made me ache at the thought of losing half of it.

But deep down, I knew that I risked losing her regardless of how much I resisted the boy she’d chosen.

So, eventually, I managed to shuffle stubborn feet down the hall and towards the living room.

Somewhat to my surprise, the boy’s presence was hardly noted. In fact, if my wife hadn’t been making such a fuss about the bouquet he’d handed her, I might have even missed him.

We locked eyes from across the room. The poor boy’s muscles seized in an instant. His shoulders crept towards his ears and he lost the battle of keeping his eyes on me.

There was a distant, fleeting feeling at the sight. Something not easily described, which made my palms sweaty.

My eyes almost fell to the floor, too, but they were stopped by the sight of my daughter. Seemingly unaware of my gaze, she’d thrown her arms around the boy the first moment that she could.

Again, my heart ached with a confounding feeling. With narrowed eyes and a fast-beating heart, I struggled to place it.

Thankfully, my wife was quick to interrupt before the two had caught me staring.

Before she called us all to dinner, though, I spotted that same wistful twinkling in her eye. She had simply been better at hiding it than me.

For that same reason, I let her take charge. I sat almost silent, successfully biting my tongue to save my daughter from the embarrassment of my unbridled enthusiasm.

Of course, her pride hadn’t been the only reason that I’d hardly spoken. There had been a couple more selfish desires.

The first was my unwaning concern about any boy who’d so much as looked at my daughter. However unlikely it might have been, I had to be certain that this boy was as harmless as he seemed.

My mind began running a million scenarios of increasing horror. Yet right before the fateful final moment, the theoretical fell flat.

There was, to my relief, almost nothing disconcerting about the boy.

Almost.

There was still… that funny feeling.

“Dr. Reid?”

The sound of a familiar moniker in an unfamiliar place—from an increasingly familiar voice.

“Hm?” I answered the boy.

“I hope it doesn’t sound rude, but I looked you up before I came,” he said with the telltale crackling of a nervous teenage boy.

“I don’t think it’s rude,” I said.

That’s what I would have done, was the unspoken realization.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he laughed.

My wife and daughter stifled a chuckle as they exchanged a secret set of glances that I didn’t understand.

“Your writing is way more advanced than my reading level,” the boy continued, “but I did try to read some of them. Your philosophy papers seemed so…”

He struggled to find the next word. His face twisted between a smile and something similar to a flinch. I recognized the hesitance like a mirror to the past.

“Would… hopeful be the right word?” he asked.

“Yes!” I shouted, to my own surprise.

And that boy’s face lit up like a properly screwed lightbulb from one of my very poorly received philosophy jokes.

I had become so excited by the prospect of being understood—for once—by someone so young and green that I could hardly contain my excitement.

“Which paper did you—?”

I cut myself off when I heard a soft sigh from the boy’s side.

At first, I’d thought that it was my daughter trying to warn me of my first social faux pas of the evening. But I was instead pleasantly surprised to find her contented smile. Although, it was aimed at someone else.

“No, please,” the boy beamed, “I want to hear about all of them.”

I contained the buzzing in my fingertips that tapped against the table. I turned to my wife  for permission, but her slight nod didn’t provide me the confidence to continue.

It wasn’t enough until my daughter blurted out, “Go ahead, dad. I know what I signed up for.”

What confounding words to be uttered so simply. I didn’t dare question them then.

Instead, I answered his question. I spoke at length and about anything he could remember. To my surprise, the conversation wasn’t nearly as one or two sided as I’d expected.

By my daughters third question, I was forced to accept that she really had been listening to me all those years while staring down at her phone.

My wife had been the quietest person at the table. The whole dinner, she just seemed to lean back and admire the scene before her. But behind each sip from her glass, I spotted a cheeky smile that appeared alongside that wistful distance in her eyes.

I decided I would ask her later what she saw.

Later came sooner than expected, however. The summer sun had long since set when an unfamiliar phone dinged.

“Oh, sorry, it’s my mom,” the boy muttered. There was a brief disappointment that seemed to dissipate the moment he read the message. “I should really get going, anyway. I don’t want to take up your whole night with my curiosity.”

“He really would talk forever if you let him,” my daughter said under her breath.

I assumed it had been a comment about me.

I was wrong.

“It’s just not very often I get to ask a philosopher for his thoughts, okay?” he chuckled.

He must’ve felt my dumbstruck staring, however, because he stopped himself. He straightened his back the best he could but his hand still trembled when he reached out to me to shake it.

“It really was nice to meet you, Dr. Reid,” he offered.

I was too frozen by the shock of how many mistaken assumptions I’d made in such a short period of time to respond. I glanced down at his hand and recalled a time where I was adamant that I wouldn’t shake a strangers hand.

That hadn’t been true anymore (thanks to my very supportive wife and therapist), but my daughter still recognized the ghost of hesitance.

One stern look from her made me spring into action.

His hand was warm and softer than mine. The only calluses were caused by a firm grip on a pencil rather than a gun. There was nothing worrisome about the way he tried to follow every instruction manual for handshaking.

He was, as my wife had put it, a sweet boy.

“It was very nice to meet you, too,” I returned. Then, knowing how much it would mean to them both, I smiled as I added, “I look forward to next time.”

Their responses were everything I had predicted, and it was entirely worth whatever germs might have been transferred.

The moment I turned my attention away from them, I watched from the corner of my eye as they excitedly squeezed each others hands until their whole bodies were bouncing.

“I’ll walk you to your car!” my not-so-little girl shouted.

It was less walking and more dragging until he managed to catch up to her.

The sight tugged once more at my heart. That strange feeling crept forward again and I tried to find its name as the front door clicked shut.

