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iveleftitwithyou · 10 months ago

Text

casual | paul lahote x reader smut

NSFW | 18+ | minors DNI | word count: 2.38k

warnings: smut, dom!paul, slight angst, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

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i asked you guys if i should post this now or incorporate it into ruderal, and the result was overwhelmingly to post it now, so here it is with some plot adjustments! i've been OBSESSED with this song by chappell roan and knew i needed to make it into an imagine, although this song is probably about a woman lol. highly recommend listening to the song as you read this. this is my first time EVER writing smut so i hope its not too bad - as always, let me know what you think :)

ALSO this is in an alternate timeline where the guys are all like 21+ and so is y/n :)

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Paul’s hand lingered on your thigh as he drove the winding road back to Forks, his thumb rubbing small circles on your outer leg. the radio hummed with a song you couldn’t manage to pay attention to, instead focusing your gaze on the motion of his finger on your bare thigh. while you assumed the gesture was meant to comfort you, it did a lot more than that. you hoped that the darkness would obscure Paul’s peripheral vision enough for him to not realize you were ogling his muscular arms and unusually large hands. his veins protruded in a way that drove you crazy for some reason, and as much as you were still upset with him, you couldn’t help the rush of hormones that flooded at the sight.

Embry had made some stupid joke about you at the bonfire at Emily's that night, a common occurrence when you hung out with the pack. he didn’t mean anything by it, you joked around with each other like that all the time, but Paul had been extra sensitive for the last few weeks as he spent more hours on patrol. Victoria’s looming presence and the mystery murders happening around Washington meant the reservation needed increased protection, and the men in the pack had to step up. Embry’s comment led to a fight where the pair both phased, snarling and snapping until they both came to their senses and things went back to normal. you hated when Paul shifted because of you, even if it was just indirectly your fault like it was tonight.

you two were meant to be casual, despite Paul having imprinted on you, as you had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and weren’t ready to commit to someone again. you’d been seeing each other casually for months, hanging out, and getting to know each other better. as much as you were hesitant to let him into your life completely, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Paul. he’d been nothing but a gentleman thus far, bringing you flowers on dates, opening doors for you, and following your boundaries to a T, terrified to mess anything up with you. of course, his physical form was unlike anything you’d ever seen - you were lucky that he preferred to hang out without a shirt on. things had gotten hot and heavy between you two a few times but hadn’t gone farther than some very intense making out. though, the way Paul’s hand touched you now was enough for you to throw those boundaries out the window; you wanted him - no, needed him.

you focused your eyes back on the road in front of you, only being able to see as far as the truck’s dim headlights illuminated. breathe in, breathe out, you reminded yourself, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach. you were unsuccessful, and it didn’t help that Paul’s hand was inching closer and closer to your hips.

suddenly, his hand snaked further inward and his grip tightened, engulfing your inner thigh. your breath hitched, and you unsuccessfully tried to mask it as a cough. you saw Paul smirk out of the corner of your eye, but he didn’t look over at you.

you once again reminded yourself to breathe as the ache between your legs became more apparent. his hand loosened its grip and continued its journey towards your core. half of you thought about stopping him purely as punishment for fighting with Embry, but the much louder other half wouldn’t dream of it right now.

you couldn’t help but let out a small groan as his hand finally reached your jean shorts, his fingers tracing the seam that ran between your legs. the slight pressure he applied drove you absolutely crazy as you wished for more friction.

the sound that escaped your lips seemed to do something to Paul as he let out a breathy groan of his own. “alright, that’s it,” he mumbled, turning the wheel toward the side of the road. he must have known exactly where you were because he easily pulled the truck behind a set of bushes that obscured most of it from the road. any passerbys, which were few and far between at this time of night anyway, wouldn’t notice the vehicle.

almost as soon as he slammed the gear shift into park, his lips were on yours. he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. you melted into his lips, reminding yourself for the third time that night that if you didn’t start breathing, you would pass out. he gripped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued to make out. his other hand traveled down your arm, to your hip, and unbuckled the seatbelt you’d been wearing. in one swift, but slightly awkward motion, he disconnected your lips for a brief moment and grabbed each side of your hips, pulling you across the center console onto his lap. you were careful not to lean too far and hit the horn with your back as you settled onto him, silently thanking Paul for owning such a spacious truck. your knees settled on either side of his legs.

as you sat down on his lap, you brushed his hardening length with the same seam of your shorts his hand was just on, eliciting a quiet moan from both of you. impatient, Paul once again gripped your scalp and slammed your lips together. you allowed your hands to slip underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the outline of the muscles on his bare abdomen. this feeling, combined with the warmth radiating from his bare skin, drove you insane.

“take- it- off-” you mumbled in between kisses, tugging the hem upwards. you were unsure of where the forwardness came from, but you didn’t stop long enough to be embarrassed.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he snarked half-jokingly but obliged.

the moonlight streaming in from the windshield was just enough for you to be able to see the outline of his pecs and abs, and you really couldn’t help but stare.

“like what you see?” he chuckled, noticing your eyes widening at his physique.

you nodded, unable to form words, instead opting to smash your lips back together with all of the strength you could muster. you’d had enough of looking flustered - you wanted to take initiative.

you raised your hips again, pushing your abdomen against Paul's and lowering yourself onto his member. you rocked your hips back and forth as he moved his lips down your cheek, then your jaw, and eventually to your neck. the friction as you continued to grind against him elicited a low growl against your neck as his lips attached to your skin. you moaned embarrassingly loudly as he sucked at the delicate skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sheepish. in fact, the only emotion surging through your body right now was pure desire for the god-like man leaving a series of hickeys on your neck.

“Paul, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you whined. you knew you’d regret letting him do it in the morning but right now you wanted nothing more than for him to mark you as his. you wanted to be his.

“don’t want anyone else getting any ideas. you’re all mine,” he retorted, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. his were almost completely black with lust. “say it.” he commanded, holding your jaw tightly in his hand. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m all yours, Paul” you panted, your hips continuing to move back and forth on Paul’s lap as you stared into his dark eyes. despite your relationship still being undefined, truer words had never been spoken.

“good girl. now shut the fuck up and get back in the passenger seat.” his harsh words did nothing to discourage you from obeying as you scrambled to sit back where you were a few minutes prior. this was a side of Paul you had only seen when he was angry: dark, commanding, dominating. usually, you would have to try to calm him down when he got like this, but right now, you were very much enjoying him telling you what to do. you already missed the warmth of his body on yours as you climbed back over to the other seat, but you instinctually knew better than to voice your complaints right now.

Paul leaned across the console, reaching his hand between your knees and under the seat to move it back as far as it would go. once he was satisfied with that, he reached across your lap and pulled the reclining handle, his other hand helping to lower the seat back slowly so you weren’t sent flying backward.

“scooch back” he ordered again, and you moved your hips backward on the seat, supporting yourself with your elbows on the very edge of the seat near the headrest.

you were confused as he opened the driver-side door and hopped out of the truck. you watched as he opened the passenger-side door, it becoming clear now what his plan was. you pulled your knees towards your chest as he climbed back in, kneeling on the floor mat in front of you. god damn, this truck was spacious, and you were incredibly grateful for that right now.

his large hands fumbled to unbutton your shorts. he pulled the zipper down and you lifted your hips, followed by your legs, so he could slide them off. not wanting to wait another second, he pulled your underwear to the side and connected his thumb to your clit. you let out a loud gasp at the sensation and he chuckled proudly, knowing how good he was making you feel. Paul rubbed small, tight circles on the sensitive nub for a few seconds before you felt a finger dip into your wet folds. a guttural moan escaped your throat as you finally got the sensation you had been waiting for since his hand had rested on your thigh earlier in the night.

he added a second finger shortly after and continued to pump in and out of your heat, his thumb continuing its circular motions on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building inside of your core, and it was almost euphoric knowing it was Paul making you feel like this.

“Paul, i’m gonna-” you moaned, getting close to the edge. “what the fuck?” he’d removed his fingers altogether upon hearing this and you were not happy about it.

“patience, princess.” he chuckled, making eye contact with you once again as he raised his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. you were still pissed at him for teasing you like that, but the sound he made as he licked your wetness off himself almost made it worth it. almost.

“let’s take these off, shall we? or should i rip them off?” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

“don’t you dare,” the one rational brain cell you had left replied, lifting your hips for him to slide them off like he did the shorts. you liked this pair. Paul held your hips back down as he spread your legs open, leaning his torso over the seat until you could feel his breath between your legs, amplified by the wetness that had come with the teasing.

“god, you look so fucking good” he took a second to admire the sight before him before he groaned lustfully and connected his tongue to your cunt. he made quick work of finding all the right spots to hit, causing your legs to tremble and your eyes to roll back in your head. at this rate, you wouldn’t last long, but you never wanted this moment to end.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned as he continued to circle the sensitive nub with his tongue. you had never felt this connected to someone before, not any of your exes. no one had ever made you feel as good as Paul was in this moment. as he continued the motions of his tongue, you realized Paul was perfect for you in every way, including this one. it was like pre-nut clarity.

you felt the pressure building up again, somehow even stronger than last time, unable to contain your moans. “fuck, Paul, i’m gonna cum” you groaned, arching your back against the seat as Paul continued to hold your hips down harshly against it. you figured there would be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of him marking you up even more only exacerbated your growing orgasm.

“cum for me, princess” Paul mumbled against your clit, giving you permission to let go. it only took a couple more swipes for you to come completely unglued against his mouth.

Paul gradually slowed down his motions, guiding you through your orgasm as your hips attempted to buck against his face, craving the stimulation. eventually, your brain started to function again, and the first thing you thought was that that was definitely the best orgasm you’d ever had. you couldn’t tell Paul that, though - it would boost his ego way too much, and he already had a huge one to begin with. the second thought that went through your head was that you were ready for Paul to be your boyfriend. no man could eat you out that good and get away from you.

he admired his work as you panted in front of him, a smirk of pride on his face. he loved knowing he was the one who made you feel so good. he raised himself up on his knees to hover over you, one arm resting on the seat to support himself as the other snaked behind your back to pull you to his chest. you wrapped your arms around his back, settling your face in the crook of his neck. your breaths were soon in time with each other, basking in the body heat radiating from the both of you.

you could have stayed like that forever, but after a few minutes, Paul pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. he seemed deep in thought before he smiled and opened his mouth to ask you a simple question: “is it casual now?”

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part 2 here :)

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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

Note

for bitchy pogue reader I'd love some actual introductions to Topper and Kelce after the golf course, they can be huge assholes but we've seen a nicer side to both of them. So Rafe trying to see if group hanging out *is* possible, and it's probably very weird but maybe it works out?

it's not working out just yet....but maybe! soon! thank you for the request💗

get your head in the game

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you think you had too many shots before leaving the house.

alright, so maybe the vodka was overkill. maybe. but you knew you’d need a little courage to pull off this top that’s basically a vague suggestion of a shirt. the whole thing's simple math—tight skirt, low-cut top, a flick of lip gloss, and, boom, everyone else is irrelevant.

if you wanted, you could have any guy here eating out of the palm of your hand. so why the fuck did you dress thinking about rafe when you’re supposed to distance yourself from that asshole? no idea.

the bonfire’s huge tonight, lighting up all the faces you couldn’t care less about.

you can feel him, hovering somewhere nearby. he’s in that faded sweatshirt he always wears when it’s colder out, the one that smells like salt and smoke and way too many of your bad nights. mister pouty face himself, sulking around the fire, watching you with this look that says he knows he messed up but doesn’t even know where to start patching things over.

you turn your back on him for the millionth time that night, let your hips sway just a little extra, knowing he’s watching. yeah, you’re putting on a show, all right—flicking your hair, laughing louder than you need to.

you’re just reaching for a beer when you feel hands slide around your waist, and you almost jump out of your skin, but then you catch that familiar, maddening scent of his and your body goes all traitorous, leaning back against him before you snap out of it.

"jesus,” you’re already twisting out of his clasp, turning around, and there he is, standing like he didn’t just sneak up on you with those stupid blue eyes and that stupid, lopsided grin.

you want to shove him away, but he’s got that look, like he’s begging for a chance without saying a word, and you hate how much it gets to you.

your head had been a mess since that day at the golf course.

“what do you want?” you ask, arms crossed, brows up, giving him that full-on don’t mess with me look.

“to talk,” he’s close, way too close, looking down at you like he’s trying to read every little twitch of your face as if he can just stand there and make things better by breathing the same air.

his hands are still hovering around your waist, like he’s waiting for permission to touch you again. part of you wants to let him, but you just narrow your eyes, tilting your chin.

“aren’t you afraid your little friends are gonna see you?” you edge him on, “talking to a pogue?”

“don’t start,” he says, you can see the pleading in his eyes as he reaches for your waist again, fingertips brushing your hip, like he can’t stand not touching you for another second.

“why not?”

he winces, dropping his hand back to his side, and it’s almost pathetic, how he’s just standing there, not even pretending to defend himself. “i—c’mon, i already apologized—”

you roll your eyes, not trying to hide the smirk pulling at your lips.

“apologized?” you let out a bitter laugh, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “oh, yeah, that makes up for all the times you acted like i didn’t exist.”

his face crumples, and you can see him struggling, his hand drifting toward your hip again, but he hesitates like he’s afraid he’s about to get slapped away.

it’s almost sad, mr. big shot practically pussy-whipped.

“c’mon, don’t do this,” he murmurs, stepping closer until you can feel the warmth of him. his fingertips ghost along your bare arm, like he’s desperate just to feel you.

you scoff, leaning back against the cooler, crossing your arms in front of you as his hand slides to your waist, bold and pleading all at once. his touch is warm, and you hate how your body responds like it’s a prayer, like you've been waiting all night for him to finally show up.

“there’s some people i want you to meet.”

his thumb brushes the skin just above your waistband, and he’s so close you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“what?” you huff in annoyance, lifting your chin up as he inches closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck.

you feel his thumb grazing your skin back and forth, his lips so close you can taste the desperation in his breath.

perhaps it’s the vodka, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you but you feel yourself softening, just a little, against your will.

“my friends.”

you didn’t hear him right.

his friends? the same friends who wouldn’t even look at you if you walked past them in town? the same friends he’d all but hid you from for months?

“what?” you ask, slower this time, more disbelief than anything, and you tilt your head up to get a better look at him.

he’s got that kicked puppy look in his eyes, and you’re not even sure what to make of it.

this is rafe cameron, the guy who wouldn’t be caught dead with you outside the bedroom, now practically begging to introduce you to his kook buddies?

“i want them to know,” his voice trails off, “i want them to know ‘m with you.”

“with me?” you repeat, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in your voice. “since when?”

this can’t be real—this can’t be the same rafe who couldn’t even look you in the eye outside his house three months ago.

“i told you, the other day at the golf course.”

you stare at him like he’s stupid, “you mean, when you went alpha on those little frat boys?”

“i saved you from them, okay.”

you’re seconds away from outright laughter when he just keeps looking at you with those fucking pleading eyes, that hand grazing your cheek in a way that should be soft but instead feels like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin.

why the fuck is this so endearing to you.

he sounds almost earnest—almost. but you’re not giving him an inch, not after months of him acting like he didn’t know your name outside of his bedroom.

“what do you mean, ‘saved me’?” you raise an eyebrow, biting back a smirk. “saved me from what? a little attention?”

rafe lets out a rough exhale, glancing down with a frustrated shake of his head.

“they were hitting on you,” he mutters, his hand tightening on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you aware of every single inch of his hold on you. “and ‘m not gonna stand around and watch some asshole get his hands all over what’s mine.”

mine? he’s really lost it.

“country club, i don’t know if you hit your head golfing and this is some post-head trauma hallucination, but ‘mine’ implies you want something more than whatever the fuck this is.” you motion between the two of you, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

“why don’t you ever call me by my name?” he grumbles, just like he did the other day on the golf course. he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “except when—”

your mouth drops open. is he serious? this shit again?

“except when what?” you glare at him as you swat his chest.

he’s got that smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“you only call me rafe when,” his voice drops deliciously, and he leans in close, eyes half-lidded and fixed on your lips. “…when ’m inside you.”

“shut up,” you hiss, smacking his chest again, but he doesn’t move. instead, his smirk grows as he catches your wrist and holds it, letting his fingers trace over your knuckles.

before you can retort, there’s a loud cackle from behind you.

you turn, and there they are: topper and kelce, both looking like they’ve stumbled into a parallel universe.

“whoa, what’s this?” topper’s smirk is almost as wide as rafe’s. “didn’t know our boy here had himself a—” he raises his eyebrows, letting the word hang with a smug twist of his mouth. kelce snickers, crossing his arms, eyes darting between you and rafe.

you’re already huffing, half-prepared to watch rafe put on his usual bad boy with daddy issues mask, toss out some stupid excuse, or worse—let them think you’re just a fucking hole to him.

rafe gives your waist an extra squeeze, fingers pressing into your side as if he’s staking a claim.

“this,” he says, clearing his throat like he’s about to announce something official, “is my girlfriend.”

you blink, utterly thrown, and from the look on their faces, topper and kelce are right there with you, both staring at rafe like he’s just grown an extra head.

“your what?” kelce sputters out, eyes widening, clearly expecting the punchline.

you open your mouth to say something snarky, make some joke out of this whole ridiculous scene, but rafe’s fingers are tracing slow, warm circles against your hip and you can’t think straight to save your life.

god, old you would’ve ridiculed yourself for being putty in the hands of a kook of all people.

“girlfriend,” he repeats, like he’s spelling it out just for them. “want you both to meet her.”

you swear kelce’s jaw drops, while topper lets out a low, incredulous laugh. tweedledum and tweedledee at their best.

“you’re serious,” topper mutters, giving you a once-over and shaking his head in disbelief. “i thought she was just a—”

“yeah, ’m serious,” rafe cuts in, his tone brooking no argument.

you must’ve missed the part where you two talked about this thing like adults and he proceeded to ask you.

“your what?” you bite out, as you try to wrench his arm away, but his grip only tightens, he’s prepared for a full-on wrestle if it keeps you there.

“hey—will you just stay here?” he murmurs, voice low enough that it’s just for you.

you’d throw something at him if you could. you yank his hand away anyway, tearing yourself free from his grip. “stay? are you kidding?”

you’re already storming off into the crowd, but you still hear kelce behind you, their voices , “that went well.”

rafe curses under his breath, but you just keep walking, not looking back, even as you can feel him running after you, those long legs of his making it easy to catch up.

“wait! seriously, wait!”

like hell you’re going to let him off the hook so easily.

“not happening!” you shout over your shoulder.

you could turn around and give him one last piece of your mind, but a part of you knows it’ll only lead to more hurt feelings—yours or his. you push through a group of people huddled around the bonfire, and it’s only when you reach the edge of the beach that you finally stop, trying to catch your breath.

“why do you always do this?” rafe’s voice comes from behind you. you don’t turn around, knowing that if you see that look on his face, you might just give in.

“do what?” you shoot back, crossing your arms defensively.

“run away,” he almost whines, taking a step closer, and you can hear the frustration in the way his throat tightens up, “you never give me a chance to explain.”

“explain what? that you want me to be your girlfriend when two weeks ago, you couldn’t even look at me in front of your friends?” you spin to face him, “this is ridiculous.”

rafe opens his mouth, probably to defend himself, but the look on your face shuts any attempt down.

“i asked you to stay.”

you groan, itching to pull your hair out, “what are you talkin’ about?”

“that night, i asked you to stay.”

“and proceeded to ignore me the next day, yes, i’m well fuckin’ aware.”

you want him to feel a sliver of what he’s put you through, but he just steps closer, almost like he’s trying to coax you back.