My wife swiftly ended the thought, however, by grabbing my hand and taking off towards the stairs.

“Come on!” she half-whispered between her tugging and my stumbling.

“Where are we going?!”

“We’re going to spy on them!” she now fully yelled, “Hurry up!”

In a fit of laughter and with our hands never breaking apart, we did just that. We booked it up to the master bedroom and—with the lights still off—my wife’s clever fingers pried apart the blinds just enough for us to peer through them.

The suburban summer night was almost quiet enough to hear them make their inevitably awkward goodbyes. The soft glow of carefully placed streetlights painted my daughter in an even more beautiful light, and I could tell the boy in front of her appreciated it for everything that it was.

Yet he turned away from her first, with his hand lingering in hers.

Somehow, I knew what would happen before it did. Sure enough, my daughter refused to let go. She used that hesitance to leave and pulled him right back to her and straight into a quick, chaste kiss.

And that was when I realized what that feeling had been. That lurid memory, the subtle glowing of my heart, was the familiarity of it all.

The scene unfolded like a home movie ripped straight from my memory.

In perfect synchrony with that epiphany, my wife released a dreamy sigh.

“Do you remember when that was us?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I laughed, “I do.”

I remembered it all with perfect clarity, despite how far away it had fallen. I dragged the memories back up with the same insistence that my wife had used to bring me to that moment.

I remembered the butterflies in my stomach and the anxiety of knowing that I was madly in love with a woman that was much too good for me. I also remembered how it felt to clamor back into my car and have to drive away from her with the taste of transferred lipgloss on my lips.

As the boy drove away, I felt a wave of relief ushered on by my wife’s comforting embrace.

“I think they’re going to be okay,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Me too,” I agreed.

We’d seen it happen before.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

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[superblysubpar]

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Secret Moments, In a Crowded Room:

boyfried!eddie munson x fem!reader x steve harrington

summary: your boyfriend eddie and your shared "friend" steve start something messy with you | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

1058 words

the song: dress by Taylor Swift

The cool evening breeze drifting in through the open window carried freshly mown grass, autumn leaves, and a bonfire from down the road as it made the curtains in your bedroom flutter. Signs of people out and about, enjoying their last few nights of decent weather - meaning anyone could be walking by. Anyone could see. 

Obscene and filthy, wrong and dirty. 

Heavy air that smells like smoke and woods, his soap and his shampoo. Bodies coated in light sheens of sweat, pouted lips and flushed cheeks. Your chest heaving beneath his palms, cool metal soothing against heated skin. 

He had you settled between his spread legs, back to his now bare chest, the thrum of his heartbeat against your spine, a rhythm you locked onto for breathing to settle your nerves, or maybe excitement. Cold metal chain bumping against your shoulder as he leaned forward, fingers pulling at your nipples gently. Circling the bead and pinching just right, just how you liked it. 

Your legs thrown over his thighs, pulled apart wide for him to see and your toes curled into the bunched up sheets as his hand moved lower across your stomach. Eddie tutted into your neck as you threw your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Nu-uh-uh,” he nosed at your cheek, singing, “Keep ‘em open sweetheart.”

As you lifted your head he pressed his lips to your ear. “Good girl,” kissing just below it, but never taking his eyes off of the foot of the bed. Eddie’s hand sunk lower and lower, until it hovered over your cunt, teasing until you whined and the other boy swallowed. 

Eddie laughed as your hands flew to his thighs, breath caught in your throat as one finger slid through your slick, parting your lips slowly. Eddie mouthed at your neck until you wiggled your hips and his other hand had to hold you in place, two fingers spreading you wider, putting on a show. He left your neck with a loud release of his lips, smirking against your shoulder. 

“Feels like my baby is pretty into this, what’s it look like?”

Your cheeks warmed, legs stretching and bending under the attention as Eddie laughed into your skin, pressing more encouraging kisses. 

The boy at the end of the bed stood before you both in just a pair of black boxers, stark against his tan skin that reminded you of the summer that was now over. New freckles and moles you’d never seen exposed to you, needing him closer so you could explore them all. His cheeks flushed pink, hand reaching up and running back through his auburn hair. Hooded eyes roaming over your body like you were a meal he was about to devour. 

As Eddie’s fingers spread you even wider, thick middle finger running up and down, teasing, Steve rested a knee on the mattress. The bed dipped with his weight as he pressed his palms flat, crawling up towards you as he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing and you gushed around the thick digits, squeezing at Eddie’s thighs. 

Steve’s tongue jutted out over his bottom lip, tilting his head as he murmured, “She’s practically dripping on the bed for us, Munson.”

Both boys smirked at the noise you made at the observation. Steve’s eyes focused on Eddie’s fingers and Eddie’s on the look of admiration on Steve’s face as you squirmed, pushing back against his chest.

Steve’s fingers ghosted up your thigh, eyes finally roaming higher on your body to meet your gaze. He leaned forward, hand rising to cup your face. Long fingers and thumb holding your chin and jaw, hand so large it felt like it overtook you easily and your breath hitched. His eyes never leaving yours as he tsked, “Man, you sure you wanna let me fuck her? She’s so pretty, don’t know if you’ll get her back.”

It felt so wrong to be turned on by his soft tone that contrasted with the words leaving him. Feeling dirty from the way he pretended to ask Eddie instead of you, the way his compliment was making you roll your hips against Eddie’s fingers, desperate for more. 

Eddie laughed, still confident, “Go ahead Harrington, she’s not going anywhere.” His finger dipped lower finally, circling your entrance and drawing slick up to your clit and making you jolt forward. Fingers on Steve’s shoulders, noses bumping as Eddie followed, cooing in your ear, “Aww, baby, you want Steve to fuck you?”

A pathetic whine when Steve’s palms caressed up your thighs and he kept his lips hovered over yours, waiting, nose pressed into your cheek. Eddie cursed quietly, lips over your ear as he squeezed your waist, never stopping his attentive circles to your clit. His voice lowered, gravel and rasp as he breathed out, “Yeah? I want that too. Gonna watch him fuck my girl.”

Steve’s lips parted over yours as you gasped, both of Eddie’s hands squeezing at your waist as a new finger dipped inside of you, then a second quickly followed, longer and slimmer, curling a different way than your boyfriend’s in a way that had your brain going blank. Steve’s kiss is messy, mouth moving over yours hungry, sharp breaths into you as he licked at your lip, demanding more. Eddie sucked at your neck, teeth grazing over the wet skin and pulling when he heard Steve moan into your kiss, the wet sounds of your tongues meeting and his fingers slipping in and out of you. Your stomach coiled in a familiar taut band quickly from all the extra stimulation - two mouths, four hands, it’s too much. 

Eddie nipped at your ear, fingers bumping Steve’s as he took control of your throbbing clit again while the other boy kept up his steady pumps. Your hands reached for both, curled in the hair at Steve’s neck so he sucked on your bottom lip and made Eddie swear against the edge of your jaw. Your other back into Eddie’s hair, tugging him forward by his curls so he was whispering against your cheek. 

“Shit honey, yeah, I’ll let Steve fuck you. But only so you know I do it better.”

Steve’s smile against your lips had you parting in a laugh that Eddie joined in on. Lips and fingers quick to meet again, the three of you becoming a tangled mess. 

[miyaareadsfanfiction]

Omegaverse Dramione Fanfictions

🔗 links below 🔗

The hunter’s moon

Freshly Mown Grass, New Parchment, and Spearmint Toothpaste

Silver Like Starlight

Fever dreaming

Vulnérable

[oneshotnewbie]

heyy!!! i don’t mean to seem eager or like i’m spamming you, but i have a second request if that’s okay! if you’re comfortable, i’d like it to be an x child!reader unless you feel the need to change it to fit your idea of the story better, or whatever makes you comfortable, in which i don’t mind.

reader is Emily Prentiss’ daughter, who is around eight or so and reader is a little daredevil. like, she climbs on things and does these little stunts that scare emily half to death, so she’s always scolding her about it? maybe one day reader ends up doing one of her little stunts and gets hurt – nothing major, just a scraped knee or something, and emily cleans her up and explains why she can’t be doing things like that because it’s dangerous and she could get hurt again? reader tearfully agrees and promises not to do it again, or just something along these lines. i hope you keep your motivation, and are doing well, you’re a wonderful writer!

thanks!! - 🍄 anon

ᕚ---ᕘ

Emily sat on a wooden park bench in front of a small playground while the first warm rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees. The sounds of children playing in the background and the happy chirping of birds formed a harmonious melody. She breathed the scent of the first blooming flowers and freshly mown grass into her nose, watching you play on the climbing frame, fueled by a childlike energy that seemed limitless.

"Honey, please be careful! And don't even think of climbing the trees, love!" She shouted to you as she stressed trying to stay calm while reading a book.

You were a little daredevil with wild curls on your head, ignoring your mother's admonitions and deftly disappearing from her sight to climb a low branch of a nearby oak tree. Your mother sighed and shook her head uncomfortably, not understanding your indomitable need to explore the world. This made Emily particularly anxious, making her heart soar every time she walked outside with you.

"Y/n y/m/n Prentiss! If you don't get down there now, there will be no ice cream for the rest of the week!" She scolded, her voice laced with a hint of concern as she finally tossed the book back into her bag, deeming it pointless to even try to read the first page of it. Emily stood up with a sigh and walked over to you, who was already sitting on the branch, looking up triumphantly and giggling happily to herself. "Oh mom, I have everything under control. Look how high I am!"

"You may have everything under control, but I'm not so sure I have it," she stood on her toe-tips, leaning on the thick trunk of the tree and reaching for your small hand. "Please come down, you little daredevil, before I have a heart attack from being anxious."

You cleverly climbed down again, jumping the last few centimeters into the arms of your mother, who was holding her arms outstretched towards you. Your eyes were still shining with excitement as you sat on her hips and wrapped your hands around her neck. "Mom, look. I'll show you something else I can do."

You wriggled out of her arms and before your mother could say anything or continue to hold you, you began attempting a shaky handstand that you seemed to have copied from the older kids on the lawn a few meters away from the playground. Emily held her breath and didn't look away from you. You swayed menacingly and her fear increased as her mind turned to the worst possible outcomes that could happen if you couldn't keep your balance. But you managed to land on your feet again and beamed proudly at your mother.

"See, Mom. I said I could do it!" You announced happily, clapping your hands together in joy. The black-haired woman couldn't help it and sighed in relief. "Yes, yes. You are really brave, my little devil. But please do me a favor and be careful. I don't want you to get seriously injured and have to go to the doctor. You hate doctors."

You nodded seriously and understandingly before running off to go on the next adventure, banishing what your mother had said to the farthest corner of your brain. Emily shook her head with a smile and thought about how much courage and desire to explore you had and where it came from in the first place. Life was like an endless playing field for you, full of possibilities, and she couldn't deny that deep down she was proud to have such an adventurous daughter.

Worried, she sat back down on the bench and tried to read her new novel once more. You continued to rage around, your energy inexhaustible. And this time, your mother had no idea that the second half of your adventure would be different.