“i was trying to figure things out,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to you. “it’s not easy, alright?”

“were you incredibly tortured by the thought of letting your friends know you were slumming it with a ‘pogue’? please.”

“what, you really think i don’t care about you?” he’s pleading now, his face just inches from yours. “because if you don’t know that by now, then i don’t know what else i can do.”

you laugh bitterly. Is he actually serious?

“you can grow a fucking pair. where was this brave, ‘caring’ version of you last week? or the week before that?” you throw a hand up, trying to make him see how obvious this all is. “when you could’ve just acted like a man and told your friends instead of pretending i was some embarrassing secret.”

“’m trying to fix that,” he says, his desperate, “right here, right now.”

“and ’m supposed to just forget the way you treated me all those times?”

“can you just let me try to be better?”

you swallow, biting your lip. he’s closer now, and you can smell that familiar cologne and saltwater.

“it’s gonna take more than a few pretty words.”

“i know,” he says, nodding like he’s promising you something. “that’s why i want you to meet my friends, why i want them to know ’m with you.” his fingers finally, lace with yours, and he looks down at your hands, “i want to do this right.”

you stare down at his hand in yours, and for a second, yeah, your heart stutters, betraying every ounce of pride you’ve tried to keep intact through this whole mess.

this is rafe we’re talking about. kook royalty, king of mixed signals, the guy who’s too proud to admit when he’s wrong, especially when his boys are watching. the guy smells good, he looks like sin, and he’s saying all the things you’ve wanted to hear since day one.

a few weeks ago, you’d have laughed at the idea of ever feeling anything real for him. you, a pogue with a mouth on you, and him, a kook with daddy issues and an ego bigger than his bank account. but here you are, letting him pull this romantic shit on you.

is he actually worth all this? you could do better; you know that.

you could have someone who doesn’t make you feel like an option, someone who’s not constantly forcing you to guess what the hell he wants.

the real question is, do you actually believe he’s gonna change? or is this just another moment of him saying whatever he has to so he doesn’t lose the convenience of you?

you huff, half-scoffing, half-sighing, because honestly, maybe he does sound genuine for once, and maybe a part of you wants to believe him so badly you could actually throw your whole life away.

“prove it then,” you say it like you’re daring him. “day by day. if you’re serious, you’ll show me. and you’ll handle your idiot friends in the process.”

“deal.”

you raise a brown, “you’re not gonna think about it?”

he shrugs, “nothin’ to think about.”

you roll your eyes, because that line should be cheesy, but it lands. he really has no right to be this good at disarming you with a few well-placed words. and the worst part? he knows it.

“can i kiss you?”

of course he'd say something like that. of course, after all the back-and-forth, the pushing and pulling, he’d just stand there and ask to kiss you like everything’s solved.

you sigh, tilting your head like you’re seriously considering it. "you think a kiss is gonna make me forget every dumb shit you did?"

he smirks, all cocky confidence, but he knows he’s on thin ice. “nah, but i figured it’d be a start.”

you almost hate him for making it sound so tempting, you wish it didn't feel this good to be wanted.

you shake your head, resisting the impulse to let him off easy, but how he’s looking at you… ugh. you can’t help it, you’re thinking with your pussy at this point.

"fine," you say, trying to sound annoyed even as your heart's practically pounding out of your chest. "one kiss, no tongue.”

his mouth actually drops open, and he's staring at you like you’ve just told him he can only have one fry out of the whole basket.

"no tongue?" he repeats, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline. he's doing this thing where his mouth opens and closes like he’s a fucking fish, "wait, please—what do you mean, no tongue?"

you only just manage to keep a straight face, because fuck, this is killing him, and it’s almost cute.

"exactly what i said," you nodd, crossing your arms with this wicked little smirk. "you wanted a kiss. you get one.”

he’s looking at you like you insulted his entire lineage, "c’mon, just a little tongue. you know you wann—"

“absolutely not,” you wrinkle your nose, laughing as you cut him off. maybe you do, but this is way more fun, watching him squirm.

“fine,” he groans, moving in close, the glint in his eye tells you he’s about to break all the rules the second he’s got you there. he leans in, almost sulking, and you feel him press a single, very tame, very tongue-free kiss to your lips, “so... no tongue later either? when ’m between your legs? 'cause i’d hate to break your rules.”

son of a bitch.

it’s useless to act unaffected when he’s looking at you like that.

“pull that shit again, rafe, and you’re getting blue balls for the next month.”

he looks scandalized, that smirk dropping as he watches you with wide, pleading eyes. “you wouldn’t.”

“play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

his jaw drops a little like he can’t decide whether to laugh or fall to his knees and beg for mercy. “you’re seriously cruel, y’know that?”

“course i do.”

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hollandsfavbabe · 4 months ago

Text

Heart Over Hooves

pairing: tyler owens x reader

synopsis: in which you and tyler recount to the wranglers how exactly you began dating at a local rodeo in your home state

warnings: established relationship, cliche mean girl, cowboy charm, slight enemies to lovers

word count: 6.8k

masterlist

I just saw Twisters in 4dx and I know I'm late to the trend, but I have finally joined the Glenissance!! Please send me all of your Tyler Owens requests, I literally can't stop thinking about him. Here I present to you the fruits of a sleepless night. I hope it's decent!

The Oklahoma air was unusually chilly for a summer night as you felt a light breeze brush against the skin of your bare arms, raising rigid bumps in its wake along any part of you that wasn’t concealed by your tank top and denim jeans. But it didn’t matter how much of your body was covered; in all honesty, you could’ve been in your favorite bathing suit. The cool air was no match for the warmth of the toned arms of your husband that wrapped around you, keeping you glued tightly to his lap so that he too wouldn’t fall victim to the cold. Your cowboy, Tyler Owens, could never inhabit his own chair alone so long as you were around.

“You doing okay, baby?” he whispered into the cusp of your ear as the heat from his breath spread all the way down to your neck. Though a cluster of goosebumps had sprung from a patch of exposed skin on your forearm, it wasn’t long before the discomfort was extinguished by the gentle caress of Tyler’s wandering hand and he leisurely traced the length of your arm in an attempt to keep you content within his embrace.

“I’m just fine, thanks.” you smiled, though the summoned words weren’t nearly as effective at communicating your gratitude for him as your attempt to snuggle closer to him despite the fact that it wasn’t physically possible. Tyler got your message all the same, the clear sign that you couldn’t imagine a place on Earth that would fill you with an equitable amount of enjoyment.

Though you couldn’t see his face, you could picture Tyler’s grin more clearly than the speckled tile bottom of a shallow pool before his lips met your hairline to place a soft kiss near on your temple.

“Alright lovebirds.” Lily stated abruptly, interrupting your moment of intimacy as you were suddenly reminded that you and Tyler were not the only two people gathered around the dim glow of the small bonfire.

It had been a long day of chasing storms for all of you. In Tyler’s case, he had been the leading man in three Wrangler live streams that day as EF1s and EF2s sprouted from the clouds like flowers in the spring. His team had worked just as hard, aiding in each chase and keeping all channel content at its peak. While there were occasions when you enjoyed joining Tyler in his pick up as a special guest, the reason for your exhaustion was not quite as intense as chasing after tornados, though the role you assumed was equally as vital.

Lacking in Tyler’s lust for natural disasters that was very much necessary in order to tackle twisters head on, you became the team’s marketing expert instead. While it was considered more of a bench seat compared to the other Wranglers duties, you had proven yourself to be most useful during the recovery process once the storms had vanished in something you liked to call the ‘After Effect’. Backed by your wit and Bachelor’s degree in psychology, you maintained the channel’s engagement levels and ensured that there was more international visibility for your cause as well. The numbers added up overtime and you were proud to boast that you had managed to raise thousands of dollars from online donors that went entirely towards helping the people of Oklahoma rebuild their destroyed homes.

Such a busy day had left all of you much too tired to make it to the nearest motel that was more than a couple hours away and instead you resorted to gathering around a bonfire in the dirt ridden clearing of a wheat field. It wasn’t ideal, but you were all more than used to camping together after years of being as close as a family.

Traditions had formed after countless nights just the same. Tyler always placed his chair directly beside yours as it was never long before you gave in to sharing with him. The other Wrangler’s sat further away from each other scattered around the fire, but always in the same arrangement. The seat next to your discarded one was occupied by Dani, with the next supporting Dexter, and the one after belonging to Lily who was eagerly leaning towards you as she brought her can of beer back to her lips. Boone completed your inverted circle as he planted his chair dangerously close to the fire in between Lily and your husband who doubled as his longtime best friend.

Usually your group consisted of only the six of you, but tonight you welcomed an extra guest into camp. Ben, a British investigative journalist, had been traveling with your crew for months now and though he preferred to linger behind as an outlier, you could tell from the way he sunk into his seat that he had grown to be very comfortable with you all. You weren’t sure if he would ever leave at this point, but none of you minded his extended stay.

“Something wrong?” you asked Lily, lifting your head to gaze at her as the flames seemed to lick at the sides of her face from your perspective. You worried the team had grown tired of Tyler’s need to share his seat with you (as well as your reluctance to turn him down), but of course no one paid any attention to your couplish antics.

“I just can’t go on one more minute without knowing the story,” she explained.

“Story?” Tyler repeated, sharing your befuddlement.

“What story?” you asked.

“Your story,” Dani clarified, pointing to the foreign man that had settled just behind her outside of the circular formation. “Ben here wants it for his tornado piece.”

“It’s just intriguing,” Ben reiterated, his stumbling British accent a stark contrast from the southern you were so used to. He cleared his throat before continuing, eyeing you and your husband. “Everyone else here met while you were forming your chasing team. Everyone except you two.”

“And me!” Boone shouted, raising the hand that wasn’t occupied by his second beer of the night. “I knew Tyler before any of you.”

“Easy Boone, no one’s forgotten.” Tyler laughed, not bothering to point out the inaccuracies in his best friend’s claim. While Boone had befriended Tyler decades before you’d shown any interest in him, the three of you all grew up together in the same tiny Arkansas town.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to your paper.” you pointed out as Ben had made it clear that he wanted to write only about Oklahoman tornados and the recent uprise in storm chasing tourism that was a direct result of your husband’s online presence.

“It isn’t,” Ben admitted. “But it would be helpful for context. Just so my readers can better understand your dynamic. It frames how your team operates.”

“And I’ve always been dying to know!” Lily added with such enthusiasm you would’ve guessed a tornado had suddenly formed right behind you.

You sat up from your nestled position on Tyler’s lap to look back at him, delighted as you discovered an expression matching the one upon your own face: a knowing smile. He was more than happy to share how the two of you ended up together. All he needed was a signal of your approval, one you gave him with the loving squeeze of your hand against the taunt muscle of his bicep.

“Alright,” you agreed, turning your head to face the group once more. “But I get to tell it.”

“Fine by me.” Tyler nodded to your condition.

“With help from me at least!” Boone interjected to which you sent him a playful glare.

“You best not.” you threatened as Boone broke out in laughter beside you.

“Fine,” he grinned. “Woo, y’all are in for a real treat!” he hollered, already very well versed in the tale as he was there to witness its unfolding.

“Just start already.” Dexter demanded as he spoke for the rest of the group. Even with the whole night ahead of you, there was no time to waste.

You thought back to the moment at once, recalling the fateful day as if it had only happened just yesterday rather than several years ago. You sighed happily at the memory, collecting your thoughts enough to be able to share it justly.

“It all started in our hometown,” you began setting the scene as you rose from your husband’s lap, standing beside the fire so that everyone could see you. “Y’all know that Tyler and I grew up together, but we had what you might call a rocky start. He liked to bull ride and I was too busy caring for my horses to pay any attention to him. I used to barrel race back then and I got so into it that it was all I ever thought about. It wasn’t until much later that we finally got together, during the biggest rodeo in all of Arkansas…”

“Whoa, Cyclone!” you shouted to your horse as you yanked back on his worn leather reins. Your mighty steed, a chestnut brown stallion that had been racing at his fastest gallop, halted at your command just in front of the last yellow barrel. Dirt flew from the power of his mighty hooves and at once he neighed in protest to the sudden loss of speed. He was just as bothered as you were when the sound of nasally cackling came from outside of the practice corral, your head turning in sync with your horse towards the disturbance even though you already knew who it was.

Propped atop her luxury racing horse and adorned in a custom made, spotless, metallic pink riding outfit was your arch nemesis, Addisyn Claire, with a wicked smirk so evil it could wilt rose petals and an ugly laugh that echoed even out to the hills that surrounded the rodeo set up.

“Looking rusty out there!” she called out to you.

You scoffed at the remark, narrowing your eyes at the girl before clicking Cyclone towards her.

“I’d rather look rusty than like I skinned a pageant girl for my clothes.” you nodded at her sparkling get up though really you wished you had enough money to buy new clothes for every competition. At least you didn’t waste so much money on something so needlessly tacky.

You and Addisyn had been in competition since you were old enough to stay on a saddle, your hatred for her bubbling at just eight years old from the first moment you had suffered at the hands of her ego. It only got worse as the years ticked by as she transformed from a bratty little girl into the spoiled bitch she was today and now as a young adult, you weren’t sure how much more of her classic mean girl attitude you could take. It just wasn’t fair. She had the money and the privilege to buy her way into winning most of your past races with horses just as prissy as she was. But even so, you hoped that this year everything would be different.

You had happened across Cyclone by complete accident during a storm that eventually became his namesake. After saving him, you’d searched endlessly for his owner, but as luck would have it, he remained unclaimed.

Your family joked that it was almost as if he had been gifted to you, pushed into your life by a deadly storm so soon after the tragic passing of the horse you had grown up riding. You didn’t plan on riding him, not after all he had been through, but after his minor injuries and habit of being spooked by the very non-threatening barn latch had cleared, you discovered that you didn’t really have a choice. He was the sweetest horse you’d ever cared for, never ornery and always affectionate. It was curiosity that finally convinced you to saddle him up for a morning ride.

Much to your delight, Cyclone was a natural at taking commands and so morning rides turned into teaching him how to barrel race. He was quick for a stray, so much so that you were sure he was the fastest horse in the whole state. But of course with such a gift, he had the only stipulation that prevented you from beating Addisyn in so many previous races where her professionally trained horses always stole the blue ribbon. He struggled with each turn.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, such a feat was hard for the average horse to pull off. With Cyclone’s super-speed, it became damn near impossible. Regardless of the facts, you trained every chance you got and without fail, your horse was forced to slow to a losing time in order to make the tight turns.

”If I had known it was gonna be so easy to win, I wouldn’t have bothered training this one at all. You can’t even make it to the last barrel.” laughed Addisyn as she flipped a handful of long blonde curls behind her shoulder.

“That’s funny coming from a gal who doesn’t even know how to use a coat brush.” you shot back. Cyclone snorted and tucked his head down as if he had understood your come back.

“Mark my words,” she snarled with gritted teeth. “You’re going to regret speaking to me that way. There’s a lot more on the line today than some flimsy ribbon.”

You hated that she was right. Not only did the winner of each rodeo event get massive bragging rights, but the first place spot came accompanied with a large sum of money this year. While Addisyn had enough cash to fill the colossal space inside her skull a million times over, you weren't as fortunate living off a small farming family’s wage. After a long two years out of high school, you finally had the longing to continue your education, but even admission into the local state college came with a tuition that was too big for you to pay all on your own. You needed the prize money to cover the rest.

You bent over to stroke the white stripe that covered Cyclone’s nuzzle, attempting to calm him knowing that he could feel the animosity steaming from the blonde. “Don’t listen to her,” you whispered. “You’re gonna do just fine.”

“Petting your horse ain’t gonna make it any better.” Addisyn smirked.

“And talking at me ain’t gonna make you any smarter, but you’re still trying.”

Addisyn huffed as she took hold of her own pristine white horse's reins, kicking it hard in the side until it was facing the direction of the rodeo arena.

“Whatever,” she spat, tossing her perfectly styled hair in retort. “You know you’re not going to win.”

Your steel glare faded as she trotted away, resting in a hopeless frown as you realized how right she was. You hopped off your horse and led him to the edge of one of the wooden fences to tie his reins to. “I know.” you mumbled sadly.

“Hey, stranger,” sounded a deep voice from beside you, in fact it was the same voice that had plagued you since your first acquaintance long ago. “What’s with the frown?”

You turned to face him, the only person you'd ever avoided at the rodeo besides Addisyn. The cockiest bull rider to walk on Arkansas dirt, Tyler Owens. And while the hatred you felt around Addisyn didn’t bubble through your veins around Tyler, you considered him just as annoying. The worst part about him: he never could leave you alone.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” you asked, commenting on the impending closeness of his event as you guided Cyclone’s head to the nearest water trough that was only a few inches from Tyler. He shrugged as he answered.

“My event’s not for another hour,” he paused to check the time on his nonexistent watch, something cowboys never wore for fear that it would break under the pressure of the thousand pound beasts they endured riding. “I wanted to stop by and say hello.”

“I hope you don’t mean to me.”

“Of course not. I meant your horse,” Tyler grinned as his hands tickled beneath Cyclone’s ear forcing the horse to lift his majestic head and give a hearty neigh. You never understood your horse's bond with the man as, though it sounded insane, Cyclone tended to reserve the same opinions about people as you. Even so, they got on so well for a cowboy and an animal that didn’t even live remotely close together.

You rolled your eyes at the pair.

“C’mon, you better leave us be,” you climbed over the fence to shoo Tyler away, ignoring the sign of discontent from your horse. “We’ve got a big race today and Cyclone has to be in the best condition possible.”

“Well, if I’m being honest,” Tyler began, holding his ground. “- there might be another reason for my coming here.”

You waited for him to explain, leaning on the nearest fence post as Tyler sent you a signature grin.

“And?” you prompted.

“I’d like to propose a little wager, just something to help motivate ya.” smirked Tyler.

As annoyed as you were by his cocky grin and suffocating charm, you couldn’t lie, his proposition intrigued you.

“Explain.”

“I know you’re really fixing to beat Addisyn today, even more than usual, but I don’t think you have enough on the line. I was thinking maybe I could help raise the stakes a bit.” he explained.

While you and Addisyn’s rivalry didn’t qualify as even partially a secret, you weren’t sure how he found out about the significance of today’s race. You sent him an expression of confusion as you tried to figure out how he knew. Tyler seemed to understand immediately.

“Boone.” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes.

“Of course.”

Other than being Tyler’s best friend since middle school, Boone harnessed the talent of figuring out people; their likes and dislikes as well as their desires and motivations. Though he was a few years younger than you and Tyler, he preferred your age group over his own.

“So how’s about this,” Tyler started as he pulled off his sunglasses to stare you down with daring eyes of emerald, briefly wetting his lips. “If you win today, you can ask me for any favor. And nothing’s off the table. I’ll even leave you alone if that’s what you’d want…”

You tried to imagine a world where Tyler Owens didn’t pester you at every waking moment.

“Okay,” you agreed. “And if I lose?”

You were sure that no punishment from the brilliantly smooth brain of the cowboy before you could ever be bad enough to motivate you to win. Boy, were you wrong.

”If you lose,” Tyler repeated as he paused to lean in closer to you, pulling on the tension between the two of you like a rope around a bull’s neck. “- you have to kiss me.”

You backed away with wide eyes disgusted by the grin that seemed to stick on Tyler’s mouth like dirt on a dew drop.

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Tyler shrugged. “If Addisyn beats you today then you have to kiss me. A long one too, mouth to mouth.”

“And why on Earth would I ever do that?” you asked, forcing the urge to gag at the mention. You couldn’t even think about voluntarily kissing Tyler, not to mention being forced to do it after a devastating loss.