Only minutes later, she heard a surprised, long scream followed by sobbing noises and your voice calling loudly for her. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she quickly jumped up to see what had happened. You sat on the floor, your hands clutching a scraped knee. "Y/n! What happened?" She called out worriedly as she rushed over to you.

"I fell off the wall, mom. It hurts so much!" you sobbed and she immediately knelt next to you in the sandbank to carefully examine the scraped area. Her slightly cold fingers ghosted over your injured skin and as she tried to blow the scratchy sand out of the wound, you began to cry. "Oh dear, that looks really painful. But don't worry, mommy will take care of it."

Emily stood up from her crouch and lifted you back up onto her hip. Your tearful, wet face buried itself in the black-haired girl's shoulder while your hands wrapped tightly around her neck and didn't want to let go. With you, she walked back to her seat and carefully sat down with you on her lap.

She quickly rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a disinfectant spray, zinc ointment and a plaster. As she carefully cleaned and treated your knee, she couldn't help but quietly explain to you how important it was to be careful. "You know how much I love you. Right? That's why you really need to be more careful. These small but dangerous adventures could seriously hurt you. You could hurt yourself more than you can imagine."

With tears in your eyes gently falling down your cheek, you looked up at her, simultaneously playing with a lost strand of her hair that strayed in front of your face. "But it's so much fun. I just wanted to see if I could climb it."

Emily let out a sigh as she carefully stuck the band-aid in place. "I understand it's fun, darling. But safety always comes first. You can have other fun without getting hurt. Mommy is very worried about you."

You lowered your head, rubbing your dirty and grimy hand at your eyes to wipe away the usual tears that remained. A feeling of regret washed over you. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again and if I do, I'll call you so you can hold me."

Emily gently stroked your hair and smiled comfortingly before placing a big kiss on your forehead. "This is my brave little adventurer. I know you're learning and understanding. Sometimes we just need to protect ourselves from ourselves. And since you can't do that yet, I'll do it for you."

You nodded and got up from her lap. She straightened your shirt and pants after the fall, patting them a few times to remove the dust from the sand from you before you took her hand and pulled her to the slide, where she was supposed to slide and swing with you for a few laps.

[beautification-tales]

The Farmer’s Daughter

A Getting Fit Tale

The sun was just beginning to rise, its pale orange light casting a warm glow over the rolling hills of Daisy's family's farm. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and peered out the window of her little room in the farmhouse. The air was crisp and clean, filled with the sweet smell of freshly mown grass and the earthy scent of soil turned over for the planting season. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and threw on a t shirt and overalls, her favorite old sneakers already waiting by the door.

Daisy padded downstairs, her feet sinking into the softness of the worn carpet. The smell of coffee filled her nose, and the sound of her father's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Morning, Dad," she called, pushing open the swinging door and stepping into the brightly lit room. Her father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and kind eyes, looked up from where he was pouring coffee into a mug.

"Morning, pumpkin," he replied with a smile. "Ready to tackle the day?" Daisy nodded, taking a mug of coffee from the counter. "You know it," she said, feeling a surge of energy from the warm liquid. "What's on the agenda today?"

“Well me and Billy will fill the barn today. I think maybe you can take it easy today.” Daisy's father said, as he took a sip of his coffee. Daisy shook her head, "No, I'm fine, Dad. I'm more than able to help." She replied, as she headed for the door. "Let me just get my jacket."

The air outside was crisp and cold, a light breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. Daisy zipped up her jacket, pulled her hat down over her ears, and made her way over to where her father and Billy were already hard at work. The two men were standing beside a large wagon, filling burlap sacks with fresh hay from a nearby field. Daisy took her place at the front of the wagon and began to pitch the hay into the sacks, her movements efficient and practiced.

After just a few minutes Daisy was already feeling fatigued. Billy noticed immediately and smiled. "You sure you're alright,Miss Daisy? You don't have to do this if you're feeling tired." He offered, pausing in his work to look at her. Daisy shook her head, not wanting to admit she was struggling. "I'm fine, really," she insisted, her voice a little less steady than usual. "I just need to catch my breath, that's all."Daisy’s Dad stopped his work and noticed Daisy’s labored breathing. “Honey, that’s enough for you today. Why don't you go inside and rest up ok?” He said, concern etched on his face. Daisy hesitated, but the exhaustion was becoming overwhelming. She nodded reluctantly and headed back to the house, her steps slower and more sluggish than before.

Daisy kicked a rock as she went up the stairs to the house. She looked back and watched Billy and her father do the work with ease. Billy’s shirt was drenched with sweat as he removed it and put his baseball cap on his head. Daisy gulped as she watched him work. They hired Billy to help work the land as her father got older. She had hoped to be the one to help but Daisy had been petite all her life. Her father also treating her like she was fragile didn’t help either.

Despite being 20 years old she felt like a child as she went back inside the house. She slumped into a chair as she struggled to catch her breath. Life had been so cruel to her. She was born prematurely as her mother passed away giving birth to her. Her father raised her single-handedly and she was always trying to repay him. She tried to be strong for him. Daisy felt like a burden as she always needed to be taken care of. So many times her weak heart caused long hospital stays and her father would stay by her bed every night. Sometimes she wished she could just be normal. She wished she was still outside helping her dad and flirting with Billy.

Her father came inside and noticed how pale she looked. He went to the kitchen and returned with a cool glass of lemonade. "Here, sweetheart, drink this and get some rest. You'll feel better soon." Daisy took the lemonade gratefully and sipped it, the cool liquid helping to ease her throat. She looked up at her father, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. I tried to be strong, but I just couldn't do it today." He knelt down beside her chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Shh... shh... it's okay, pumpkin. You're not a machine. You don't have to be strong all the time. We'll find a way to manage, okay?" She nodded, the tears spilling over and running down her cheeks. "I love you, Dad," she whispered. "I love you too, Daisy. And remember, no matter what, I'll always be here for you."

The conversation was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She couldn’t let her father down again. She ran to her room and opened the gift box she received from her cousin. She read the note again. “Hey Cuz, this steroid changed my life. I had to share it with you. Trust me it works. Love Courtney. P.S. tell Billy I said ‘Hi’” Daisy's hands trembled as she took out the small vial of steroids. Her heart raced, but she knew she had to do it. For her father, and for herself. She hesitated for a moment, but then steeled her resolve.

She pointed the syringe at her thigh and slowly injected the steroids into her skin. It was a cold, hard prick that made her wince. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to breathe. The steroids were supposed to make her stronger, but right now, they felt like poison coursing through her veins. She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

The next few day Daisy jumped out of bed at the sound of the rooster. Daisy ran downstairs to make coffee for her father and Billy. She felt rejuvenated and her chest didn't hurt as much. She could breathe easier and felt stronger. She wondered if it was just a placebo effect or if the steroids were actually working. As she filled the coffee pot, she glanced out the window and saw Billy working on the field. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on his muscular frame. Daisy couldn't help but stare, her heart racing. She quickly turned away, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

“Good morning baby girl. You're up early today." Her father smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You want some eggs or something?" He asked, motioning to the stove where a frying pan sizzled. “Dad, don’t worry I got it.” She moved gracefully around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The energy she felt was almost intoxicating. She wondered if the steroids were really making her feel this good. She felt her heart pumping faster and faster but it didn’t ache as it usually did.

“Daisy can you tell Billy to take care of the chores solo today. I pushed myself too hard yesterday.” He rubbed his neck wincing in pain. Daisy gave her father a worried look that he understood so well. “Aw don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing to worry about. I’m… just not as young as I used to be. Plus Billy can handle it.” He looked out the window and smiled. “Boy is strong like an ox.”

Daisy went outside as her father went upstairs to rest. She knew that Billy could handle it but so much more could be done if she helped. She approached Billy as he was carrying a bale of hay and smiled shyly. "Hey Billy, I'm sorry to bother you but I just wanted to say that I'm here to help if you need it." He looked up at her, his blue eyes meeting hers. "Oh, it's okay Miss Daisy. I've got it under control." He said with a small smile, trying to reassure her.

“Well I’m helping anyway.” Daisy said as she began to assist with chores. The sun beat down on them, making the air thick with humidity. Sweat trickled down their backs as they worked side by side. They didn't speak much, but there was an understanding between them. They were both trying to help her father, in their own ways. And somehow, with Daisy's newfound energy, it felt like they were making progress.

Billy had a look of surprise as Daisy was usually exhausted and inside by now. He was hoping she didn’t push herself too hard and pass out like she had done in the past. Daisy smiled as felt amazing as her heartbeat raced, not from fatigue, but from excitement. Daisy was beginning to breathe heavily as she took a moment to watch Billy at work. He was so strong and muscular, it was hard not to stare.

Daisy felt her heart pound within her chest as she gasped for air. She put her hand on her chest as she felt her heart jumping like it would explode. It was harder for her to catch her breath as she looked at Billy. She could feel the heat spreading across her face as she felt a bit lightheaded. “No I can’t pass out again.” She thought to herself as she tried to calm down.

She felt like a passenger in her body as it was out of her control. She gasped for air as if she was having an asthma attack. Billy noticed and rushed over to Daisy. "Hey, are you alright?" He asked, concern etched on his face. Daisy nodded, but she couldn't speak as her chest still heaved for air. Billy helped her sit down on a nearby bale of hay and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Listen, I’ll go get you some water.” He said before dashing off toward the house.

Daisy didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had never felt this way before. As she sat there, trying to catch her breath. She felt her breasts push out as her labored breathing continued. She looked down as she could see they had kept increasing in size as she felt a new weight on her chest. Her t-shirt was stretching as her overalls pressed into her bigger bosom. Daisy grabbed one as electricity flowed from her breasts throughout her body.

“Ohh God!” She moaned as she felt her arms and legs grow. Daisy noticed her labored breathing was starting to sound …. Different. In a matter of moments Daisy was a taller frame with toned muscle filling out her appendages. Thick thighs dug into her Jean shorts as her fatter ass filled them out more. It all happened so quickly that Daisy didn’t know what to think. Especially when Billy came back with three bottles of water.

She looked down and gasped. She had grown several inches, her breasts were easily twice the size they were, her ass was fuller, and her thighs were massive. She couldn't believe it. Billy placed the bottles of water down on the ground, looking up at her in shock. "D-Daisy?" he stammered. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She felt a strange weight in her chest, almost like a new organ had grown there.

Daisy felt thirsty as she grabbed one bottle as it rolled to her. She twisted the cap off as she guzzled the bottle as water trickled down her chin and wetting her chest. Daisy repeated this again with another bottle as Billy looked on with his jaw to the floor.

“What happened to you? A..are you ok? Miss Daisy?” Billy stammered, struggling to find the words. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Daisy's chest had grown immensely, her once small breasts now filling out her overalls and straining against the fabric. She looked up at him with wide, concerned eyes, her face flushed from exertion and excitement.

“Billy, I feel really good” Daisy managed to say between gulps of water. Her voice was deeper and more feminine than before. Billy couldn't help but stare at her chest as she spoke, taking in the sight of her full breasts spilling out of her overalls. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Because you look, well, different."

Daisy set the last bottle of water down and stood up, stretching her arms above her head. Her muscles rippled beneath her skin, and she felt stronger than ever before. She looked down at her body, taking in the curves that had emerged overnight. Her hips swayed as she walked toward Billy, her thighs rubbing together with each step.