“Simple. I know you hate me and I know that you want this more than anyone else here and he’s good enough to win it,” Tyler nodded towards Cyclone who was loudly drinking from the water trough. “But I know from experience that as badly as you want it, you‘ll never try hard enough if you’re not risking more.”

“I don’t think you understand how much is on the line already.” you glared.

“Sure I do,” Tyler argued and you knew that he was telling you the truth. While the Owens family owned the property neighboring your farm, they had as much as your family did. Everything they earned went back into their crops leaving nothing for Tyler or any of his siblings to go to college, if that was something he even wanted. You doubted he ever would. “Losing the money alone would be tough, but it’s just not enough.”

“Why are you doing this?” you couldn’t help but question.

“I thought that was obvious,” he chuckled softly. “I want to see you win today. And if I’m being honest, I’m sick of seeing Addisyn win on her professionally trained horses. Lord knows you deserve it more than her.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You knew from casual eavesdropping that your worst enemy had a terrible crush on Tyler, one so bad that she had nearly begged her father to pay a dowry for him until one of her cronies informed her that purchasing people was very much unethical and illegal.

It was one of the reasons you couldn’t stand the cowboy. Any man that caught the attention of a brat like Addisyn wasn’t worth more than a second of your time. If you had known that Tyler shared your disliking for the blonde, perhaps you would’ve grown up closer. But the past was in the past and changing it was a feat best left unattempted.

“If I win,” you began, crossing your arms and staring him down. “- then starting tomorrow, you can never talk to me ever again.”

You thought you saw a hint of regret in Tyler’s eyes as remorse bloomed in your gut, but he hid it behind acceptance before you could comment on it.

“Fine,” he nodded, holding out one of his hands for you. “Shake on it?”

You took his hand in your own, taking in the leathery calluses on his palms that matched your own before you let go to jump the corral fencing once more and untie Cyclone’s reins for another round of practice.

“What about your event? Why aren’t we betting on you too?” you wondered aloud.

“Oh darlin’,” Tyler smiled which caused you to flush into a heated fury of both annoyance and embarrassment as the name slipped from his lips. “I’m gonna win. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You need a boost?”

You glared at him as he held out his hands in a makeshift step exactly in time with you as you expertly mounted Cyclone, snapping his reins so he would return to the start of the course, dodging all three barrels as you called back, “Good luck Owens!”

As promised after a long hour of anticipation, Tyler Owens had taken first place in bull riding by a landslide, not only earning him a ripple of cheers from the giant crowd (along with a few girl’s numbers), but also his share of the coveted prize money.

You had taken a break from the more and more dreary barrel practice to watch him do it, sitting in one of the nosebleed seats surrounded by far too many girls who couldn’t have been there for any other reason besides to see Tyler. Still, you were amazed by his talent. More surprised still when he had a whole arena of girls screaming for him and his roaming eyes still managed to find you clapping quietly near the back. He sent you a grin as soon as he caught sight of your unenthused scowl, brushing the dirt from his chops and sending a wink your way as if to playfully say, told ya.

It was then you noticed another woman in the audience jumping for his rewarding gaze, though it was never won. Tyler was simply too busy looking at you to pay any attention to swirling Addisyn.

Heat blossomed in your chest as you felt a sensation like a swirl of wind blow throughout your stomach, a feeling you horrifically identified as affection.

It wasn’t often that people chose you over Addisyn; you were confident that most of her friends were hired. And while there was no doubt that Tyler was the cocky bastard you couldn’t stand, perhaps you had judged him too harshly as there was evidently more that lay beneath the surface. As much as you hated to admit it, the charm he had been using on you for months was starting to work.

You fled the stands, not wanting to delve into your change of heart any longer. That was one of the best parts of barrel racing; training Cyclone served as a great distraction. And you had much to figure out before he could compete.

It was the same problem over and over again, Cyclone’s speed being both his greatest asset as well as his worst setback. He would build up so much speed that by the time he had to round the barrel, it was virtually impossible for him to slow down enough to finish the race. There had only been two outcomes during practice, both of which were not nearly good enough to win. Your horse was forced to either stay at a slow, but steady pace or face flipping over a barrel, both of which kept you from winning the title by making you too slow or disqualified.

You felt hopeless as you walked your horse to the arena, as no amount of practice could cure your dilemma. You had only managed to sire one good run out of Cyclone, but even then, it wasn't nearly fast enough to beat Addisyn past times on her purebred horses that were bought at the highest price with intent to win.

She and her horse were just before you in the lineup, sending you dirty looks as you sunk glumly into your saddle. The line was moving too fast for your spinning head to keep up with, the dread pooling in your gut intensifying by each lost second. You and Cyclone were going to be the most disappointing finale act in history, this you were sure of. A horrid ending for what had been a fantastic rodeo. At least until this point.

It was by pure chance that you found Tyler in the crowd.

He was all the way on the other side of the arena from the entrance closest to you, seated at the front with a big blue ribbon pinned to his button up flannel shirt. Despite the distance and the spectacle playing out before him as Addisyn began her race, he only had eyes for you.

Though he was too far away for you to make out his grassy green irises from the deep black of his pupils, he acknowledged you with a simple tilt of his head that was neither patronizing nor teasing. The cocky bastard you thought you knew was nowhere to be found. Comfort swirled around you like a gush of warm wind in the field by your farm. Familiar, yet something completely foreign all the same. An indescribable mix between encouragement and understanding that you didn’t think a cowboy like him was capable of. It sent a wave of excitement through your spine, a damper on the constant anxiety you had been suffering from, that he knew you were suffering from. Maybe your race wasn’t hopeless after all.

If Tyler Owens thought you could do it, certainly the win was well within your reach.

His motivating expressions were so distracting that you had nearly missed Addisyn’s fatal move if not for the large gasps that erupted from the arena crowd. Her horse, so pristine and primed to be absolutely perfect, had turned just slightly skewed too far to the right, kicking over the last barrel with its hind legs as it attempted to recover into a sprint. But there was no coming back from the five second penalty.

As Addisyn finished, her time shone above the dirt arena in the digital shine of red numbers and it would’ve been perfect if not for her mistake. You could hardly believe it as the bitter sting of karma finally bit the girl who deserved it the most.

You fought the urge to cackle as Addisyn exited the arena, sending her a taunting smirk instead. It was as if she was waiting for it, shooting you a scowl so nasty that you were certain all she wanted was to hurt you. Her face had turned so red that even the expensive power couldn’t hide her reaction and her premium pick riding gear started to seem much less impressive.

“Hard to beat, Addisyn.” you joked. While it wasn’t like you to poke fun at the people going through the worst of times, you didn’t exactly count Addisyn as human. Only equal to the devil with too much money for her own good.

“Can it,” she hissed as she hopped off her horse to drag it back to the corral, dirt scuffing up her shiny new boots as she stomped away.

“C’mon, boy.” you whispered to Cyclone, a wave of new motivation washing over you. Even if he didn’t win, at least you couldn’t do much worse than Addisyn. No matter what, you'd walk away victorious over her. “Let’s show her.”

Steadying your foot in the stirrup, you swung over him and pulled his reins back before leading him a lengthy distance away from the entrance of the arena. You knew what would happen as soon as you crossed it, the Cyclone would instantly set off the motion sensor and officially begin your time. While many liked to build as they raced, you found starting in a sprint to be more efficient. That is, if Cyclone could make every barrel.

You tried to block out any last minute doubts that tried to claw through your mind as the announcer called your name and your hometown.

“The duo from Atlas, she’s riding her trusty horse Cyclone!”

Eyes fluttering closed, you searched for any last second serenity as you sucked in a breath, the last before you would find out the results of the competition. There wasn’t anymore time for you to obsess over everything that could go wrong and you tried to not let that bother you. A sudden flash of Tyler’s face popped into your mind forcing you to grin as you were reminded of his faith in you. With no more inhibitions left to act as a hurdle between you and your goal, you tightened your grin on Cyclone’s reins and gave them a hearty tug. He was off at once, soaring through the open gate and into the arena.

Everything felt like it spun by in a flash as Cyclone rounded the first barrel. It was as rough as expected, but he was able to recover faster than before, no doubt motivated by the pressure of the competition and encouraged by your commands that were accompanied by guiding kicks to his side.

Focused on your race and entranced by Cyclone’s quick adaptation, you didn’t think to look over to Tyler as you rounded the second barrel. He was up from his front row seat, hollering for your success and beaming with pride as Cyclone sped up again, an even steadier repeat of his last.

“Cmon Cyclone!” you cried as he galloped towards the last barrel, utilizing every skill you’d taught him during practice to the max. He’d only lost some of his speed and not an ounce of his momentum as he steered straight for the last.

It was as he began the final loop that you realized he was going too fast, speeding into the circle so quickly that there was no sustainable way for him to complete the turn without flipping the barrel. You braced yourself for the mistake, heart skipping a beat as your horse nudged the orange plastic with his flank. Though it all happened in a flash too quick for you to keep up with, you swore the sound of it toppling into the dirt echoed through your mind and you couldn’t bear to look back.

“Fast!” you commanded, hoping to end on a high note despite the fact that you had failed. The fact that you weren’t any better than Addisyn anyhow. You hadn’t proved yourself. The least you could do was lessen the losing time as Cyclone sprinted for the finish line at your command.

The deafening beat of your heart pulsed so loudly in your ears that you could barely hear the cascade of cheers in the arena you had left behind. You turned Cyclone around, collapsing upon your saddle as you saw it. The last orange barrel had miraculously stayed in place. You couldn’t believe it. You’d actually done it.

“And it looks like we have our winner!” the voice of the announcer boomed from the speakers. “With an Arkansas State Rodeo record of 13.62!”

“We did it!” you screamed in disbelief as you dismounted Cyclone, turning to the horse with a wide grin and new found energy. Your exhaustion faded away like the moon with the sunrise. Every hour put into training, all the hard work for the best of outcomes. You were going to be able to afford your education. “You won, boy!”

Not only had you won, but your horse had run a state record time. It was almost like a fever dream, but the pang of your heart in your chest was all you needed to know that it was all real. Now all that was left was to remedy your bet with Tyler.

You were obligated to be honored with your prizes before you could search for him. He seemed to appear out of thin air as you tied up Cyclone back in the corral with a wide smile on your face, turning to find just the cowboy you’d been searching for.

Tyler Owens didn’t have his usual confident swagger as he approached you, the loss heavy in his two booted feet. While he was proud and rooted for win, it seemed the weight of the cost was starting to get to him. He hated that you wanted him gone, but if that was the price you wanted him to pay, he’d do it solemnly and willingly.

“Good race out there.” he congratulated your success, his face tinged with the slightest shade of pink. It was a strange sight for you to see, a cowboy blushing at the thought of your loss.

“You too, champion.” you grinned.

“That’s nothing to a record holder. You could go pro with a time like that.”

“True, but I have some bigger dreams.” you admitted as you started to picture how Tyler could fit into them.

“You’re not gonna stick around another season to torture Addisyn come more? I just know she’d be devastated.” he jested.

“As much as I love the sound of torturing her, I’m afraid my calling is elsewhere now.”

“Right,” Tyler nodded, his smile dipping. There was no doubt he was wrapping his head around the outcome of your bet, how as requested, he’s no longer be allowed to speak to you once the sun would set down on the grassy horizon. Dusk was already upon you as the lights around the arena shone a little brighter, casting an artificial glow on the darkening sky. “Well, I guess this is the last time I’ll see you.”

Unlike Tyler, your grin only intensified, but not for the reason he must of suspected. The more you started to ponder the prospect of him truly never speaking to you again, the longer you wanted the day to last. You weren’t ready to let him go, and maybe you didn’t really have to.

“Uh huh, because I won,” you stated with a knowing smile, stepping just a hair closer to the cowboy.

“You sure did. And now I’ll leave you alone like you wanted. Just like I promised.” Tyler agreed, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

His discontent reminded you of what he had requested from the bet had it turned in his favor. At the time you thought it was all one big joke, another way to motivate you by making fun of you. But now, seeing him trying to hide the tears in his soul from the thought of leaving you increased your certainty that it was more than that. Perhaps the consistent years of harmless teasing and never leaving you a moment of peace were in lieu of the words he really wanted to say.

“Right.” you took another slow step closer, leaving only inches of space between the two of you.

You thought your excitement had made your intentions obvious, but as Tyler pointed back towards his truck, you realized he was completely misinterpreting the message.

“So I’m just gonna do that now…” he stumbled over his words, waiting for you to give him a reason to stay. Just like in your race, you didn’t waste another second.

“Just kiss me already,” you ordered, watching as his folded features brightened at the invitation.

“Thank god.” he breathed as he finally closed the gap between the two of you, sealing his lips to yours with a searing kiss.

“That’s when I knew Tyler was my home,” you finished your story, looking away from the camp of your friends and towards the cowboy who had captured your heart. “We went to college together the next year, sharing a couples dorm and when Tyler proposed moving to Oklahoma, I knew I’d follow him wherever he wanted.”

Tyler reached out for one of your arms from his chair, pulling you in to press a kiss into your knuckle, touched by your interpretation of the story.

“Even if it meant facing God's wrath everyday,” he chuckled, referring to the storms you chose to spend your life chasing alongside him.

“Where’s Addisyn now?” Ben inquired, looking up from the scribble of notes he had jotted down in his worn notepad. You doubted much of it would make it into his article with all the rush of storm chasing that was intended to be the focus, but it was a flattering gesture nonetheless.

“Exactly where you’d expect,” Tyler shrugged, answering for you. “Housewife to some politician. She quit racing after she failed to beat Cyclone’s record time.”

“She even tried to buy him off me the season after we’d left for college,” you explained. “It was more than 15 times the prize money amount, but I couldn’t sell him. He still lives with my folks back home, happily grazing wherever he pleases.”

“What did you have to do with any of this?” asked Dani pointing at Boone who had moved onto his third beer of the night.

“Who do you think gave Tyler the courage to make the bet? I orchestrated the whole thing.” he claimed, smiling with such pride, you would’ve thought he was in on the whole thing.

“Did not!” your husband protested. “There would’ve been nothing to orchestrate if I hadn't liked her in the first place.”

“Yeah and it was my decision to kiss him in the end.” you added.

Boone only rolled his eyes. “Sure, take the credit,” he groaned drunkenly. “-that’s what they all say.”

Shaking your head at the display, you couldn’t help but chuckle as you found your seat again in Tyler’s lap. No matter who the credit went to, a better outcome to your’s and Tyler’s childhood feud was impossible to imagine.

“Last time I saw her,” Tyler began, changing the subject back to your past arch-nemesis. “- was when we invited her to our wedding. She wasn’t doing too hot, nearly had to kick her out for all the trouble she caused.”

“That reminds me!” Lily straightened in her seat. “Y’all have never told me the story of how Tyler proposed. I’ve been wanting to hear it for ages!”

“Well, that’s definitely a story for another time.” you laughed, as a whirlwind of memories played in your head from the day you two got engaged.

“How about instead, Boonie shares the time he got so plastered that he woke up backstage at a Dolly Parton concert.” Tyler suggested.

“Oh c’mon, you know I hate telling that story.” Boone sighed.

“No you don’t.” you and Tyler argued in true couple unison.

“Ahh who am I kidding. It’s the coolest thing that ever happened to me. It all started when we were pregaming in Dallas…” Boone began rambling, recounting the event with such detail and focus that it was difficult to tell that he had been drinking.

You and Tyler were silent for your best friend’s story, though neither of you were really listening as it was an event you had been present for. Instead you held your cowboy close, grateful that fate had thrown him so far into your path that you never couldn’t pass him by.

#tyler owens x you #tyler owens #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #glen powell #send asks #or just send help #I'll take both ;)#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x y/n #meet cute

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gh0stsp1d3r · 1 year ago

Note

Please please some dating luke as percys sister and him finding out about you two when he sees you both in cabin 3 🙏🏼🙏🏼

This is how I find out?

omg I love this.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Warnings: Brief making out, getting caught making out,, secret relationships, Luke never turned, reader and Luke are like 2 teenagers in love

“I don’t hate him- I just hate not having the place to myself anymore, you know?” You spoke to Luke. “He’s a good kid.”

He nodded, carrying his lunch tray. “At least it’s not like mine..” he shrugged, giving you a small smile.

“Yeah, I would run away.” You laughed, and you both sat down across from Percy.

“Hey, Percy.” You both said in unison, and Percy mumbled a hi. You noticed him staring at something behind you guys, rather someone.

Luke quirked an eyebrow and turned to who he was looking at Clarisse.

“You don’t think she still has something to do with it, do you?” Luke said, turning back to Percy.

“I don’t know.” He said, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

You and Luke glanced at each other for a moment and then you sighed, looking at Percy. He looked at you back now.

“Don’t let it bother you so much. You finished the quest.”

“I know but-“

“Percy. Stop. Worrying. So. Much.” You’ve only known him for a few days, but he seemed to be anxious, a lot.

He didn’t say anything, and stared down at his food with melancholy etched on his face. Once lunch was over, you and Luke stood up, and Percy went over to Annabeth.

“You’re definitely his sister.” He said with a small laugh, you both walked into the forest and you intertwined your hand into his.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, you just met him like what.. a few months ago and you’re very protective of him.”

“I am not…”

He gave you a knowing look and you rolled your eyes. “I’m like that with everyone.”

“I know. It’s part of why I love you.” He teased with a small smile on his face.

“Stop being corny.” You smiled.

“Can’t help myself.”

You both walked for some more time, before you had to go back for the bonfire. You let go of his hand, and found a seat in the back of everyone.

After a while, he leaned over and whispered to you.

“You wanna go to your cabin?”

You quickly nodded, you both ducked down and slowly made your way to the cabin.

“How do we get away with it every time?” You asked him, sitting down on the bed.

He shrugged. “We’re probably breaking about 4 rules right now.” He laid down, arm over his head, and you smiled, curling up to him and laying on his chest.

“You may not be in another God’s cabin.” You mocked Chiron.

“You must be at the bonfire at all times.” He mocked him, with a laugh.

“No dating.”

“What’s the fourth?” You asked.

He smirked, craning his head and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You both moved around and sat up now, you began to straddle his lap, you held his face in your hands, and his hands were on your hips.

You both were so caught up in the kiss, neither of you realized Percy standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat. You jumped off of him, standing up and dusting yourself off.

“Percy!” You laughed nervously. “Did the fire already end?”

“Seriously? This is how I find out?” He said, looking at you both back and fourth.

“We wanted to tell you, but we couldn’t. Dionysus would have our heads on a stick.” You said.

Percy sighed, moving to his bed.

“How long have you guys been dating?”

“Almost a year now.” Luke said.

“Jesus… just, don’t keep any more stuff from me, please?” He said after a little.

You both nodded, and Percy spoke up again “And don’t do any of that in front of me.”

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo tv show #pjo #percy jackson #charlie bushnell x reader

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writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

Text

KNOW YOU LIKE I DO | tom riddle

summary; love letters are tom's way of communicating. unfortunately, he's not as good with his actions.

word count; 7036

notes; another one that I said was gonna be short and it wasn’t. I think I’m physically incapable of writing short fics, actually.

Dear Tom,

Tommy.

My Tom.

Do you still have that first letter I wrote to you, back in summer? No, I suppose you don’t, that’s not very like you.

I’m drunk. Just a little bit (a lot), and I can’t take it anymore. Mattheo told me to tell you how I feel, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. He’s asleep on my bed right now, drooling into my favourite pillow waiting for me to write this.

So here it is.

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m in love. And it’s all your fault.

Staring across the crowded room, your eyes fixed back onto that of Tom Riddle. It wasn’t hard to spot him, not as he was the only man who came to a Christmas party dressed in all black and sat alone, brooding. His lips were pressed into a line, the lights bouncing off of those shiny curls, green and red splashed across his pale skin as he sipped at his drink, listening to the conversation Draco and Blaise were having, but never participating.