“I think my heart might be in trouble. I need you to help me.” Daisy said, her voice still deeper and more feminine. Billy swallowed hard, his eyes still locked on her chest. He nodded, trying to focus on what she was saying. "Okay, what do you need me to do.” Billy said with a concerned tone.

Daisy got close to Billy and grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest. “Do I feel ok?” she asked him with a coy smile. Billy's heart raced as his hand touched her soft, warm skin. He could feel her heart beating strongly beneath her breast. It was a strange sensation, but it felt nice. “Umm yes” he stammered, looking into her deep blue eyes.

She guided his hand onto her breasts as her nipple hardened and brushed up against him. "Then you feel my heartbeat, don't you? It's so strong." She leaned closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. "I feel so alive, so… powerful.” She looked up into his eyes, her expression a mixture of wonder and desire.

Daisy grabbed onto Billy’s chest and bit her lip. “Billy, take me to the barn and fuck me.” She whispered. Her voice was husky and commanding, and it sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the heat emanating from her body, and his pants grew tighter as he became aroused. He nodded dumbly, unable to form any words as he followed her back to the barn.

Inside the dimly lit barn, they found an old haystack in a corner. Daisy kicked aside some of the hay, revealing a soft, warm surface beneath. She pushed Billy onto his back and straddled his hips, her chest heaving with anticipation. She reached down and undid his pants, freeing his erection. She undid the straps of her overalls and let her panties fall down.

With one smooth motion, she guided his cock into her pussy. It felt so good to finally feel him inside her, filling her up. She began to move her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding against him as their skin slapped together. Billy wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling the heat emanating from her body as she rode him.

Daisy leaned forward, her breasts swaying in front of Billy's face. She reached down and pinched her nipples, sending waves of pleasure through her body. "Oh god, Billy..." she moaned, her voice husky and demanding. "I need you to touch me."

Billy wrapped his hands around her hips, feeling the smooth, firm skin beneath his fingers. He pressed his thumbs into her hipbones, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Their rhythm became faster and more urgent, as if they were both trying to reach some sort of climax. He grasped her melons as she felt another jolt of electricity pass through her body. She arched her back, her breasts spilling out of her t- shirt, and let out a moan that seemed to echo through the barn.

As they moved together, Billy could feel the muscles in her thighs and ass tighten, and he knew that she was close. He thrust harder, driving himself deeper inside her, wanting to feel the heat and the power of her orgasm. Daisy cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as her body tensed and she came, her pussy clenching tightly around him.

He continued to thrust, lost in the sensation of her body moving against his, feeling her orgasm wash over him. His hips bucked wildly, and he groaned in satisfaction as he felt his own release building inside him. She reached down, took his cock in her hand, and began to stroke him in time with their movements, urging him over the edge. She knelt in front of him as Billy twitched in her hands.

“I want you to cum on these big beautiful tits Billy.” Daisy whispered into his ear, her breath hot and heavy. His thrusts became more erratic as he felt his climax approaching. She arched her back further, offering her perfect breasts to him as he reached down and grasped one, squeezing it tightly. His hips bucked wildly as he released his seed onto her breast, coating her nipple and the surrounding skin with his warm cum.

Daisy took her finger and tasted his seed. It was salty and sweet on her tongue. She looked up at Billy, their eyes locked together.

“Billy? Stacey? Are you both in here?”

Their hearts stopped as they realized her father was looking for them. Billy got dressed in a flash and met him and lead him outside.

“Trust me Mr. Culver, don’t worry about Daisy today. She is definitely working hard. Yes really! Of course she milked me… I mean the cow… the cow”

Daisy laughed as she hears Billy distract her father as she got dressed and tiptoed to the cow.

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: Travel - 293 words

“I don’t think I can cope without you.”

Remus hums, kissing the top of Sirius’ head. “You’ll have James to keep you company.”

“It’s not the same,” Sirius mumbles into Remus' shoulder. The scratchy wool of his jumper itches his nose, but he can’t bear to move, not when it smells like Remus - musky vanilla mixed with the lingering scent of freshly mown grass from where they were lounging about in the garden. It invades every breath, wrapping around his mind like tendrils. He wants to stay like this forever, wrapped up in each other's arms in the dusky summer evening.

The automated announcement voice calls out, echoing along the platform. 'The train now approaching platform 2 is the 20:55 service to London Paddington via Cardiff Central.' It’s the moment he’s been dreading all day - all week even - the inevitable heartbreaking goodbye.

Remus pulls away ever so slightly so he can push their foreheads together, noses bumping and lips a breath apart. “Call me when you get home,” he murmurs as he holds Sirius’ face with those strong callous hands.

Sirius clings onto Remus' wrists, anchoring himself for the few remaining minutes they have. “It won’t be until almost midnight.”

“I don’t care, I won’t sleep until I hear you.”

Sirius smiles sadly, tilts his head just enough to press a soft, sad kiss to Remus’ lips as the train comes thundering into the station. “Come visit me soon?”

“The second I can, I’ll be there.”

They stay like that until the last moment - until the conductor pointedly blows the whistle in their direction.

Remus' hand slips from his grip as he steps aboard.

At four minutes to nine, Sirius presses his face to the window and watches the platform slip away.

[allieisacrybaby]

Summer Nights Like This

Julien Baker x Fem!Reader

no warnings, just pure summery Julien Baker fluff :)

The sun slowly descended across the horizon, the birds chirped happily, and the breeze blew cooly across your face, carrying the smell of freshly mown grass and citronella. It was the perfect summer evening. You were perched on the back porch bed swing in your Nashville home that you shared with your partner Julien. You were reading your book in utter bliss when the sound of the sliding glass door opening and closing redirected your attention from the fantasy in your hands to the woman approaching you. 

“Hey punk, how’s your book?” Julien asked, cozying up on the bed swing next to you. Sticking your finger in the book to not lose your place and reply,

“So far, so good. I’ve made quite the dent in it today.”

“That’s awesome.” she smiles, but her eyes tell a different story. 

“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you much today.” you ask. JB sighs, slumping her shoulders forward. That was your cue. You find your bookmark, stick it between the pages, and tuck it next to you, giving her your undivided attention. JB sees your shift in awareness and pulls your dangling legs from the edge of the bed swing and into her lap, getting extra comfortable. Once she’s situated, she begins,

“I have this vision, but I just can’t seem to recreate it. I can hear it so clearly in my head, but I just can’t find a way to put it into reality. I’ve spent all day mixing different instruments and chords together, and I just cannot get it right for the life of me. It’s been absolutely exhausting and frustrating.”

“I’m sorry, love. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be. How about you call it a day and spend the rest of the evening out here with me? We can put on some music, make dinner, and sit out here and enjoy this beautiful summer evening. How does that sound?” you suggest. 

“Really? Princess, that would be amazing.” JB smiles, you can see her body relax, and she gives you that big ‘ole cheesy grin.

“Of course! Ok, here’s the game plan. You’ll connect to the Bluetooth speakers out here and play whatever you want and just relax, and I’ll get to work making dinner inside. Oh! Do you have any requests for dinner? We have a lot of stuff because we went grocery shopping yesterday, so I can whip up whatever you want.” 

“I could really go for some pesto pasta.” she sheepishly responds.

“Coming right up!” you grin, popping up from your spot on the swing. Before you can get far, Jay grabs your wrist and pulls you down for a kiss. It’s sweet, tender, and warm, just like her. You blush deeply and scurry off to get dinner started. 

*****

Entranced in preparing the pasta and the song's melody playing throughout the house speaker system, you don’t register the sliding glass door opening and closing or the soft thump of Blundstone boots across the hardwood floor. You only register that another person has entered the kitchen when a pair of sun-warmed tattooed arms wrap around your waist.

“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be outside relaxing.” you chastise sweetly.

“I got lonely. I missed my girl.” Julien smiles, resting the side of her cheek on your back, effectively smooshing herself into you.

“Well, dinner is almost ready. I just need to plate this after mixing the pesto and tomatoes into the pasta. If you miss me that much, you can sit at the island and watch, but I can’t finish dinner if you’re wrapped around my waist, baby.” 

“Fine, but we're eating dinner on the bed swing so you can sit in my lap.” 

“Deal.” you agree. She unravels her arms from around your waist and gently kisses behind your ear before making her way to a barstool. 

After plating the pasta and pouring drinks, you and JB return back outside, plopping down onto the bed swing, plates of pasta in hand. JB sits her plate down to the side and makes grabby hands in your direction. You know immediately what she wants, and you shake your head with a goofy grin and scootch your way into her lap. 

Taking in the countryside before you, the sun had finally set, and what was left was an orangy hue spreading a precious glow just above the rolling planes of land. Absolutely breathtaking.

“I’m so glad this is our home.” you sigh out in gratitude, leaning into Julien’s sternum.

“I mean, yeah, but this house isn’t really my home, though,” 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, she shakes her head and continues,

“You’re my home. I could be anywhere in this world, and the minute you’re there with me, in my arms, I’m home.” 

“JB, that is the cheesiest, sweetest thing you’ve ever said. You’re such a sap.” you smile, tears slowly welling in your eyes.

“It’s true. No house could ever replace the feeling of comfort you bring me.” 

“Jay, Stop it. I’m gonna cry, and I haven’t eaten my food yet.” 

“I’m sorry, doll, I’m sorry. Let’s eat this delicious food my little chef has so kindly cooked up.” 

Dinner consisted of little talking, many satisfied groans of appreciation for a good meal, and a couple of stolen kisses. By the time you’d finished eating, the sun had been replaced by the moon, the chirping birds were replaced with chirping crickets, and a smattering of stars had appeared across the midnight-black sky. 

“That was delicious, baby, thank you.” 

“Of course. I’m always happy to take care of you when you’ve had a rough day.” you smile, snuggling into her side. 

A particularly chilly breeze rolled over the two of you. JB grabbed the tattered quilt that lay over the back of the swing and covered the two of you up. 

“I could stay out here forever.” You sighed, nuzzling your nose into Julien’s neck. Wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you closer to her side, she smiled down at your sleepy face.

“Me too, doll, me too.” 

[jrooc]

Thanks @suzy-queued and @galladrabbles for this weeks prompt: Petrichor

————

He spends his early mornings in the dugout, breathing in the smell of damp soil and freshly mown grass. Until time runs down and he has to go home.

The chaos of his siblings whirs around him in the kitchen.

“You bein’ a weirdo again this morning?” Lip asks.

Ian rolls his eyes and Lip leaves, taking Liam and Carl.

Debbie looks at him from where she’s feeding Franny.

“Why do you go?” Debbie asks quietly.

He looks down. “The smell reminds me of him.”

Debbie nods. “Petrichor.”

“Hmm?” Ian asks.

“What that smell is called.”

“Mmm. Smells like Mickey.”

[crimsonlovebartylus]

potion - @bartylusmicrofic | rating: T

word: 1111 (went overboard oops)

-

Regulus leaned his head on the palm of his hand and discreetly glanced over at Barty who was taking every note possible, his gaze slowly moved to Evan who was staring at his not so subtle Hufflepuff crush, Edgar Bones with a soft smile.