Your heart lurched a little in your chest, just the mere sight of him had a thousand different feelings rearing their heads, and you sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, your attention was redirected to the drinks table, pouring yourself an extra strong helping of Giggle Gin and topping it off. The urge to look back over was strong, and you steadfastly ignored it, suppressing the urge and instead, turning your back to his direction, walking towards the group of girls giggling in the opposite corner.

Taking your seat back in the comfy corner of the sofa, Pansy offered you a smile, her arm looped over Luna’s shoulders as the blonde cuddled into her side. Astoria was currently recounting the intimate details of her latest night with Draco, and you hid a smile in your cup as you tuned back into the conversation.

You lost the battle with your will, however, gaze moving directly back across the room to Tom. He had a slight smirk on his face now as he watched Draco speak, and you did not doubt that he was receiving a tale of the exact same encounter Astoria was currently telling, only from a different point of view.

Blonde cut across your vision, the perfect smile of Daphne blocking your view as she sat in front of you, severing any sights of Tom you might have had. “You know,” She started, grinning as she took a sip of your drink cheekily, before handing it back. “If you stare at him any harder, you’re gonna’ drill holes in the side of his head.”

You could only scoff, but no argument formed. Lately, all you’d been able to do was stare longingly at him across any room. You weren’t subtle, and you’d never been much good at hiding your feelings. Which seemed fitting, since you’d fallen for someone who was like a blank slate, permanently.

Tom Riddle was a harder book to read than a tablet written in a never-before-discovered language.

“He looks so… miserable, Daph.”

She glances over her shoulder at him, snorting a laugh, and turning her attention back to you. “Because Tom Riddle doesn’t go to parties, and he’s probably counting the minutes until he can leave.” She smirked a little, shuffling closer, perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned in, “At least, he didn’t go to parties. Until you, that is.”

Your cheeks flushed, a subtle hint at the running joke your friendship group had taken on. They’d all become convinced that Tom attended parties for you, ever since he’d been a willing guest for the first time at Draco’s end-of-summer bonfire bash, and spent the majority of the night talking with you. They refused to let it go.

“You should go over there and cheer him up. I bet he’d be smiling in no time if you gave him a little attention.”

That was exactly the problem. You’d been giving him a little too much attention, and now, everyone was painfully aware of your feelings for him. Except for him, maybe. Either that, or he was just very good at pretending he didn’t notice, in a chance to let you down gently. You didn’t know which option was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daph.”

“No, you don’t be ridiculous! You and him are… something else.” She took your free hand in hers, squeezing tightly. All amusement melted from her face, and she gave you a serious look. The expression she wore when advising her sister on Draco, or comforting Pansy after a panic attack. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened over the summer, or are you just going to keep acting like it wasn’t some cataclysmic shift?”

“So dramatic.” You hummed to your roommate.

“Still pretending, I see.” She teases lightly, but her brows are still furrowed. She waited a few more seconds, to see if you’ll crack. All you do is hold her steady gaze, and take a sip of your drink. With a sigh, she released your hand, and leans back in her chair. “Well, whatever. We can all see it, see how you two pine for one another, and how perfect you’d be together. Just go and talk to him! He’s probably sat over there waiting for you anyway. He had that exact same kicked-puppy expression on at the summer party, until you walked in.”

“He did not…” You murmur, the very thought making you blush.

“I think that’s the first time I ever saw Tom Riddle smile. A real smile, not the smile he gets when threatening someone, or when Mattheo falls over. A good smile.”

“Now you’re just making him out like some kind of sulky villain.” You retort, and she only raises a brow at you.

“Here, take him this box, and go talk to him. The poor boy looks lost over there without you.” Reaching under her chair, Daphne produces a familiar box, wrapped neatly in black paper with dark green ribbon, and your jaw drops.

“Daphne!—” Reaching out to snatch it from her, your brows furrow. “Did you go through my things?”

“I didn’t exactly go through your things,” She grins, watching you turn over the label with his name written on neatly. “I just watched you hide it under your bed and got curious… it smells good. Is it cookies? Can I have one?”

When she reaches for the box, you slap the back of her hand, and she sticks her tongue out at you in return. “No! You cannot, you little snoop!”

“Fine! If you won’t let me have a cookie, then you have to go over there. You either give me a cookie, or you give me the satisfaction of seeing you and him smile.” Her arms crossed, her tone annoyed but her words caring, and love shone in her gaze as she stared at you. “Go on. Go over to him. Please.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t already want to, and with her encouragement, you were a weak woman to say no. Downing the rest of your drink for a little liquid courage, you hop to your feet, present clutched in your hands.

Weaving through the room, the bass notes of Mattheo’s custom-made playlist pumped through the room from the speakers, a playlist you might have slightly altered a few days ago to add a couple of songs, just to mix up his usual tastes. Your stomach was twisting nervously, but the alcohol in your veins made for a pleasant buzz as the distance between you both closed.

After almost taking a ping-pong ball to the eye, courtesy of Theo on the beer-pong table, you cleared the games and settled into the pleasant atmosphere surrounding where the boys had set themselves up for the evening by the fire. When you approached, Tom looked up, frown melting away as the crease between his brows disappeared, and he sat up a little straighter as you approached.

“Hi, doll,” He murmured, shifting his arm from the armrest of the chair, so that you could take a seat on it instead. That same arm soon wrapped around your waist, his head falling to rest on your shoulder, and your heart skipped a beat within your chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Over there, with Daph and the girls.” You whisper in reply, balancing the box on your thighs, and pointing through the crowds to the barely visible patch of chairs and sofas you’d all been occupying. He only hummed, squeezing you a little closer.

“Stay here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Your voice hardly worked as you spoke, emotions clogging up, and you reached for the gift in your lap. “I have this for you, anyway. I made you those cookies you like so much.”

“You did?” His head lifted, and one of those pretty smiles that made your heart stop clean in your chest was adorning his lips. “The ones with the orange peel and the dark chocolate?”

“Those very ones.” You handed it to him, and he tugged at the ribbon covering the box, fingers flipping under the seals of the paper until it fell openly neatly. Flicking open the catch on the cardboard box, the smell of freshly baked treats filled the air, and he made a rumbling noise of happiness as he plucked on up, and took a bite. As you laughed at him, he took another, pushing it between your lips with a smirk while he chewed.

He resealed the box, savouring them, as he did all things, and putting them on the table in front of himself. You held the cookie now, eating it slowly, as Draco and Blaise finally seemed to become aware of your presence.

“I have a question.” Draco started, and your gaze moved to him, brow raising as you took the final bite. “Is Astoria over there talking about me?”

The blond smirked, and you twisted, lifting your legs to sit over Tom, ankles crossing on the opposite arm. “No, no. She’s been recounting a scene from a book.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You know, the fun books. It was really, really hot.” You teased, fanning yourself, and Tom chuckled, reaching over you for his drink, and taking a sip. Instead of putting it back down, he rested the cool glass on your thigh, his free hand coming to sit on your calf, rubbing lightly as you shivered at the touch. “Why? You think you’re better than a good spicy romance?”

“I know I am!” Draco huffed, and Blaise rolled his eyes, watching you wind his best friend up with barely a few words at all. “What book is this?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…”

“I do want to know! Tell me!” His cheeks were turning pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. In the spirit of Christmas, you took pity on him, rolling your eyes.

“I think it was called… Astoria’s Diary.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Draco’s mind, and the furious pink turned to an embarrassed red, and he shook his head, eyes narrowed at you. “I despise you.”

“You love me.” You fired back, and he scoffed, but the edges of his lips pulled at a smile, and he looked away to cover it. Settling back a little more, you leaned into the cushion, feeling Tom roll his head across the cushion to lean in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.” He says, voice low for only you to hear, and your head twists towards him You were close, close enough to pick out the different coloured flecks of colour in his eyes as he looked at you, and the hardly visible steaks of lighter brown that trailed naturally through his dark curls.

“Well, I’ve had detention all week, thanks to a certain someone.” You poked his chest, and he only smirked a little bit, shuffling his head a fraction closer.

“I needed you, what can I say?”

“You needed someone to keep a lookout while you snuck into the restricted section again. Why did it have to be me?” You scoffed, working to keep the smile on your face as the answer to your own question flickered through your mind. He chose you because he knew you’d drop everything and come, the voice taunted; you buried it under the song playing and the laughter in the room so you didn’t have to think about it...

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun when we ran.” He chuckled, hand sliding up your leg again, fingers lacing with your own. The same way they had when you’d been caught, and he’d grabbed your hand, the two of you ducking and weaving between stacks, fleeing through the corridors. Laughing and out of breath, he’d clutched your hand, thumb rubbing over your knuckles just like he was doing now, staring at you with those pretty eyes.

You hadn't been caught, but you had gotten detention for skipping class to go with him, and so you’d spent all five nights of your final week in detention, writing lines. You lifted your free hand, sighing with a nod, and running it through his curls. His eyes fluttered, head tipping back to follow your hand, and a content smile took over his lips.

You loved to see him like this, to see him so carefree and happy, to see him relax at just your touch. You’d never seen him like this before. The thought that only you could do it to him sent a thrill down your spine, made your thoughts feel hazy and slow, like treacle in your mind, and your nerves tingled. So, why had he never made a move to make it anything more? You’d given him a dozen chances, a dozen more opportunities…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this holiday.” He broke your train of thought, eyes opening again to peer up at you, and his lips became a frown as he thought about it. “My father is going to pile on the pressure not that I’m in my graduating year. I can already feel the headache forming right between my eyes.”

“Oh..” You coo, hand slipping down from his hair to rub your thumb over his forehead, the space you know him to get stress headaches the worst, when he works too hard or gets wound up. He just chuckled, eyes sliding shut once again.

The song changed, and his body tensed underneath you for just a second, before his eyes snapped open, gaze locked on you. “This is my favourite song.”

“Is it?” You mumble, finger still tracing lightly over his skin, and he nods.

“I didn’t think Mattheo put it on the playlist. I asked him, and he very emphatically said no.”

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Your shrug doesn’t convince him, not as you both hear Mattheo question the song with a stream of curses somewhere in the distance. His lips twitched at the edges, a small smile, but he said nothing else. Instead, he leaned in, your arm going around his shoulders, rubbing softly as his head nestled onto your shoulder, a sigh on his lips.

It was perfect, just like this. If he could just open his eyes and see, he’d know how wonderful it could be. Nobody knew him like you did, he’d made sure to keep his secrets locked up tight. But over the months of exchanging letters, and candle-lit nights in the library, he’d bore so much of his soul to you.

Deep, wounded parts, that you’d tried to put back together.

Soft, tender parts that he protected so valiantly, but trusted you with.

Sweet, loving parts, that never saw the light of day, unless you were together.

It was impossible, surely, that he didn’t know. He might keep his feelings locked up tight, but you didn’t hide yours very well at all. As you sat here now, fingers weaving through his hair, lips tracing his temple as you whispered nonsense to him about your day, his head on your shoulder, that he didn’t know. Even a man like Tom Riddle couldn't miss it, right?

You just wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t feel the same.

With a heart-aching sigh, you ran your fingers through his curls one more time. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your night. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your Christmas. You would not be one of those girls who gave in to their feelings, and crumbled at the feet of a man who didn’t return her affections.

Sitting up some more, he grumbled at the disruption, blinking his eyes back open as he lifted his head again. “I’m… I’m going to go dance, and play some games, okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled, patting your thigh and lifting his drink away. “Have fun. I’ll probably leave soon. If I don’t see you again, just know I’ll be thinking of you over these holidays. We’ll write again.”

His words send a rush of heat to your cheeks, a tumble of nerves through your stomach, and you could only nod. One more chance, one more chance to make a move…

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. A kiss that was purposefully close to the edge of his mouth, a kiss that purposefully lingered just a second too long as you pulled away slowly, giving him a chance to turn his head, to close the gap, to kiss you—

But he didn’t, he only smiled. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

So, you stand. You brush it off. You brush off the moment, and the feelings, and all the disappointment and heartbreak that came with it.

But I can’t do it anymore.

We’ve been housemates for seven years, we’ve been friends for half of those, and I’ve been in love with you for months.

But you don’t love me. Mattheo says you do, says you’re just stupid when it comes to feelings. But, even you couldn't miss how I feel about you.

So, I’m letting you go.

New Year, New Me, New Heart.

“No, your dorm is that way.” You giggle, Mattheo’s arm over your shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the boy’s dorms and pointing. “My dorm is this way!”

“No, you’re wrong!” He mutters, shaking his head dramatically. “Boys to the left,” He says, pointing right, “Girls to the right, because girls are always right!”

“Well, I won’t argue with you there.” You grin, spinning him around. “Wait, now I’m confused. Who’s dorm were we going to again?”

A few too many shots, a few more drinks than your limit at the beer-pong table, and as the last of the party was dying down, you and Mattheo were attempting to stumble back to your dorms. “Theo’s.”

“Right. But why are we going to Theo’s dorm?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Mattheo said. “And also, his bed is next to mine.” Another fit of laughter, drunken giggles melting away, and the two of you collapsed down against the wall, heads tipped back to the stone as amusement took over. When you finally caught your breaths once again, he was smiling, eyes sparkling in that unique Matty-way. Kicking his legs out before himself, he sighed. “Maybe I will just sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?” He pouted, and you searched through your foggy mind for a reason.

“Because you have to sleep in a bed.” Is what you settled on, shrugging your shoulders, even if you were getting a little bit too comfy against the stone too.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He wiggled his brows, smirking, before burping, and you giggled again.

“No, you may not.”

“Why?” He whined, kicking one leg like a toddler in a tantrum. “You have fluffy pillows.”

“And you have sheets that haven’t been washed in months.” Your nose screwed up, and he let out a dramatic, wounded sound, like a soldier who had just been shot in a war movie.

“That was cold.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Not as cold as the frozen Earth Tom would bury my wee little body in if I spent the night at your dorm.”

You didn’t respond, the mention of his name was like a bucket of ice over your head. Not exactly sobering, but shocking.

“I’m saying he would murder me.”

“Yes, I understood.”

“You didn’t laugh.” He pouted, and you chuckled for his benefit. “No, it’s not real. Now I feel like I begged for it.”

“You did.”

“You suck.”

“You swallow.” You sighed, and he groaned once again, another argument lost. His head rolled to your shoulder, his body slumping into relaxation.

“So… what is the deal with you and my brother?” His lips twisted as he thought about it, but he looked up at you curiously, frown only deepening at the sad look on your face.

“There is no deal.” You shrug, “He doesn’t want me like that. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” He snorts, “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“I’m serious, Matty. I’ve given him a hundred chances. He could’ve made a move anytime. I haven’t exactly kept my feelings to myself, all you fools can see my heart dripping and bleeding on my sleeve. He knows, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Your lungs burned for air at the end of your speech, and you took a deep breath, staring ahead at the chipping bricks in an attempt to avoid tears. “Why doesn’t he want me, Matty?”

“He does,” Mattheo mumbled, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “He’s just a fucking moron. But, he’s also scared. You know, you’re pretty much all he talks about? And, I never saw him smile so much as he did during the summer, when he’d receive your letters. He’d get all anxious and fidgety every day, waiting for the mail owl to arrive. He’s never going to make the first move. He’d rather suffer for all his life but have you like this, than risk losing you entirely.”

The words felt like a warming blanket and an ice-cold lake. Comforting and terrifying, sweet and burning, all at the same time.

Mattheo huffed a laugh, “Maybe you should write him a love letter.”

“Maybe I should…” You whisper, drunken thoughts taking over, and his head snapped up.

“I was joking.”

“I’m not. That’s a good idea. I should write him a letter, and tell him that I’m moving on.” You brushed your legs off as you stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, determined.

“Okay, that’s not what a love letter is. That’s so far from what I said—”

“Let’s go!” You grabbed his wrist, tugging him along behind you as you made your way through the halls.

“Now? Why are we doing it now? We should be sleeping now!” His protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along. Throwing open the door to your room, Daphne was already asleep, still in her party dress, face down on her pillow, out cold from the night’s festivities and snoring.

Mattheo collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a fluffy cushion to his chest as he curled into a ball.

“I’ll just wait here, then.” He yawned through his words, but you were too busy to care, scrambling for a pot of ink and some new parchment. Taking a seat at your desk, you stared at the paper, quill hovering, ready to write.

So, I will spend the end of this year away from you. You say we��ll write, but I don’t want to.

Only write to me, Tom, if you feel the same. If not, don’t. Let me heal, and when we come back in the New Year, I promise, nothing will change except for my heart.

We will still be friends, best friends, and we’ll never talk about it again.

I will wait for you.

Finishing the letter, you sighed at it, the ink drying and immortalising your words onto the page. Sitting before you was the sum total of what sat in your heart, and your mind. Laid out and ready to go, your hands trembled a little as you read it over, and over, to be sure.

But you had to do this, you had to give this letter to him, to alleviate the strain on your heart, to finally have some closure. Whether he felt the same or not, you’d have relief. Folding it carefully, you searched a strip of wax seal lighting the end and waiting for it to get hot, drips of Slytherin green filling into a pool that overlapped the edge of your paper. When there was enough, you stamped it carefully, sealing it shut as the wax cooled.

Taking a look behind you, you caught sight of a sleeping Mattheo, his jaw hanging open, drooling onto your favourite throw pillow, half tucked under your blankets from where he’s only bothered to cover his legs. Peeling away the wax seal, you walked over to him, shaking his shoulder, until he awoke with a huff and a groan, whining as he sat up.

“I was dreaming.”

“I wrote the letter.” You show him the proof, and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, glancing from it, to you, and back. “You have to give it to him.”

“Now?”

“No! Not now. Tomorrow. After we get off the train.” He blinked a little more, waking up from his power nap and taking the paper from you. Flipping it over in his hands, he inspected Tom’s name across the front, no address, and raised his brows.

“Why don’t you mail it?”

“That’ll take days, and I don’t want to leave it up to chance. I need you to give it to him, tomorrow. I know you’ll be swamped with everything your father expects of you both this time of year, events and frivolities and all, but you have to. I don’t want it getting lost amongst other letters and Christmas cards, and such.” Your hands clasped together before you, blinking at him pleadingly, and hoping your puppy-dog eyes were half as good as his.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself as he stood.

“Please, Matty.”

“Fine. I’ll give it to him.” He caved, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Tomorrow? After you get off the train?”

“Yes. I will give Tom the letter… tomorrow.”

Yours,

If you want me,

(y/n) x

Tom double-checked his bags, sighing as he zipped up the piece of luggage he’d actually have access to on the train, everything he needed to survive a six-hour train journey. A knock sounded from the door, a signature one that only Mattheo ever used, excessively long and irritating, and the door swung open a second later to reveal his brother.

Placing his carry-on down on the bed beside his own, Mattheo slumped out on his freshly-stripped bed. “You took your bags to the carriage already?”

“I got up early.”

“Surprising, I thought I’d have to drag you out of your bed this morning considering how much you drank last night.” He gave his brother a look, a single brow raised, and Mattheo just huffed.

“It’s called having fun, you should try it sometime.”

Tom only rolled his eyes, gaze scanning across the bag Mattheo had abandoned, snagging on the letter sticking out of one pocket. T— was all that was visible. It might have been a card, that someone had addressed it to ‘Theo’ instead of Mattheo, but everyone called him ‘Matt’ if they wanted a nickname, to avoid confusion with Nott.

Curiosity ate at him, and nudging the bag subtly revealed just enough more to show an ‘O’.

Definitely Tom, then. Mattheo was carrying a letter for him, and had not delivered it. Before he could pluck it from the pocket, his brother was sitting up, reaching for his bag and getting to his feet, swinging the letter out of his reach inadvertently.

“Ready to go?”

“Is that letter for me?” Tom burst instead, making another move for the bag. His suspicions were only confirmed when Mattheo shifted his body, pulling the arm carrying the bag away from him, behind his body and out of Tom’s reach. “Why do you have it? When did it arrive?”

Mattheo turned casually, looking down at it, patting it and pushing it back into the bag, deeper. Tom recognised that handwriting now, though, and the urgency swelled. “Uh… last night, I think. But I was a little drunk, so…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Tom pressed, biting his tongue from yelling at his brother, and Mattheo just shrugged.

“Figured I’d give it to you on the train, or something. Or when we got home. It’s just a letter.”

“Yeah…” Tom could only hum in response, his mind spinning a little. Everyone had exchanged gifts and goodbyes last night, before the party. For exactly this reason, to avoid the morning rush to the train, to avoid the hassle in the morning. “But— I saw her last night. Why wouldn't she just give it to me then? Or mail it to me?”

The questions were ceaseless, almost making Tom dizzy as he tried to think them through, and Mattheo could only shrug, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself.

“I don’t know, Tom. She just came to me, and asked me to give you that letter because she didn’t want it to get lost amongst other letters, or take too long, or something like that.” It was a small lie, really, fabricated from aspects of the truth.

“So, it’s important, then! It’s obviously important if she couldn't risk it getting lost, if it had to be hand-delivered! I should read it.” Just like that, Tom stepped right into Mattheo’s trap. Now all he had to do was pull the pin, and let the steel jaws snap shut. Yes, it could potentially backfire hugely, but Mattheo was looking on the positive side for this.

“We have to go, Tom. Everyone else has probably already left for the train.” Mattheo swung his bag again, making his point, and kicked Tom’s suitcase from where it sat beside the door towards him to pick up. “Let’s go.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his bags and taking a few steps after him, and didn’t even make it over the threshold of the door before he gave in. His bags dropped from his hands, and planted on his hips instead. “I’m going to read it.”

“Tom—”

“Give me the letter.” He held out his pal, and Mattheo tipped his head to the side, but pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I’ll catch up, you go. I’ll read it and I’ll catch up, it’s only a letter, can’t take that long.”

He lunged for Mattheo's bag, snatching the crisply pressed paper from the pocket before his brother could stop him. As he turned away, he missed Mattheo’s victorious smile. “Alright, I’ll take your trunk down. Don’t be long, or you’ll miss the train.” And you’ll miss her, were Mattheo’s unspoken words, as he grabbed Tom’s suitcase and disappeared, leaving him alone.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tom’s hand shook a little. The paper felt like it weighed a thousand tons. There was so much unspoken mystery behind it that Tom was sure whatever this letter said, it was not their usual correspondence. Not the chatty, friendly, borderline flirty letters they’d send each other when apart, this was more.

Sliding his thumb neatly under the wax seal he was so familiar with, Tom popped open the letter, unfolding it carefully and flipping it around to read.

His gaze scanned over the paper, lips flicking up at the use of the nickname he only allowed you to use, the swirl of your handwriting that he loved so much. The smile didn’t last long, however, and neither did the breath in his lungs as his chest seized. He read it.

Over and over again, he read the letter.

The minutes melted past as he absorbed what it said, until he could read the letter word for word without looking at it, tattooed into his mind now like a brand. With trembling fingers, he folded the letter back up carefully, lifting the paper to his lips as his eyes slid shut.

His heart was pounding, more so than he’d ever felt. Tom was not one for rash decisions and sudden jumps, everything was calculated and thought through and planned. But this, this was you. This is just what you did, forced him to let go of routine and be spontaneous, forced him to be carefree, to loosen the grip he had on the reigns, to show him he wouldn't fall apart at the slightest breeze.

He smiled against the letter, thoughts of you flicking through his mind.

And then a clock chimed, and he jumped violently within as he was rushed back to reality in a split second. The clock in the common room chimed loudly, echoing through the empty dorms and halls.

Rushing to his feet, Tom opened his bag, tucking the letter safely inside one of his books to preserve it, to tuck it inside the box of letters from you that was tucked under his bed at home. You doubted him, his feelings, unsure he’d kept that first letter, when in reality, he’d kept every single one.

Every letter, every note, even the silly little joke you scribbled on torn-off pieces of paper and threw at him in class, he kept them all.

Zipping his bag back up and grabbing it, he had no time to spare, racing to the chimes of the clock through the castle, to the front gates where the final carriage was leaving.

It felt too long. Too long as the horses plodded through the snow, too long as the wheel scrolled slowly, and his foot tapped agitatedly on the floor in a way he never allowed himself to do. His thumbnail was between his teeth, flicking between the frost-covered ground and his bag, wondering if it would actually be faster to run there himself.

Ahead, the train sounded its horn. The final warning for all students to begin boarding and settling in, because they’d be departing soon.

You watched as the trunks were beginning loaded onto the train, all to be collected when you arrived in London, only letting out a breath of relief as Mattheo rounded the corner, finally joining your group.

“Matty! About time, we were worried you’d miss the train.” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sighed, a little out of breath, and hugged you back once he dropped the two bags in his hands. Nobody followed him, and your brows furrowed, pulling back, “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s probably already on the train, sulking somewhere. He’s never late.” Theo snickered, and you rolled your eyes, smacking him across the shoulder for his joke.

“Blaise is inside holding a cabin for us, is Tom not sitting with us?” Enzo questioned, and you turned to Mattheo, waiting for answers.

“He’ll be here, trust me.”

“He’s late?” Draco asked, quickly followed by Enzo and Theo, all discussing it. Regulus stayed quiet, smoking and trying to hide it from being seen, but his expression was just as concerned as everyone else’s.

The chatter continued on, by your worry didn’t cease, checking up and down the platform as people bustled and crowded it. Saying their final goodbyes and giving out hugs, climbing on and off the train as they all wished one another Merry Christmas, and being unable to see either end was causing your anxiety to rocket higher.

The train horn blared again, and students began to board. “Mattheo, seriously, where is he—” Just like that, you saw him, the busy platform parting to let him through, the look on his face as terrifying as ever, and people moved out of his way as he made his way towards your group.

“Told you he’d be here,” Mattheo smirked, and you raised a brow.

“The hell did you say to him this morning, Matt?” Regulus questions.

“He looks mad,” Draco murmured.

“He looks like he’s plotting.” Enzo corrected.

Every step closer rose the tension as Tom finally looked up, his sights setting on you, and his jaw clenched. Brows drawn in, he did look like he was plotting, like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind that he couldn't sort through.

“Hey, man. We thought you were gonna’ miss the—” Draco’s words cut off at your squeak, as Tom stepped closer, never stopping the movements of his body until he was cupping your cheeks, his mouth descending upon your own.

You were almost knocked backwards from the force of it, your hands gripping at his shoulders as he bent you over backwards, a kiss so intense your knees almost went weak.

It was desperate, you could barely keep up, kissing back as best you could through your shock, until it wore off enough to reciprocate. Wrapping one arm around his neck, your other slipped to his face, his own hands making their way down, to band around your waist and pull you in closer, until your bodies were flush.

His tongue licked into your mouth, a sigh escaping you as he did, and your heart pounded against your heart, the same way he was doing, felt through his jumper and layers. The boys were whistling, cheering and hooting, and if you weren’t so happy you’d have been embarrassed by the show they were making, and the attention they were no doubt drawing.

When he finally pulled back, you panted softly, his forehead resting on your own, blinking his eyes open to meet your gaze.

“Can I write to you regardless?” He mumbled, voice rough and tense with emotion, and your brows furrowed.

“Wh— What?”

He leaned in, not helping you clear your dazed mind at all as he kissed you again, and again, until you were smiling, fingers clenched so tight in his coat that your knuckles were white, just to stay upright.

You pecked his lips once more, chasing him as he pulled back, and the train horn sounded, a final warning, but you didn’t care. “You know how I feel now. You don’t have to wait for my reply. You can be assured that I will miss you dearly over these two weeks, and I am already counting the minutes until I see you again. But can I write to you, still?”

As the realisation set in, your face flamed, jaw dropping a little bit, and he wasted no opportunity, kissing you softly. “You read my letter.”

He only nodded, a gentle chuckle onto your mouth as your lips brushed. “You’d leave it to Mattheo to deliver? He’d probably lose it at a McDonalds, trying to get a Big Mac before my father saw him, on the way home.

Your laughter was sweet, a puffed-out sound as his hands smoothed up and down your back. “I’d love to get more letters from you, Tommy. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in person, but I was scared. I thought I’d made my feelings for you obvious, and you didn’t reciprocate, so I had to write that letter. To get it out, to finalise it all.”

“I like to consider myself a smart man, you know. When it comes to you, clearly, I’m a fool. You leave me speechless, and without proper thoughts, every time. All I can think about is how pretty you are, and how much I like you, despite my best efforts not to.”

The declaration was so utterly Tom, to hate being in love even if he loved it.

“For Salazar’s sake, what have you done, Matt?” Theo cussed, and you twisted your head to look at him. “Shakespeare over here is going to be writing sonnets for the rest of the year. None of us will stand a chance with any other girls when he’s showing us up, standing under windows, yelling his love to the moon.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring their nonsense. Tom did the same, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and leaving a kiss there.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, just as I did in the summer.” You whisper, pulling away from him as the platform clears, most students already aboard now.

“And after?” Tom questions, “May I still write you letters if I, too, find myself struggling to confess my feelings in person?”

“Oh, God,” Enzo muttered. “He’s going to be writing love letters all year. He’s making the rest of us sound like cavemen. Me, you, bed, now.” He grunted, smacking a fist in his chest. You giggled as Tom rolled his eyes.

“We should get on the train.” You whisper, taking pity on the others and untangling yourself from his arms.

Tom took his bag again, and your own. With a final kiss on your cheek, he walked away to the door of the carriage, letting the rest of you follow behind. Mattheo fell into step beside you, smirking as he bumped your hips with his own.

“So, should I tell my mother and father that they have a new daughter-in-law this holiday, or wait ‘til the next.”

His teasing made you blush again, cheeks already red in the cold, warming you under all those layers. “You’re a filthy traitor. You gave him my letter early.”

“I said I’d give it to him ‘tomorrow’. Never agreed to the after the train part.” He tutted, proud of himself. “Always pay attention to the words of a contract. My dear brother taught me that. You never have to break a promise, if you’re smart with your words.”

That sounded exactly like something your man would say, your eyes rolling to the Heavens.

Mattheo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as the pair of you climbed the steps. “You never have to break your heart either, if you’re smart about who you give it to.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle/you #tom riddle x you #hp #christian coulson #slytherin boys

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whaqat · 7 months ago

Text

ermm

Curtis brothers headcanons

and then I’ll do the rest of the gang

- Soda and Pony pretend to have inside jokes to piss Darry off. Darry does actually get annoyed since they keep saying it over and over so he starts interrogating them about it.

^^ ponyboy manages to create a fake ass scenario each time. It scares Sodapop sometimes.

- everyone likes to say soda would be a red flag magnet and I second that. “Pony, she’s literally the one she said we were like Harley Quinn and joker.” “… soda, I don’t think you get how bad that is.”

- pre-book they would all go to a random river to skip rocks. Darry would always “accidentally” throw it 300 feet across and pretend he was trying to skip it and it was like the coolest thing ever to pony and soda.

- soda loves sweet stuff, pony loves sour stuff, and Darry loves salty stuff.

^^ to the extreme though. You will absolutely find ponyboy at 2AM fucking up a lemon.

- Soda and Darry saved to buy ponyboy a camera and better art supplies for his birthday. he cried.

- having “the talk” with pony was very very awkward. he already knew most of the stuff because he hangs out with people like two-bit and dally, but he found it funny so he kept pretending to be confused.

- (modern) darry would love Life360

D:“pony, you said you were going to the movies, why are you across town.”

D:“Hello????”

P: “mb I saw a butterfly.”

D: “for three miles??”

- all a little pyromaniac-ish. Weekend bonfires go weeeeeee

- pony was a little snitch as a kid and he didn’t know it most of the time.

- soda and pony both wander off constantly. Darry has considered getting kid leashes multiple times. (A day)

-soda hated how much they argued so he kept trying to arrange stuff that they did in their childhood when Darry wasn’t working but it’d just end up a mess and soda would just feel worse.

- (modern) Darry understands slang, but he doesn’t like it being used in the house because “Ponyboy won’t get far with that talk” and he thinks it’ll make him seem illiterate like the rest of them. So when they’re fighting, it’ll go quiet and pony’ll say some stupid shit like “what the skibidi” and Darry would slam his hands onto the counter.

#ponyboy curtis #outsiders headcanons #the outsiders darry #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders sodapop #sodapop curtis #sodapop patrick curtis #the outsiders

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ma1dita · 10 months ago

Note

BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him?

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you.

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite.

For once they were wrong about love.

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 7 months ago

Text

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake x you #bob morley #wife of all dilfs ✍️#bellamy x reader #bellamy blake fluff #bellamy blake x clarke griffin #bellarke #the 100 #raven reyes #bellamy blake imagine

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 3 months ago

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My takeaways from attending the Yellowjackets Vulture Fest panel

If you saw me and my friend trying and failing to carry 7 alcoholic beverages into the room, no you didn’t

•There will be a Season 3 announcement this upcoming Tuesday that fans have been “waiting for” and “expecting” for a while.

•I’m just going to come out and say it: Ella Purnell is definitely returning for Season 3. The interviewer asked if there is a chance of Jackie returning in flashbacks or hallucinations this season, and the writers all shared a knowing look, giggled, wiggled their eyebrows, and said “Maybe” with a smile. She’s coming back for sure guys.

•The writers were asked to rate the level of gore in Season 3 on a scale of 1-10, and they said, at certain points in the season, it will be a 9.5

•Van was originally supposed to die in the wilderness but the writers loved Liv Hewson’s performance so much that they decided to keep Van alive.

•Laura Lee was also supposed to die earlier (in episode 2) but the writers loved her character so much that they decided to keep her around until episode 8 instead (and they took great joy in writing her trying to fly that plane).

•The writers emphasized that the two sides of Taissa are not meant to be “good” and “evil” but rather “pragmatic” and “primal.” The “bad one” is really just more uninhibited, more open to the spiritual, ethereal side of things while the side of Tai we know and love is the more practical and logical side that is skeptical of the wilderness.

•Shauna is said to be the “core” and “impetus” of the events of the show. They also said that she best represents the duality of the primal nature of the wilderness and the pragmatism of civilization.

•Shauna eating Jackie was said to be both an act of “hatred” and “love.” Shauna consumed her both to as an act of worship and wanting Jackie to always be a part of her, as well as an act of “domination.”

•It was also emphasized that Shauna drawing the queen card in the adult timeline is not a coincidence and definitely holds significant meaning. The writers seemed hesitant to expand on that meaning, so I have a feeling it has something to do with adult Shauna’s storyline in Season 3 and beyond. In my opinion, Shauna drawing the queen card was symbolic of her assuming a leadership role in the adult timeline that will play out in Season 3.

•It was also said that Natalie’s death in the adult timeline is very much connected to her drawing the queen card in the teen timeline. They implied that her drawing the queen, in a way, lead to her eventual death. I’m wondering what this means for Shauna drawing the queen card in the adult timeline?

•Some of the actors wanted to know how their stories are going to play out, and some of them did not. Samantha Hanratty was named as one of the actors that does not want to know her character’s future and doesn’t read the adult timeline scripts to avoid the influence of them on her portrayal of the character.

•Natalie was specified as the “moral code” of the group, which is why the writers say she is so impacted by Javi’s death, as it goes against her moral code. This is part of the reason why she is so “broken” in the adult timeline.

•Natalie’s death was planned from the beginning. The writers confirmed that Natalie hallucinating Misty at the bonfire in the pilot episode was intentional foreshadowing and a “prophetic moment” for Natalie. This moment was said to foreshadow both that Misty would become an important figure in Natalie’s life one day and that she would be the “mechanism of Natalie’s death.” The writers said that Nat was always meant to die at some point, but they weren’t sure initially when it was going to happen. They said they decided on the end of Season 2 because things were just starting to go well for Natalie, she was just starting to heal, and therefore she had to die.

•The writers pointed out the impact of seeing Misty, a character who does not usually express genuine emotion (when she does it’s usually in a manipulative manner), fully sob and express genuine horror and grief during Nat’s death scene.

•Jeff was originally just meant to be an “accessory” to Shauna, but he gained more meaning and importance to the show as the writers loved Warren Kole and his portrayal of Jeff.

•For season 3, the writers were pretty tight-lipped, but they did say that they are very proud of the season and excited for people to see it. They said that there will be an interesting dynamic in that the winter will be over in the teen timeline, so the characters will have to grapple with what they’ve done now that they’re out of the dire situation they were in in the winter. They said this will have a great effect on their psyches and group dynamics.

•Joel McHale was cast after Ashley Lyle met him at a party of some sort (and Lyle admitted she was drunk during the encounter) and, after he said he was a fan of the show, Lyle basically said “Oh well I have a part in Season 3 for you” and he was cast.

•They were asked directly about the Eden lawsuit, and they had a little giggle about it and admitted that they’ve never seen that movie, and they’ve been very upfront about their influences (Lost, Alive, etc.) They obviously couldn’t say much more about it, but it was funny seeing them react.

•The writers emphasized the distinction between “fan appreciation” and “fan service,” and they said that, while they occasional look at fan feedback on Reddit and Twitter, they keep that feedback out of the writers room. This is actually very comforting to me, I was worried about Season 3 falling into the fan service trap. I am glad the writers are sticking with their intuitions and original intentions for the show.

So excited for Season 3 and so grateful these amazingly talented writers and showrunners are at the helm of it!

#yellowjackets #Yellowjackets season 3 #vulture fest #vulture festival #vulture fest 2024

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ovrgrwnivy · 2 months ago

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THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; there is now a taglist! to be added simply let me know down in the comments. enjoy part two!

part one.

as much as you’d grown fond of sarah in the couple of hours since your arrival, her friends made your skin crawl. topper, her boyfriend, with his dumb face and holier-than-thou attitude. you didn’t see what sarah could possibly find appealing, but it wasn’t your place to meddle.

for the duration of getting ready, all sarah did was talk about jj. more specifically, you and jj. she even offered to set you two up, but with sarahs standing with the pouges, it didn’t take a genius to figure out it's better to go solo.

sarahs cropped, off the shoulder sweater does little to shield you from the cool breeze sweeping across the beach. even stuffing your hands into the pockets of your shorts did very little.

you’d seen on tiktok, the most reliable source of information, that alcohol warmed people up which is why you were already on the fourth drink of the night.

nothing to do with finding the courage to talk to john b, that would be ridiculous.

you and sarah were sat on the opposite side of the beach to the pouges, the wooden log hurting your butt as it was used as a makeshift seat. through the flames of the bonfire you watch the pouges, laughing and drinking.

you’re looking at john b and can’t help spotting the similarities between you two, even down to small mannerisms you shared. you wondered if he had any idea about you, if your father had ever told him about you.

taking another swig, your gaze falls onto another pouge of interest. you’re surprised to see he’s already looking at you, nodding his head to gesture you over.

you smile, a genuine, excited smile. it’s too early for schoolgirl crushes, yet you can’t help it. the alcohol in your system doesn’t help it either.

you mumble a quick 'be right back' to sarah, sitting beside you engrossed in deep conversation with an unknown girl about selling sunsets' newest season. she glances at you over her shoulder, giving you a quick nod of acknowledgment and reminding you to be safe.

you head over to the pouges, a light jog across the beach brings you there faster but not fast enough. the reckless, and tipsy, part of your brain wants to get your intentions out in the open. you want to pull john b to the side and pour your drunken little heart out, and if it ended badly you could blame the alcohol.

but then you imagined yourself in his position, how you would feel if john b randomly showed up and dropped a bomb into your life unprovoked.

he looked so happy, like he was having the time of his life, and you couldn't bring yourself to ruin that. the least you could do was spare him the honour of hearing it from you when you were sober, without an audience.