Yet his eyesight went back to Barty, who was biting down on his lip in concentration, who had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows - revealing a few tattoos he had done on himself, to pissed off his dad and his tie was slightly pulled, revealing a chain.

Regulus forced himself to look away before Barty noticed that he was staring - he did not want that, because Barty was his best mate and well best matés don't just look at each other like they want to rip each other's clothes off. So he reluctantly forced himself to look away and listen to Slughorn go on about some potion.

“Attention to detail in the preparations is the prerequisite of all planning…” Slughorn went off, walking around the class slowly and cheerfully. “I prepared some concoctions this morning, Any ideas what these might be?”

Regulus jumped, when he felt the brush of Barty's arm as he raised his hand to answer the question - always the one to get any opportunity to get extra points. All due to the fact that regardless of how much Barty hated his father, he would not give the old bum the chance to talk ill about him.

“Ah yes, Mr. Crouch, please come here” Slughorn said.

Barty tense up a bit, as everyone looked his way, nodding he slowly got up and walked towards the front and looked down at the cauldrons, glancing at the liquids. “That one there is Veritaserum.” He looked up at Slughorn. “It’s a truth-telling serum”

“You need that Reg.” Evan whispered rather loudly, making Regulus jump alarmed and forcing his sight away from Barty- no slughorn.

Pandora and Dorcas laughed behind them quietly. Also knowing about Regulus' obvious crush on Barty.

Regulus glared at Evan, elbowing his best friend. “Shut up. If anyone needs that is you, Mr. I’m not staring at Edgar Bones.”

Evan blushed. “I am not.” he hissed.

Slughorn glances their way. “Quiet down, please. Carry on Mr.Crouch”

Barty nodded, looking down at the next potion and recognizing the sheer pearl color. Fuck Me .“Uh.. This one is terribly tricky to make. It’s Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world” A few people in the class perked up in interest. “It’s rumored to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them… for example, new parchment, uhm freshly mown grass.. Uhm coffee, and paint.”

Regulus blinked, feeling a swirl of jealousy on his tummy trying to figure out who smelled like that and who had Barty in love with them.

“Very good, Mr. Crouch, you may go back to your seat.” Slughorn said, patting Barty in the back, making him tense up briefly.

Barty slowly walked back to his seat, shooting a glare at Evan who was staring at him with the biggest, I knew it grin. He glanced over at Regulus who was currently staring at his book very interested in Draught of Living Death.

“Now, Amortentia doesn’t create actual love…” Slughorn emphasized, glancing at any students that looked suspicious. “But it does cause powerful infatuation and obsession and for that reason, it is probably the most dangerous potion in this room” he claps his hand, smiling. “Alright, I’m going to call a few students to come up here and smell it and tell us what they smell.”

The room immediately goes silent. An almost dramatic eerie silence. A few students exchanged a few nervous glances, at the thought of their crushes knowing that they smell them.

“Let's see… Regulus Black.”

Fuck, Regulus thought. He could feel Barty eyes on him as he got up slowly, walking towards the front. He could always lie and say what he smells in the potion is something else or he could tell the truth, and hope his best friend doesn't disown him.

Regulus glanced down at the swirling pearl color, glaring at it as the different smells started to attack his nostrils.

“Come on boy, we have others.”

Regulus' smile slowly grew as the smell embraced him in a hug, his voice dropping to a dreamy tone. Bartys eyes twitched as the jealousy creeped into the pit of his stomach, at the thought of the lucky person that was making him smile like that. “I smell.. new parchment, sweet.. like candy,” He smiled a bit, an image of Barty hidden candy stash. “Uhm, like a cedarwood smell mixed with water lilies, and coffee…”

And if Barty didn't know before, well he knows now.

“Very good Mr.Black, you may go back to your seat.”

“Mhmm..” Regulus hummed, walking back to his seat. Looking at Evan, who was wiggling his eyebrows at him and trying to tell him something by eyesight.

After an intense eye staring contest, neither was able to telepathically tell each other what they wanted. He casually sat down on his seat, opening his potion book.

“So…” Barty whispered, low enough that only Regulus would be able to hear. “When do you wanna go to hogsmeade with me, as a date?”

“WHAT?” Regulus yelled out, in complete utter shock. How dare Barty Crouch Jr, be a smooth mother fucker. Also, what?

“Everything okay Mr.Black” Slughorn asked, furrowing his eyebrows at the disruption.

Regulus shook his head, blushing. “No, no.. sorry, carry on.”

Slughorn nodded, and continued his lecture on how they would be brewing the potion for next class.

“Was that a yes…?” Barty asked, glancing at him with a grin.

“...Bold for you to assume that I smelled you Crouch, maybe it was Potter.”

Barty clenched his jaw a bit, narrowing his eyes. “Potter? Your “secret” best friend's boyfriend?”

“... there are more potters than James Potter.”

“Right.”

“I swear!” Regulus insisted, blushing.

Barty raises a brow. “You aren’t answering my question.”

“I mean I believe my answer is obvious, considering I did blur out what I’m attracted too in front of everyone.” Regulus shrugged.

“Reg.”

Regulus bites down on his lip. “Yes, fine, let’s go on a date.. just does it have to be Hogsmeade? It’s so cliche.. But if you wanna go there, that’s fine. I’ll do all the cliche shit with you…”

“Reg.” Barty said, making Regulus stop his rambling. “It’s alright, we could go anywhere as long as I get to go on that date with you.”

“Oh, oh okay, alright, yeah I would enjoy a date with you.”

“Good.” Barty replied, bumping his shoulder against him smiling