"there she is," jj grins, not exactly slurring his words but you could tell he was buzzed at the very least "turn around, wanna get a good look at you."

with a playful eye roll, you give in to his request, twirling in a circle and laughing at the wolf whistle he lets out in response.

you're more than compliant when he reaches a hand towards you and pulls you closer, the same hand gripping your waist as he held you against his side.

admittedly, you're surprised when he doesn't make a move the second you're close enough. instead he holds on to you as he continues his conversation with pope, almost protectively, possessively.

"kie, back me up here," jj pleads, free hand being thrown up in the air in protest. the same girl from earlier, which you now know to be kie, throws her hands up in surrender.

"not my beef, i'm the neutral party in this war"

you can't help but laugh at the swiftness of her shutdown, your head resting comfortably against jj's shoulder as his thumb grazed back and forth against the skin beneath your sweater.

now, pope and kie are bickering back and forth, john b is flirting with what was commonly referred to as a 'touron' which leaves you and jj in your own little bubble, content and comfortable.

"so, what do you think of paradise so far?" jj asks, voice soft and a sarcastic emphasis on paradise "not too bad, huh?"

"it's growing on me," you grin, putting the sudden butterflies in your stomach down to having too much to drink "i've lived in worse places."

an eyebrow quirks, curiosity evident on jjs face, you can tell he wants to ask more, but for someone so forward he seems to be reluctant.

"don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to sticking in one place," you admit, as truthful as you can be without saying too much "kinda just bounce around."

"sounds expensive, you sure you ain't a kook?" jj teases, head tilted downward to bring you two face to face "'cause, i'm down with the whole being a sugar baby thing."

you laugh, loudly, head flung back, hair being blown in the wind as jj retains his grip on you, awestruck as he took you in for as long as he could. he wished he could freeze this moment and live in it forever, which made him want to squirm because he had just met you that day.

your bubble of euphoria is quickly burst, the beach erupting in roars as people grouped around the shore. a fight.

you roll your eyes, annoyed beyond explanation. you scan the crowd, trying to pick out any faces you could even somewhat recognise in an attempt to work out who was at the root of the fight.

much like this morning, you see that recognisable flash of blonde pushing through the crowds. your posture straightens, a weird feeling of protectiveness taking hold as her screams of toppers name rise above the chants of 'fight'.

you really did not like topper, so you weren't pushing through people for him, but for sarah.

"top! you're gonna kill him!"

and she wasn't wrong, as you drew closer to the scene you had a plain view of the scene that had the partygoers enthralled. topper holding someone under the water, obviously wanting whoever was under to not come back up.

it's only when you catch sight of who topper is trying to kill does your feet speed up, carrying you faster and faster towards the water. your brain struggling to come up with a plan as fast as you're moving.

you don't know how it happens, but you're on toppers back, your arm wrapped so tightly around his neck that you're starting to lose feeling. in some sort of femme fetal action movie, you would've taken him down.

but it wasn't a movie.

as if it was nothing, topper reaches behind himself and pulls you off him, ripping you straight into the ice-cold water.

"fuckin' pouge" he spits, hands wrapping around your throat as he forces you underwater this time. you claw and kick and squirm, but he's stronger. what feels like hours is only seconds, when you break the surface your hands are bloody and there's a gash across toppers face.

your reprieve is short-lived, only having come up in the first place because topper had recoiled in pain. you were far from a quitter, but this was a fight you knew you weren't coming out of. so when the water covered your face once more, you let it.

it was scarily peaceful, people's screams and shouts practically inaudible. falling asleep would be easy right about now, you could just drift off.

you would probably be better off.

your delusional tranquillity comes to an abrupt end when you, yet again, resurface. this time the party is well and truly over, people running in every direction.

you worried it was the cops, you really would have been better off if topper had finished the job if that was the case.

"hey, hey you good?" john b is holding your face as you cough up the water you inhaled. his voice is soft, gentle as he checks on you.

he was the big brother you grew up praying for, only he was none the wiser.

when you burst into tears it's put down to shock, and when you throw your arms around john b he doesn't question it, instead he helps you to your feet.

"come on kid, we got you."

when you wake you have no idea where you are, sun filters through flimsy curtains and you're dressed in clothes you definitely weren't wearing the night before.

before you have time to work yourself into a breakdown, a soft knock raps against the door. it opens before you can say a word.

john b gently closes the door behind him, sitting at the foot of the bed to give you as much space as possible "how are you feeling?"

"whose clothes are these?" you blurt out, desperately wanting to figure out how she got into this outfit and, more importantly, who put you into it.

as if he could read your mind, he explains "kie, kiara, had the supplies. got you changed out of your wet clothes, alone, scouts honour."

a sigh of relief bellows through your entire body, at least that was something.

"i gotta ask you something," john b starts, his tone shifting ever so slightly to one more serious "i went through everything in my head a dozen times but i can't work out why you did that?"

"did what?"

"saved my life." john b deadpans, looking you in the eye with an intensity that tells you you can't lie your way out of this one "you could have died."

without a word, you stand. you find your damp clothes tossed in a corner and pick them up. john b watches as you stuff your hands into your pockets, dread bubbling up as he tried to come up with what your reasoning could possibly be.

when you return, you sit beside him with your hands clasped around the cold metal you'd pulled from the pocket of your shorts.

"you have to hear me out." you being, hyperaware of how insane what you were about to tell him was "believe me, i know this is insane."

watching his reaction, you show him the compass your father had given you. up until recently, your mother had it tucked away safely in her room. you never met your father, you were told he died when you were a baby. but then you got a sweet sixteen card in the mail, and then there was no record of a deceased john routledge, and then, a week ago, his face is all over your television screen alongside a brother you never knew you had.

you pop the back off of the compass, revealing the hidden compartment not many people knew existed and taking a small, folded note from inside.

"hey, ducky. been a while since i wrote, you know what mom is like. listen, duck, we haven't been entirely honest with you, your mom and i. if you're okay with it, there's someone i'd like you to meet." you read out the note, voice shaky and hands trembling "he left an address at the bottom."

john b carefully takes the note from your hands, wiping away a stray tear thinking you hadn't seen it. he reads it, over and over "this is this address, my dads writing if he signed it dad that means.."

you nod, knowing whats racing through his head all too well "yeah" you sniffle, not exactly sure why you were crying.

"john b, you're my brother."

taglist!

@rainingcecilias

#jj maybank #maybanksmusings #jj maybank x reader #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank smut #jj obx #obx #outer banks #obx season 4 #obx4 #outer banks season 4 #outerbanks #obx cast #rafe obx #criminal minds #john b routledge #john b obx #john b outer banks

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

Note

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

hii!! first off i wanna say congrats on 5k you deserve it so much!! can i do remus lupin and fake dating please and ty!

Thanks so much lovely!

cw: alcohol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

“Your favorite color is green,” you say, passing Remus a glass of champagne.

His brow twitches as he takes it from you, holding it by the stem like an adult. You adjust your grip on yours accordingly. “What?”

“Your friend Sirius cornered me by the bar. I panicked.”

“Ah.” Remus tucks a tongue into his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth, and takes a sip. “I’ve always told him I didn’t have a favorite.”

You chew your lip, nodding. “Okay. That’s okay, we can just say you told me because you’re, like, so into me.”

He chuckles. “So into you I divulged to you the deep, dark secret of my favorite color?”

“Mhm. Think he’ll buy it?”

“He might, actually.” He takes another sip of his champagne, and you remember to have a bit of yours. You could probably use it. Remus looks perfectly composed, and surprisingly dapper in his suit, done up to the top button with the collar just barely brushing a thin, pale scar circling a third of his neck. Contrastly, you’re a jumble of nerves. “Sirius likes to think I’m holding out on them, it might fit into his narrative that I’d kept it a secret all these years.”

“And if he does figure it out, we could probably just tell him, right?” you ask, and somehow your champagne is half gone. Damned duplicitous, narrow glasses.

Remus’ smile softens as it bubbles down your throat, and you know he can read what you’re thinking on your face. You’re a shit actress, an even worse liar. You’re going to ruin this for him.

“We could,” he says, “but he’ll only tell James.”

“Really?” You look at the man still standing by the bar, now chatting with a blonde you don’t know but suspect in a few minutes will have to pretend you’ve heard Remus talk about a million times. Sirius has managed to wear a leather jacket to a wedding, thrown on right after the reception in what Remus has informed you is typical fashion for him. He grins with one half of his mouth as he talks, flashing canines when he really means it. “He doesn’t strike me as a narc.”

Remus steps closer to you as someone moves past him, lowering his voice. You can smell his cologne, woody and vaguely sweet. “He’s not. He and James tell each other everything, though.”

“Oh. That’s sweet, actually.”

James is the one you’re really here for. It’s his wedding, and months ago when he and his fiancee sent out invitations he’d asked if Sirius or Remus would need a plus-one. Sirius said yes immediately, and by some manner you can’t say you understand but Remus assures you is very typical of them, this evidently devolved into a bet on whether Remus could actually find a date that met his standards and that he was willing to ask to come to the wedding with him.

As it turns out, Remus is more competitive than you would have guessed.

According to James and Sirius, no one is ever good enough for him. You’re here to disprove that, though you don’t love that your work crush asked you out because he couldn’t find anyone he wanted to actually date. Still, Remus is your friend, and you were never going to say no to helping him. If you’d known you’d get to see him in this suit, you probably would have said yes even faster.

“Do you want another?” Remus asks, and you look down to find your champagne glass is empty.

“Oh my gosh, sorry.” You set the glass down on a nearby table, embarrassment a tickle over your skin. “Yeah, probably best not.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He tilts his head at you, smiling in that gentle, kind way of his. “You’re here not on a job, love, you should have a good time.”

“I feel like I am, a little bit.” Your laugh bubbles out of you easily, fizzy like the champagne. “I want to at least act like someone your friends believe you could be interested in.”

“Just be yourself,” Remus reassures you. “They’ll believe it.”

Something in your gut flitters at what that could mean. You don’t let yourself think on it. “What if I wanted to dance?”

He smiles. “Then you should do that.”

“But would you dance with me?”

“I would hold your things for you.” His grin takes on a sheepish quality. “Find a chair to watch with all the other lame boyfriends.”

You tsk. “You’re not lame, Remus.” He looks like he wants to contradict you, but he kisses his teeth instead. “I think I’d rather stay with you, if that’s alright. We can go sit in chairs amongst the lame boyfriends if you like.”

Remus considers you for a moment. The sky has turned a deep blue around you, the string lights hung up around the space casting a warm glow that filters through his hair and makes it appear more golden than brown. “I would go dance with you if you wanted me to,” he admits.

You blink. “Really?”

“Well, maybe not dance so much as hold both our drinks and stand near you while you danced, but I want to stay with you, too.” Remus glances away from your eyes for a moment, a shyness you haven’t seen since you first met in his expression. “If you want to dance, I’ll go with you.”

You take his hand on impulse, the scars and calluses of his skin alternately rough and smooth between your palms. “I don’t want to make you,” you tell him earnestly, “but I really do want to dance.”

Remus looks to the side, his smile almost begrudging. “You’re not making me,” he says.

You end up getting another glass of champagne after all.

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talesof-old · 3 months ago

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honeyed tale | l.v.

pairing(s): lucien vanserra x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, mentions of B*ron, rough(ish?) sex, outdoor sex, chasing, not edited so if you see a mistake no you didn’t

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

lupercalia is always eventful in the autumn court

Lucien downed a mug filled with spiced cider and eyed the scene in front of him. Childhood nostalgia gripped him just the same as bitter grief, and he didn’t truly know why he agreed to come in the first place. Maybe it was because Eris was his last living brother after all the madness. Or maybe it was the way his mother had pleaded for him to return despite it all.

He set his drink down. Music was being played by a group of younger fae, leaving everyone else to dance around the giant bonfire, bob for apples, or hang around the many tables of food and drinks. Barrels of ale, spiced cider, and mead lined the clearing they’d taken up residence in.

By now, the revel was in full swing. Laughter echoed through the trees and Lucien was certain he’d already seen at least five different couplings make off into the woods. Anticipation hung in the air for the coming main event, something that would start any moment now. Adults had long since ushered children into bed, and now all that remained were those participating.

His eyes scanned the crowd, shoulders tense.

“You seem off tonight, sunshine.” His heartbeat jumped as he turned to you, a grin already washing over your face.

Dressed in a low cut red dress with far too many slits up the thighs, he knew very well you’d be joining in the festivities of the night. Still, he couldn’t help the way he longed to caress your exposed skin. Your smile turned knowing, and before he could react you were looping your arm with his and pulling him away.

The heat of your body made his throat go dry.

You’d grown into yourself in the time you’d both been apart.

You dragged Lucien away from the table, unsure if he’d seen his eldest brother approaching or if he was distracted. Growing up in the Forest House, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Chasing after each other in the gilded corridors and sharing hidden tender moments in the apple orchards. Over time, however, you found yourself far from the Autumn Court and Lucien found himself a lover by the name Jesminda.

It hadn’t hurt as much as you’d expected it to. Following her death, Eris and you ensured Lucien’s passage to the Spring Court and you minded your own, keeping far from the youngest Vanserra in order to protect your courtly position. Now, you both were finally free of one Beron Vanserra.

“Are you staying tonight?” Lucien swallowed hard, his gaze trained on your face with an intensity you hadn’t had the chance to experience.

The edges of his lips quirked upwards in a smirk you could only describe as wolfish. You raised a brow.

“Is this you asking me to stay, little fox?” You tilted your head to the side, a calculating move he knew better than to dismiss.

“Depends,” you purred. The two of you slowly made your way towards the barrels of mead, and briefly you recalled the last time the two of you got drunk off of it together. You stopped, leaning towards him.

“Thinking about chasing after me tonight?”

Lucien leaned closer towards you, his scent enveloping you. Spices undercut with something bright and green, familiar enough it made your heart ache.

He pushed a stray curl from your face, the warmth of his fingertips sending shockwaves through your skin.

“Would you like me to?” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

Desire shot through you, but you merely leaned back until you were standing straight again, a playful smile on your face. Off to the left, you saw several of Eris’ lords reaching for the giant bell they’d set up. You couldn’t have timed it better.

“Yes.”

One of them hit it hard, the sound echoing through the clearing. For a few seconds, everyone paused. In true Lupercalia fashion though, those deciding to be prey took off sprinting, and you were no exception.

Laughter and playful shrieks filled the air as you wove through the trees. A few of the male chasers were mock howling, and the sound carried as though the forest itself was making the noise.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Maybe Lucien would cave and follow you, maybe it would be someone else who decided to instead. Either way, you were going to get fucked tonight until your legs were weak as a fawn and your mind cloudy.

Lucien blinked at the spot where you’d been standing. You hadn’t seriously run off like that, had you?

Then again, it was you, ever mischievous as a fox.

He moved to run after you, but a fleeting thought made him pause.

Did he really want the first time he had sex with you again to be in the middle of the forest, surrounded by others doing the same?

He shook his head. That part didn’t matter. He wanted you, and clearly you wanted him.

To hell with it.

He broke into the tree line, catching your scent up ahead of him. His ears strained to hear something, anything, as he pressed forward.

You were a wild thing, blazing and brilliant, and he’d be damned if someone got to you first.

A tree branch cracked behind you and you turned, catching a flash of dark brown hair. Lord Asters had been after you for decades, so it was no surprise he had immediately come after you. Handsome and strong. He’d gained quite a reputation on how well he pleased women.

Still, disappointment stirred in your gut, strong enough to send you racing deeper into the orchard. A whistle came from somewhere behind you, your heartbeat racing.

Asters’ scent filled the air, earthy and damp but not unappealing. You almost caved, almost let him catch you, until you caught sight of a certain redhead in the corner of your eye. Your stomach fluttered.

In a matter of moments, you were dancing away from Asters’ fingertips and rushing past Lucien, his golden eye gleaming in the dim light.

Laughter bubbled out of your mouth and into the air, leading Lucien right to the oldest part of the orchard. As you darted through the trees, they were taller and wider, their roots curling as your feet bounced against the ground. Lucien said something behind you, just feet away.

Your legs burned as you ducked to the right, throwing him off and grinning to yourself. A groan of half-hearted annoyance sounded behind you.

Deeper in the woods and off to your right, you heard the tell tale sound of someone long caught.

Heat pooled in your stomach and Lucien swore viciously. Vigor renewed, you pushed on until you reached the oldest orchard trees, massive and looming. You no longer heard Lucien behind you but you knew exactly where he’d meet you.

You ran along the border of apple trees. Their limbs reached for you, the leaves whispering as you passed.

Years ago, the two of you would sneak away from Forest House, all childhood innocence and young love. High Lord Beron sent you away to stay with your cousins in an attempt to control his youngest son. Your heart pinched at the painful memories of your youth. You turned the last corner, coming to a small cave made entirely of tree roots. Impossibly dark on the inside, it did nothing to hide the glowing of Lucien’s golden eye. You grinned despite yourself.

A tanned hand reached out and snatched your wrist. You squealed, stumbling into his lap. The hardness of his erection pressed up against your cunt as you settled, legs straddling his hips. He hissed.

You couldn’t help it, you rocked your hips along the hardness, eyes fluttering close at the wanted friction. Lucien’s hands grasped at your hips, halting your mission. You opened your eyes, a playful pout on your lips. Lucien stared at you with an intensity you’d caught a glimpse of earlier, some kind of wildness that you’d never been privy to.

His chest rumbled in appreciation as his hands began to move, featherlight as he grazed the bare skin of your legs. “You look beautiful tonight, little fox.” He lifted you away from his cock. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers trailed far up your inner thigh, almost to the place you needed him. You nearly whined when he stopped just short of your cunt.

“A little eager,” He leaned close to you, breath fanning your face. You shivered. “Aren’t we?”

The edges of his lips quirked up to form a smirk. You rolled your eyes, flashing a soft smile in response.

His arms wrapped around you, gently unlacing the back of your dress, each loosened string drawing a shaky breath from your lungs. As he moved, copper hair fell over his shoulder. Instinctively, you reached out, brushing it away with a tenderness that had him reeling. Your frame leaned into his; your face pressed into his neck, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin in ways that brought him back to a time he’d long forgotten.

He pulled the sleeves of your dress from your body, the fabric falling down your torso to reveal heaving breasts. In a blink, he’d moved you backwards and latched onto your nipple. You arched, fingers coming round to tangle in his hair. He moaned at the sting.

You tilted to the side, an awkward position, but rubbed your cunt against the fabric of his pants. The friction had your eyes rolling backwards. He tugged at the sides of your dress, the fabric tearing away with a simple pull. If you weren’t so ready to jump him bones, perhaps you would’ve cared.

Instead, you flung the fabric away, Lucien’s mouth attaching to your other nipple. His tongue swirled along the pebbled flesh, teeth grazing the sensitive nub. You gasped, a soft whine leaving your throat. His wicked tongue made thoughts impossible.

Lucien sucked hard on your skin before letting it go with a satisfying pop. He briefly wondered how long it would take to make a mosaic of bites along your body. As he straightened his back, he gazed up at your blown out pupils and glassy eyes. Heat swelled in his cock, heady and incessant, urging him to sink into you. He unlaced his pants with practiced hands, fingers deftly removing them from his body. You lifted your hips to allow for the fabric to drop to his ankles.

Ignoring the way his cock slapped against his abdomen, he wasted no time; Lucien’s fingers found your wet cunt, tugging you back to hover over him and stroking your lower lips before sinking the tip of his finger into you. You moaned, a lewd sound. He chuckled, dark and low, the noise vibrating through your very bones. You rocked your hips against his hand, letting his middle finger sink deeper and deeper until you were as far as you could go. Your cunt clenched around his digit, your juices coating his hand as you used him for your pleasure. As your hips rolled away, he added his ring finger into the mix. You slowly sank onto it, eyes fluttering.

His cock twitched beneath you, aching to replace his fingers. You didn’t seem to mind either way, rocking back and forth, lips parted and head tilted back. He leaned forward, licking a stripe along the column of your throat, grinning as you mewled at the feeling.

Your cunt pulsed against his fevered skin and dripped onto his thighs. Coated them. He withdrew his fingers with an obscene squelch, bringing them to your lips. Despite your whine, you parted them; you took them into your mouth without hesitation, tongue swirling along the lengths of them, from the knuckles to the tips of his fingers. His cock throbbed, turning darker as the seconds ticked on.

It took no time at all to ease into you, your walls clenching tight around his cock, pushing him closer to his own orgasm. He clenched his jaw, a moan bubbling up in his throat.

“Let me hear you.” Your voice took a seductive turn, raspy and low as you spoke into his ear. The vibration of your chest rumbled against his. He lifted his arm to snake around your waist, locking you in as he bottomed out. You moaned at the fullness.

“You like to hear me, hm? Like how you can turn a male into a whimpering mess.”

You’d pulled away enough to send him a wicked grin, raising his free hand to your throat. He groaned at the action. His fingers dug into your skin, your eyelids rolling back at the feeling.

He moved his hips, though the roots digging into his back were enough to cause him to huff in discomfort. He hoisted you up, the two of you nearly falling as he moved you from a sitting position to lying on the bare ground.

“Reminds me of when we were younger.” His golden eye gleamed in the dim light. Your heart thundered in your chest at the feral expression he wore.

“But what I like has changed, I’m afraid.” You raised a brow, undulating your hips beneath his. Lucien’s head dipped down to lick the sweat from between your breasts, teeth grazing the burning skin. You clenched around him.

Like something unlocked within him, Lucien pulled out of you until only the tip remained before ramming back into you. A cry left your lips, your parted legs coming to wrap around his muscular thighs. His pace proved brutal. He rocked into your body with a force that had you reeling, the ache far more pleasurable than you might’ve expected. This was what you wanted.

Sweat coated his smooth skin, his back flexing under your hands as you raked your nails along his exposed skin. You gripped the nape of his neck with one hand, your other digging into the skin of his shoulder as he sucked on your clavicle. He trembled as you clenched tighter around him. Lips pressed to the side of his face, your teeth tugged on the lobe of his ear; he swore through clenched teeth.

You matched his thrusts, his fingers far more expert than they’d been, circling your sensitive, throbbing clit as he moved. The itch to pull his hair but you with overwhelming need. Your fingers slid up his head, locking and twisting in his beautiful strands, and yanked. The next moan to leave his lips was a broken, pathetic noise. One russet eye made contact with your own. His already full lips were swollen, wet with saliva. Lucien’s responding grin had your cunt pulsing. He dipped back down, mouth enclosing around your previously abused nipple. You cried out. His hands gripped your hips, urging you to bend into his with every motion. His teeth grazed your hardened tit. You moaned.

He kept up his pace on your clit, your walls fluttering and thighs quivering. Minutes rushed by and time blurred as you came undone by his hand, head thrown back against the ground and back arched; your breasts rubbing against his chest was enough to send him off the edge, your cunt squeezed tight around his cock to milk him for every drop.

When you came down, body limp and only partly satiated, Lucien laid down beside you, fingers trailing along your sticky body. You hummed, curling into his side. His body radiated heat which proved quite welcome in the biting Autumn air. His arm wrapped around your waist, palm gripping your arse as you lifted a leg to rest it on his.

“It’s good to see you again, you know. Missed you all those years.” Lucien’s lips twisted into a smirk, his eyes closing as he attempted to steady his breath. You kept your gaze on him. Eyes trailed over the curve of his jaw, the shape of his nose. He had been handsome before, but the years away had created him a devastatingly beautiful visage.

A moment’s silence was all you were given before he opened his eye and peeked over at you. “Tapping out on me already?”

You grinned. “If we both can still walk, I’m not done.” His chuckle echoed through the cave before he hoisted you up to straddle him. “Fuck me then.”

+++

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #acosf #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #autumn court #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra smut #gingerfuckers #acotar x reader

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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

Text

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Summary: Tired of seeing Eddie with other women, you reflect on how much longer you can take it.

Warnings: no mentions of y/n, fem!reader, heavy on the angst, hurt with attempts to comfort, both reader and Eddie are bad at feelings, self-deprecation, Eddie is toxic and doesn’t know why, infidelity (but not technically), no happy ending.

The house is quiet as the front door creaks open, you’re quick to slip inside—chill of the October air nipping at your back. The lights are all off and your arms curl around your exposed midsection. It was colder outside but still chilly in your home, your parents out of town on a romantic anniversary road trip.

You sigh, tossing your keys on the table to run around searching for in the morning, and make your way to your room with a quick detour at the thermostat to turn on the heat. It’s a blind fumble to reach the antique lamp, once you enter your bedroom, but you refuse to use the overhead light. It would cast your room in non-aesthetic lighting, and you’re already annoyed, pissed off and depressed enough.

An irritated breath is huffed from your lips, top lip curling as you recall the very reason for your negative attitude, hands yanking your top right over your head. It’s only when you’re in your pajamas, faced with your own reflection as you prepare to remove the makeup that had been so empowering to put on but you can now feel on your face like an unpleasant mask, that you allow the hot tears of anger and hurt to fall. You almost want to laugh at yourself, mouth curling into a bitter smile as you swipe the ponds cream all over your face. As you massage it in, making sure to focus on your eyes, the smile wavers, corners tugging down as moisture still leaks from your clenched eyelids.

You don’t have to be mean to yourself, you shouldn't. Not when the guy you’re in love with already does such a good job of it.

You purse your lips, trying to hold back sobs as you recall the images of him all over a girl you didn’t know at a party he’d convinced you to go to. You couldn’t even describe her, couldn’t remember what she looked like—all you saw was your Eddie, the guy who drove you to and picked you up from work, took you on cute dates involving picnic baskets, fields, lakes, empty lots to stargaze in, nearly empty movie auditoriums so the two of you could canoodle, your tongues tasting each other as the two lovers on screen professed their undying love.

He even bought you stuffed animals, would pretend to give them life and personalities to go with it, all to amuse you. Did arts and fucking crafts with you.

But anytime you so much as brought up the status of your relationship, he’d wave it off, claiming labels were for Petri dishes, not people.

You were his girl and that’s all that mattered.

It’s what you’d repeated in your head the first time you’d seen him playing with Bianca Anderson’s fingers while the two of them were tucked away in the corner of the hideout, after one of Corroded Coffin’s sets. And again when you’d stumbled out of Rick’s house party to see him laid out on the grass, his head in the lap of a former cheerleader from high school he used to admire, her head bowed to connect their lips and his hands in her hair.

By the time he was tugging at Tina’s hair, playfully shouldering her while they stood in front of the bonfire at another gathering, you’d stopped repeating it in your head. Not even when you watched her lead him to her car.

You lost count of how many times Eddie had made other girls his, too.

And like some pathetic worm with no backbone, you let him. Okay—it’s not like you could physically stop them, though tonight your drink had ended up all over him, maybe that put a little stutter in his plans. But there wouldn’t be a too if you just fucking stopped.

Just . . .stopped.

Stopped taking his calls, stopped answering your door for him, your window, let your co-worker take over the counter the moment he stepped in, stopped looking for his car, stopped thinking about him and that stupid fucking dimple, stopped thinking about how special you felt when he had your naked body pressed against his under the warmth of blankets, his rough fingertips tracing over your sweaty shoulder. How he’d always get so tender, pull you even closer and whisper how much you meant to him while pressing slow kisses to your face. How he never wanted to lose you, wouldn’t know what to do, couldn’t live. It was the sweetest agony.

Most of all, you wish he would stop being there in the morning, all soft breaths and fluttering lashes as he tried to be as close to you as he could, even in a deep slumber. It’s how you know he means it. He means everything he tells you. There is truth to those sweet nothings, declarations, proclamations. You know it.

And that’s why it all hurt so bad, because you know he cares about you as much as he says he does and he still always fucking hurts you, always breaks your heart, but because you know he cares, you’d just let him back in like some fucking clown.

He gets to break you over and over again and you let him because he always puts the pieces back together.

You know what people say about you—everyone knows the two of you are involved and they’d see him out and about with others. Your fumbling answers about what the two of you aren’t just make it clear to them that you’re a doormat and you can’t even deny it. Just avoid their pitiful looks thrown your way.

After washing your face, you take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror; eyes rimmed red, lashes clustering together, face etched in misery. When you can’t stand the person on the other side of the mirror any longer, you flip the light switch and leave the bathroom, pick your favorite tape to listen to, set the volume low and slip into bed.

You’d teetered with the idea of smoking a little, but that would just stave off the heartbreak. Might as well feel it in the moment while you still have the sense of mind before—

Knock, knock, knock.

A humorless chuckle escapes you, muffled into your pillow as your eyes slip shut. Sometimes by the front door, just about always by the window. You think it’s another one of his little relationship doorstops; can’t be serious with you if he uses your window to sneak into your house, it’s much too intimate to walk through your front door.

Of course, he can’t let you have a moment of peace, not even when you’re down. No, he has to fix you now. That’s how the toxic cycle goes. So, dutifully, you play your part, though this time, things have changed.

You toss the blankets off and pad over to your window but you don’t open it right away. Instead, you stare at him. Take him in.

Eddie is in different attire, shirt and jeans swapped out for one of his old club shirts and some sweats. His hair isn’t as voluminous, it’s wet. He’d had to shower to rid himself of your wine cooler. There’s no trace of the Eddie you saw at the party, this one has eyes filled with sorrow and depth, almost like he’s known nothing else. You know better.

Please, he mouths through the glass. You stare a beat longer before the latch is unlocked and he’s hastily pulling it open, clambering in ungracefully.

As you watch him gain his footing, part of you wants to taunt yourself about how you’ve let this man, so below your league and wonderful, ruin your life. He’s hot, sure, but you're hotter. That’s just the truth. You denied it a lot at the beginning of your shitty cherished relationship, felt so insecure to have a man like him paying you attention when he can have everyone. But he was no man. And he still had everyone along with you. Those pitting glances weren’t just because of what you let him put you through, it was because they knew you could do better.

For some reason, the idiot who got his shoe caught on the window sill is the one your heart wants.

God, you hate him.

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your bed, climbing back into your warm blankets. Your back is to him, yet you can still feel his hesitance, see the look on his face, how his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His stare is intense but it doesn’t unnerve you. Not this time. You feel the bed dip as he climbs in behind you.

There’s still some distance between the two of you, you can tell he’s uncertain. Then, he scuttles forward until he’s pressed to your back, arm slipping around your middle to drag you impossibly closer.

He’s surrounding you, the scent of Eddie’s all-in-one shampoo and body wash filling your nostrils, underlying smell of the joint he’d smoked to calm his nerves before coming over, and the cheap body spray he’d soaked himself in to try and hide it.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “Swear I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at the poster of Roxette pinned to your wall. His arm tightens around you and you can feel his heart hammering against your back.

“I-I couldn’t do that to you,” he continues and you huff, that bitter smile from earlier returning. Eddie goes stiff behind you, but he has nothing to worry about. You won’t kick him out, won't toss him to the curb like you should. You both know you won’t. He knows you should, knows he hurts you and he honest to god doesn’t know why. Couldn’t tell anyone to save his own life.

He just—he just fucks shit up. It’s not self-sabotage because Eddie knows he risks losing you and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t ever want to exist in a world where you don’t want him, don’t want to be with him.

But he still does it anyway. Still goes and kisses girls knowing you’re watching, does worse when you’re not.

The worst part—other than hurting you—is that he doesn’t even want them. Not really. Other than in that moment, Eddie couldn’t give a single shit about them beyond being a Good Samaritan. It’s you he wants all the time.

You’re the only constant thing he needs in his life, wants around him all the time, craves, lusts after, loves, cherishes. For the rest of his life. But Eddie hurts you, and he doesn’t know why.

That’s why he can’t be your boyfriend. Evidently, he’d be a shit one. Not that he’s doing a spectacular job being your…whatever it is he was, whatever the two of you were.

Yes, he always fucks up, but he keeps part of you safe from him by not being your boyfriend. One day, you’ll leave him.

He knows it. It scares the shit out of him and he prays to deities he doesn’t really believe in that it won’t happen, that he’ll get this shit together and make right by you, but he knows you’ll leave him. You genuinely deserve better.

“I wish I didn’t know you,” Eddie tenses once more at your voice, at your statement. It’s said with nonchalance, like you were commenting on the weather. He relaxes, heart clenching in pain as he somehow holds you even tighter.

“I know.”

“I hate that I love you. Wish I would just stop.” You shimmy around until you’re facing him, Eddie’s hold on you loosens to allow it, and when you’re settled, he pulls you close again, your nose nudging along the neckline of his shirt.

“I know.” He whispers out again, vision blurring with unshed tears. He loves you, too. Neither of you ever say it directly, just make references to it.

“I will, though. Maybe not tonight, but I won’t always love you.” It’s said with certainty. You’ll take this treatment for now, but you know you won’t forever. Despite the pathetic place you’d found yourself in tonight, again, you’re making strides. Gone was the loser who would just watch him betray you after spending the entire day making you feel like the two of you were the only ones on earth who mattered. Tonight, you’d stepped in. You were growing more self aware. Soon, you would stop answering the door. Stop answering his calls. Stop loving him.

And you’d look back and cringe, maybe laugh with your friends about how stupid and naive you’d been. You’d move on, too. Meet someone who treats you as good as Eddie does when he isn’t sucking another girl’s face. They won’t kiss or fuck anyone else, they’ll only ever know you from the moment that spark ignites. You might worry from time to time, effects from Eddie, but they’ll gently coax it out of you, build your trust up and one day you won’t worry. All you’ll know is their love.

Yeah, you’d stop loving him.

Eddie makes an indistinguishable sound, you know he’s fighting sniffles. Can hear the emotion in his voice, “I know.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest before your cheek settles there, listening to the fast paced beating coming from within it and you wonder if it’ll happen tomorrow. If you’ll wake up, see Eddie sleeping in your bed, and have your first thought be how much you want him out of it and away from you without a trace of fondness for him. You’ll just wake up and not love him anymore.

You slip a leg between his to tangle your limbs, breathing in his scent as deeply as you can when your eyelids flutter shut.

And while you spend your last moments of consciousness hoping tonight’s the last night you’ll let him hold you, Eddie spends the rest of it wide awake, and hoping. Hoping if he doesn’t fall asleep, he won’t wake up to you telling him you don’t love him. Hoping he’ll miraculously become a better person for you overnight. Hoping he won’t lose you.

Hoping you’ll always be his girl.

divider ℗ cafekitsune ♡

#Eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

Text

dark paradise

5.2k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Your mind is flooded with the memories of your private time with Joel in his woodshed, but he hasn't reached out to you since the bonfire and it's been a week. You go next door to give him a piece of your mind.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, Joel in his 40’s), dbf/neighbor!joel, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, praise, Joel being a horrible communicator and texter

A/N: I edited this 12+ times and kept changing stuff, so therefore there’s probably mistakes. There’s your one and only warning lol. I’m so excited you guys are eating up the first part (off to the races), I hope the next parts to come keep ya’ll entertained ;)

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved. He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin. “On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face. “I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch.

Time seemed to slow after your interaction with Joel in his woodshed. The days following the bonfire were filled with excitement but quickly followed by dread and anxiety. It had been a week.

No text, no calls, no anything.

It wasn’t that serious. It was just Joel. Besides, you had a vibrator to fill the void until he finally decided to reach out to you. Whenever that may be.

Days one and two were the most riveting. Every time you thought of Joel, your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t have a long list of sexual endeavors, so this was still noteworthy. Giving head to your hot forty-year-old neighbor. You wondered what else would come from it. More importantly, when.

Days three and four felt routine and mundane. After picking around your breakfast and staring out the window to Joel’s empty driveway, you would wander to your back porch to read a book on the dock.

You were lucky to catch glimpses of Sarah. Her summer was busy with her friends from school and working a part-time job to afford having fun the summer before her senior year. If she was free, you guys would jump in the lake, sit on the dock together, tell stories, and catch up on everything that was happening in each other’s lives. Well, not everything.

Days five and six were torture. Your vibrator had died from its excessive use, and your fingers weren’t cutting it. You wanted Joel, you needed Joel. You hated to admit it, especially since he hadn’t paid a singular ounce of attention to you since the bonfire last Saturday. Even worse, after deciding to watch Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron with your family during a movie night, you started thinking even the horse was kind of attractive.

Day seven started with your room covered in a pale blue light. You didn’t know what time it was. You weren’t sure how much you slept, but you knew it was very little. This ache was pestering your insides, spreading a rot like an old tree log. Your mind couldn’t fade away from the way Joel felt inside your mouth, the way he filled your throat, and you breathed through the choke. Or the way he finished on your face and your tongue.

Your well-painted memory of it all was already beginning to fade. The details weren’t as crisp, you wanted to remember every detail and hold on to it for as long as possible.

That’s what you were trying to imagine at this ungodly early morning hour. The birds weren’t even chirping outside yet. Your fan slowly circled, trying to cool you off from the sticky Texas heat. You wished your windows weren’t jammed closed.

You heard a thud outside, your body alert as you swiftly sat up and peeked out the window.

Despite it being a Saturday, you watched a tired and slow Joel walk out to his old pickup truck and toss a brown bag lunch inside. Where was he off to so early?

He was wearing his chunky worn-in work boots, splattered with drops of white paint stained into the leather by the steel toe. They were heavy with each step he took on his rickety wooden deck. His faded dark blue jeans sat snug on his hips with his wallet stuffed in the back pocket. His dark hair dashed with silver grays was still damp from his morning shower.

You watched behind foggy glass as he patted down his jeans and mumbled something, swiftly turning on his heel and lightly jogging up his steps before disappearing inside again.

Seeing him after a week of silence bubbled up a hint of anger and annoyance in you. It annoyed you that he looked so good.

Your feet found their way onto cold hardwood before you could waste another second. You would give him a piece of your mind in fuzzy slippers and an oversized rusty-orange Texas Longhorns t-shirt that was so draped over you that it covered your black sleep shorts.

You tiredly navigated your way out of your room quietly, not to wake your parents down the hall. You crossed your arms and hugged them to your body, the early morning chill hitting you once you were outside. You crossed your driveway to his truck, slowing once you reached his perched-down tailgate. Joel had resurged from his house with his truck keys in hand, his steps slowing once you two shared eye contact.

You’d be standing here all day if you expected Joel to speak first.

“Hey.”

He gave you a small nod, his eyes dropping to the shirt that reached the tops of your thighs before they managed their way back up to your face. “Mornin’.”

He closed the gap between his porch steps and his tailgate, setting down his toolbelt and box in the bed. He looked rigid, tight in the shoulders and chest. His close proximity made you step a few paces back, the length of the tailgate separating you from Joel.

You were afraid that if he stood too close, he might feel how badly you wanted him by radiation alone. Especially now, fresh out of the shower, half-wet curls plastered to his forehead, still smelling a little musky with his body wash.

You finally let out an aggravated sigh, hip landing against the tailgate with your arms still crossed.

“So… where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Your face still held a slightly pinched expression though you tried to ask a casual question.

Your curiosity made the left side of his mouth tick up in a lopsided little smirk.

“You wanna tell me the real reason you came over here?” Joel’s tactics were ruthless. It made you feel small, young. But you weren’t, not anymore.

You took in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes on his as your head fell to the side. Finally, the ticking time bomb inside you was counting down. All of your pent-up sexual frustration would be launched at this lumberjack of a man.

“You haven’t texted me.”

“Christ,” he muttered, annoyance passing over his face. “Sun’s not even up yet.”

“Joel.” You pushed.

“Haven’t texted you in a few years.” He said lamely.

“I know, the last thing I have from you is asking me what you think my dad would like for a birthday present.”

“I value your input.” His teasing didn’t make you any less angry. Joel could tell. “I don’t text anyone much besides Sarah. ‘ts the only way I can get ahold of her. Don’t even remember I own a phone half the time.”

“I know.” Your arms crossed tighter around your body. “But I have… needs.” Your voice awkwardly teetered as you evaded his eye contact.

“Needs? Do ya, now?” Joel’s accent came out swinging, his signature smirky-smile working in combination with his cocked up eyebrow. But your face held evidence of your disappointment.

There’s a gentle lull. He should have texted you, and you shouldn’t be here telling him that. He knows. Or maybe you shouldn’t expect so much from a guy like Joel. No wedding ring, brooding, a bull with horns, Joel. Wouldn’t know it was his birthday without Sarah reminding him, Joel. Wouldn’t leave the house if he didn’t have to, Joel. Wouldn’t think to text his horny neighbor next door, Joel.

“Didn’t text me either, sweetheart.” He points out, making your head snap up with wide doe eyes. Shit. He was right.

You didn’t text him, either. You were just sort of expecting it out of him. You hoped he would lead the way, be the guide, reach out wanting more. But that wasn’t Joel. Were you both playing this devilish waiting game? You felt a little silly, your insides wrapping in knots as he surveyed you.

“Well I-”

“You what?”

He was the one grilling into you now. The sun began cresting over the water, bleaching your surroundings in a pale orange. The sun’s glare caused Joel’s eyes to squint slightly to block it out.

You rolled your head to the side and wiggled around as you tried to stand still against his tailgate. Your frustrations were evident as you rubbed your crossed legs together.

This wasn’t the same girl who took a leap of faith in his woodshed, who crossed the boundary between nothing to something, and set you and Joel up for a thrilling summer. You just wanted him to tell you that he wanted it too. To fuck around and do something different. Make this summer worth a damn.

“I didn’t know if you wanted more.” You finally muster up, your voice smaller than you intended, shifty eyes looking over his.

Your statement made him scoff, having to look away from you with a wicked smile. The orange luminescence of the sun warmed his otherwise cold face. He was amused, maybe even a little offended by your statement.

“‘Course I want more.” He strained before pausing, his voice lowering as he took another step closer. “Look at you. Wearin’ my shirt.” He said before he towered over you, making the first point of contact as his hand reached for your hip and pulled you in closer, his fist clutching the worn-in orange t-shirt.

You blinked a few times before looking down where he fisted the material. Shit. He was right again.

Joel had given this to you the last summer you were in Danbury. You and Sarah took a late-night dip in the lake, and she wanted you to sleep over and watch a movie in the basement. You were too lazy to walk back home and change, so Joel gave you a towel and his Longhorns t-shirt.

You easily could have snagged a shirt from Sarah’s closet, but Joel caught you sneaking into his house and dripping water everywhere.

“Just take this. Go dry off. Get warmed up.” A statement laced with annoyance and precaution for his floors, but also attentive care.

It was probably supposed to be just for the night, but you stole it.

You remember that evening vividly. It was the first time you fantasized about Joel. Because the shirt wrapped you up and smelled of his musk and deodorant. It brought on a certain warm fuzziness in your tummy. The shirt had been incorporated so much in your wardrobe these last two years or so, you had forgotten its origin. But it was Joel’s.

And now you were standing here in front of him, his shirt draped over your body like an oversized blanket, showing the curves of your tits. He was fantasizing about you too. Fucking you while wearing his shirt.

There was an undeniable tension that now settled between the two of you, one you surely couldn’t satisfy in his driveway. But that didn’t mean Joel didn’t feel the same way.

His hold on your hip tightened, your lips parting in surprise as his other hand came to your waist and hoisted you up onto the tailgate of his truck.

He was hot, possessive of your body wrapped in his shirt.

“Does it look like I don’t want you?” Joel’s voice was husky, lust filled. You liked getting this sort of reaction out of him. His question caused an ache in you, white heat pooling in the base of your stomach.

Your neediness for him returned. Addicted to his touch, you felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through your body. Joel parted your legs with his body by standing between them, your little fists gripping his large biceps as you tried to regain your bearings. He was so big and burly, wide set shoulders, and a toned chest. You wanted to see him shirtless, examine his body when your time together wasn’t so limited.

“Joel,” his name dripped off your lips with desperation, sweet like honey. He knew how you said his name when you wanted him. It brought back vivid memories of you kneeling in front of him in his woodshed.

Comfort brought you back, knowing it was safe to lean in and start kissing his stubbled neck. You didn’t want to kiss his lips, it still felt too intimate. Joel picked up on your hesitations and silently obeyed.

Once you got to the base of his neck by the collar of his shirt, he let out a surprisingly loud grunt that he tried to jam down into silence but had failed. It caught you off guard, the ways he displayed his pleasure.

You moved back in, eager to duplicate the noise as you paid special attention to his sweet spot. You suckled and glided your teeth over the pinpoint before he forced himself away.

“Keep it below the collar, sweetheart.” His twangy southern drawl was drenched in pleasure.

You smirked as you tugged at the collar gently with your teeth, letting it go and seeing it snap back into place around his tan neck.

His lips found the crook of your jawline, his lips brushing your earlobe as he took it between his teeth and gently nibbled. The sensation struck a nerve down your center, a weak whine echoing against the collar of his shirt as you tried to stay quiet.

The air had warmed up with the sun’s presence, the birds starting to chirp. Your parents could wake up any minute now, being the early risers they were.

You pulled away to gauge his reaction. Joel was looking between you and the horizon carefully. He was debating. You both had so little time.

“Your parents.” He pointed out, his voice ridged with pain as he planted his body between yours, his large palms splayed on your lower back and upper thigh with his fingers ghosting your sleep shorts.

“Work.” You reminded, lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, fingers delicately brushing over the faded Miller Contracting logo on his breast pocket.

You’re compelled to tell him that you need him. Because you do. You need him terribly.

There was a silence, a deliberation of the masses. Stop while you’re ahead, at least you and Joel realized you were on the same page about wanting more. You could let him go, you should let him go. Meet up another time when it was less risky.

“You’re not pulling away.” Your whisper broke his thoughts. Your long lashes fluttered, and your eyes were filled with an eagerness only Joel could satisfy.

He rolled his head around, jaw tight before shaking his head.

“Well, you have needs.” His words were filled with grit, promise. Be quick.

Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, feeling the planes of his back under your small palms. Both of Joel’s big hands moved under your t-shirt, your lips parting at the feeling of his calloused and rough hands traversing your soft body. He liked how soft you were, you could tell by the way he was delicately exploring you with his lips plastered on your neck.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whisper, grinding your hips against his desperately while one of your hands wound into the damp curls at the base of his neck. He could use a haircut soon, the longer strands winding around your fingers.

His body loomed so much over you that you were arching your spine, your legs desperately wrapping loose around his waist until he had sufficiently guided you onto your back.

Suddenly his presence lifted. You didn’t realize you were seeing stars until he pulled away. He had way too much of an effect on you.

“Don’t have time to fuck you right, pretty girl.” His words made you puff out a desperate sigh.

“But-”

“But you have needs.” He finished for you, your head feverishly nodding. The truck bed had odd ribs, half your back raised up an inch while your other half was on a little slant. It was uncomfortable to lay your head down on. Once Joel was tugging down your sleep shorts, you were quick to forget the discomfort.

A heavy breath left you as Joel tossed your shorts over his tool belt in the truck bed beside you, feeling him pull your body closer to the edge of the truck bed with your legs pried open for him.

Your eyes widened as he sunk to the ground, jaw dropping as your eyes looked to the sky. Holy shit.

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved.

He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin.

“On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face.

“I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch.

You wished every second with him right now wasn’t fleeting. You wished he could take his time. But the both of you were so wound up anyway, you were happy just to have him be a guest between your legs.

Joel’s beard stubble tickled your thighs, his warm lips leaving a wet trail to your cotton underwear. Your hands needed to stay busy, one planting itself against one of the ribs of the truck bed and the other fisting his toolbelt that adorned a Carhartt patch.

Joel’s mouth was absent for a moment. He was admiring you. Admiring you with your legs spread for him in his Longhorns shirt that was several sizes too big on you. Heat chased through your body, a sly little smirk on your lips.

“Time is of the essence, Joel.”

He didn’t say anything back. He was staring at the wet spot that had formed through the material of your panties. He hummed, cocky satisfaction filling him to the brim.

Joel placed an excruciatingly soft kiss over your covered mound that had you writhing under him eagerly. His palm planted your thigh down again, feeling you quiver under his hold.

You swallowed a lump down your throat as he pulled your underwear to the side, out of his fucking way. He was seeing you for the first time. It made your chest heave with shakier breaths.

You were glistening for him, wet and gleaming in the sunshine that was starting to dance across the lake and over the truck. Panic flooded your core. He was taking his damn time. You needed him now.

“Joel-” you warned again, but it was too late.

His nose nuzzled against your clit as he flattened his tongue and licked up your center, tasting you properly. Your head dug into the truck bed, a loose moan leaving your parted lips as you closed your eyes and experienced a sweet paradise. His tongue flooded you with his saliva, Joel’s taste buds in galore as he tried you for the first time.

You wondered if he thought about you tasting you like this before. The thought as well as his head between your legs left you humming in appreciation.

Your free hand found its purpose, nestling your fingers into Joel’s hair while his head made gentle nods against your core. His jaw was slack, mouth lodged open as he consumed your sex in its entirety. He didn’t leave one centimeter of you unmarked. He commandeered the landscape like it was his territory, his possession.

Puffs of his name left your mouth, you couldn’t help but be vocal when he made you feel this good.

Joel’s tongue moved now with purpose, precision. He lapped at your entrance, tongue dipping in to feel your tight walls before moving back up and around your swollen clit. He was discovering you, what made you tick, what made you burn with passion and lust.

You held back moans of his name, bringing Joel’s shirt you wore up into your mouth by the collar to bite down onto. Your muffles were concealed by the material for now.

You ground your hips lightly into his face, finding a rhythm you liked. He lets you. He wants you to feel good.

Thumps of your heart pounded against your chest, Joel’s tongue still working perfect circles and swipes at your clit. He pulled away just for a moment to wet his fingers, you watch through hooded eyes. His amber ones flick to yours. Can I?

You nod your head, a silent and desperate yes.

He pursed his lips, face pierced with concentration as he pushed his middle finger into you, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a flood of arousal to allow him deeper. You took in a shaky gasp as he filled you to the knuckle.

“Fuckk-” you said a little too loud, your eyes widening as you covered your mouth and got a well-deserved glare from Joel.

“Can’t hold yourself together, can ya, pretty girl?” His voice was as rough as gravel.

You couldn’t even answer him back, the threads that held together your integrity were slowly plucking loose.

You whimpered like crazy, the shirt swallowing as much of the noise as it could, but the rhythm of his finger and his mouth returning to your clit was sending electric currents through your entire body. You were short-circuiting with Joel’s tongue and fingers playing with your pussy.

Joel’s mouth was warm, the taste of you a new hunger for him. You could hear his jeans scuff against the ground. He was trying to hold himself steady. The realization made you throw your head back, losing the shirt as a vice as you gripped his strands tighter between your knuckles.

“Fuck, Joel--, ohmygod-” you whimpered quietly. The slurping of your cunt was louder than your words. The noise felt so loud in your pounding ear drums, you were worried it would wake the neighbors. The neighbors being your parents and Joel’s daughter.

You were close, even with just one of his fingers inside of you, you were close. You

weren’t sure if it was because of your pent-up sexual tension, your vibrator dying, or your fingers not doing you justice. Maybe it was the fact that it was Joel Miller, but you were holding onto a very thin rope on the verge of snapping.

You pulled your shirt up, releasing his toolbelt as your hand fondled your tits. You could feel him smirk against your thighs as you pinched at your hardened round nipples.

“Such a pretty girl.. Taste so fuckin’ good too.” His words reverberate against your core, the vibrations tickling your clit and making you whine his name. His compliment caused a certain warmth in your chest.

Your head lulled from side to side. He wasn’t letting you know peace once he added a second finger. You had to take a moment to adjust but Joel could feel it, he knew exactly what to do and when. He was so seasoned, experienced, he’d be the first guy to make you cum like this.

Your thigh against his head clenched tighter around his shoulder, keeping him in close against your core as he continued to work his tongue in figure eights around your clit. The soothing circles were creating a harmonious rhythm, your stomach felt like it was going to fall through a trapdoor. You weren’t going to last much longer.

Then he tried something new.

A loud gasp left your lips, your body scraping its way to sit up on your elbows as you watched him nibble and suckle at your clit. Your elbow had nicked his exposed flathead screwdriver in the process, a hiss seething from your mouth. It didn’t matter now. All your mind could focus on was Joel and his hellish tongue.

The suckling at your clit unlocked something undiscovered, your lips parting in fascination before your head fell back and landed on the tops of your shoulders as you looked to the heavens with blurry vision.

A lazy smirk was plastered on your face as he held you in place. You weren’t going anywhere.

Heated pants left your mouth, unable to breathe with the new sensation. The sucking was a distinct sensation, one you liked. You could feel his teeth just lightly grazing your sensitive bud. It made your thighs twitch, and your walls flutter around his still pumping fingers.

Joel’s digits moved gently with their thrust, a gasp of his name flooding the air as he curled them deep, massaging your spongy walls.

You were breathless. You could barely muster up anything besides his name weakly on your lips. You tried to tell him, but it was already too late.

“J-Joel I’m-- I’m cominggg, shit,” you moaned out a little too loud. The whole valley around you echoed, or so it seemed. Joel’s protective grip tightened, your hips convulsing as you came over his tongue. He fucking loved it. He held you there and took you for everything you were worth.

You dropped to your back once more, his fingers still working a slow rhythm that he was insistent on not breaking until your walls stopped fluttering around his knuckles. You were still trying to come down to Earth when he licked you clean, your body twitching every time he flicked his tongue against your throbbing clit on purpose. Fucking asshole.

Your hold on his hair loosens. You can’t help but make a face at the sight of him. Wild curly locks, mouth and chin covered in your slick, slightly flushed cheeks. He looked just as fucked as you did. He looked submissive on his knees, his eyes gleaming as he looked to you.

You watch with obsession as he mindlessly pops his two fingers past his lips, licking them clean of your slick. Such a compliment.

He guided your leg off his shoulder and put your underwear back in its place.

You leaned up on your elbows, still seeing stars. Joel stood up from the ground and brushed any residual dirt and dust off his jeans. He brought his hand up and toyed with his jaw, meaty fingers adding pressure into the masseter muscle as he worked to relieve the tension that had built while going down on you with such dedication.

You weakly sat up, the slotted ribs of his truck bed making indents in the flesh of your arms and thighs. Brands of your filth. Your big shirt fell back into place, your legs swinging lightly as they hung off the truck bed. You glanced at the back of your arm, seeing the scrape from his tools. You’d be fine.

Once you turned straight to face Joel once more, you noticed he was fighting back a little smile about something, his hands on his hips and his knee cocked out.

“What?” You ask, trying to scoot further down the tailgate.

“Nothin’.” He said gruffly, taking you by your hips and lifting you with ease like a ragdoll back onto the ground. His eyes stayed on the floor, your curious gaze following his down to your fluffy slippers.

“Oh.” You muster up, clicking the toes together.

“They’re uh… cute.” He tried to compliment, still with a teasing smirk on his face.

“Shut up. They’re slippers.” You griped, your hand coming up to wipe away the glisten on his chin. He took over, pinching the collar of his shirt between his fingers and bringing it up to wipe away what was left of you. It was oddly attractive.

He reached past his toolbox and belt, handing over your black sleep shorts after feeling over the material for a moment with a swipe of his thumb.

You muster up a thanks, looping one foot in and then the other before you adjusted the band around your waist, the orange t-shirt falling back into place at your thighs.

You couldn’t help but look around, the serenity of the early morning hours would only last so long on the lake. People liked to walk their dogs and jog, you didn’t want anyone reporting gossip.

You turned back to Joel and assessed him. The Texas sun was already making both of your skin swelter, despite it being just past sunrise.

You took in a sharp breath to say something, pursing your lips to keep them shut. Joel looked at you expectantly.

“What?”

You shook your head and shrugged, holding your hands behind your back as you teetered on your feet.

A stern expression passed over his face. “What?” He pressed harder.

You tried to smother a laugh. “Your hair, Joel.”

With an annoyed sigh, Joel amused trying to tousle his curls into place with the assistance of his truck’s driver-side mirror, grumbling a few curse words in response before leaving it be.

You admire him, how handsome he looks so effortlessly. You suddenly became glaringly aware of how you looked right now. No makeup, baggy clothes, could use a shower. Fuck.

“I gotta get goin’, already late.” Joel said as he returned to the tailgate, lifting it with ease and slamming it into place with a few sharp snaps. “I’ll see you. And I’ll message you.”

A small smile ticked at one half of your mouth, nodding. It was a promise. “Please call it texting, Joel.”

He furrowed his brows as he looked over your face. “What difference does it make?”

You snickered and shrugged. “How old you sound.”

Cue the classic Joel Miller eye roll. “Fine. Textin’.”

“How can you be working on a Saturday? That feels illegal.”

This mustered up a short little chortle from Joel. “It’s not technically working, that’s why.”

Your head curiously tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugged, avoiding your eye contact as he looked past his truck and to the lake.

This was what you had to deal with. Trying to get information out of Joel was an investigative effort, one you didn’t have the energy to dig into at the moment. You finally felt tired after your week of restlessness.

You waved each other off, your face electric as you turned away from Joel and snuck back inside without a peep. As soon as you lay back in bed, feeling your heart thumping after your meet-up with Joel, you heard the door to your parent’s room crack open, and your father’s obnoxious morning yawn followed accordingly. Couldn’t have cut it any closer.

Finally, you felt sleep caressing the edges of your mind. Not a beat after your head hit the pillow, you felt your phone vibrate beside you. With hazy eyes, you turned it over in your palm and squinted at the brightness.

joel miller Anything I can do to get in your good graces again?

You instantly smiled, lazy fingers typing a response.

how about a movie night?

He took a moment to respond. You could see him thinking it over in your mind’s eye.

joel miller Fine.

Your face lit up as you quickly took advantage of him owing you one.

and I can pick the movie?

You could practically feel Joel’s eye roll from a mile away.

joel miller Jesus. Fine. Tomorrow night.

Tomorrow was perfect. Sarah said she would be on a camping trip and your parents would be visiting old school friends in a neighboring town for drinks and dinner.

tomorrow night it is, mr. miller

joel miller Whatever you say sweetheart.

---

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