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asvtrials · 1 month ago

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𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat.

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before.

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?”

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table.

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?”

“I don—”

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove”

“My Emperor I—”

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard.

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery.

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb.

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend.

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control.

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart.

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness. There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized.

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk.

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress.

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt.

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit.

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

#emperor geta #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #emperor geta smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta x y/n #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #gladiator ll #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n

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endlessthxxghts · 8 months ago

Text

Just One

DBF!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 819 (she just a baby!)

Summary: You’re still worked up even though Joel’s tapped out for the night. Maybe you need a kiss to satisfy you—a simple, sweet kiss. Right?

Content/Tags: Reader is able-bodied and has female sex anatomy, but is otherwise undescribed. Pussy pronouns (she)!! 18+ MDNI. Making out. Bulge grinding 😋 let me know if there’s anything I missed!

A/N: @pinkypromisepascal and I had a conversation…and then I said I wanted to write a drabble based on what we talked about, to which she said “DO IT.” So I did. Y’all better thank her brain for this too!🙂‍↕️ and to @strang3lov3, thank you for the extra pair of eyes AND THE MOODBOARD!!!😭 I love you both so much. To everyone, I hope you enjoy, all my love xx

masterlist | notifs blog

It’s been thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes since Joel had you folded nearly in half, your legs pressed against your torso, the slam of his hips pushing you higher up his mattress.

Thirty minutes since he made your eyes roll back, throat burning in pleasure.

Thirty minutes since he wiped you clean and massaged your hips.

It’s been thirty minutes.

And he’s knocked the fuck out.

You sit up in his bed. You’re not here very often. Ever, really. It was by chance you stayed over tonight. So you study the area. Take his space in. The painting and posters above his bed. The nightstand. The white fan sitting on his dresser, pointing directly at him. He runs hot when he sleeps. Too hot.

Your eyes trace his figure, then. His broad back on display, hips covered by his sheets.

His face. God, his face. Salt and pepper scruff around the edges, smile lines and furrowed eyebrow lines adorning his face. They’re not as harsh now as he succumbs deeper into his slumber, but they’re present nonetheless.

His hooked nose sits prettily, the same nose that had you squirming and gasping for air earlier in the night. Your core flutters at the thought.

You’re looking at his lips now, and you can’t help the way your own forms a smirk.

“Joel,” you whisper.

A rock. Unmoving. Unfazed.

On your knees now, you shuffle to face him. Leaning forward, hand on his shoulder to nudge him, you try again.

“Joel.”

“Hm?” his sleepy voice rasps.

“I need your help,” you respond.

One eye peels open. His eyebrows move into their natural habitat, furrowed. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

You put on your sweetest face. “Can I have a kiss?”

You stifle a giggle at the daggers being thrown at you. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you been up this whole time?”

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you retort.

“No, it ain’t—” you gesture to his clock before he can finish his thought. He faces it immediately, throwing his face back into his pillow with an incoherent grumble. “Sleep,” he finally says.

“I will, sleeping beauty,” you giggle. “Can I please have a kiss first? Just one,” you ask again, lowering your voice an octave, a tone he can never deny.

He flips himself over, so he’s more on his back now. “It’s never just one.”

“That’s not true,” you fake pout, leaning closer in, letting the tips of your nose dance.

“You said one kiss months ago. Look where that got us.” His breath fans against your lips.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you whisper, your body on fire with this conversation.

You let your lips finally meet, soft and sweet, but the heat building in your cheeks keeps you from breaking the seal. Without thinking, you climb on top of him, straddling him as your hands find the base of his neck, the length beneath you already beginning to stir.

You break away for less than a second before you bring your lips to his again, but he’s quick to stop you, a shit-eating grin between his cheeks. “Thought ya said one?” He breathes.

“Shut up,” you murmur, smashing your lips against his once more as your tongue coasts the expanse of his bottom lip, the taste of you from earlier still lingering.

“Shit, sugar,” he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into you on their own accord. “She’s still so needy, ain’t she? That why ya can’t sleep?”

His bulge catches perfectly where you need him most, pulling a whimper from the back of your throat. “Please, baby,” you pant.

“Told ya ‘s never jus’ one kiss,” he rasps as his heavy hands grab at your waist, guiding your hips into a more frenzied rhythm.

“You’re right,” you cry, eyes clamping shut, nothing but the sweet sounds of your ecstasy blessing his ears.

Too blissed out to continue kissing him, you bring your lips to his jaw, nipping and licking the places you can reach. With a few harsh grinds of your hips, you’re moaning out into his ear—his partially deaf one, luckily—with millions of white sparkles flashing beneath your eyelids. Joel’s breathing stops at the same moment your body convulses, strangled grunts leaving his throat as he adds to your mess of his boxers.

“She satisfied, yet?” He hums as you lay across his sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” you pretend to think it over. “I think it’s her turn for a kiss now.”

Joel scoffs. You can hear his smile with it.

You lift your head to look him in the eyes, a faux innocence in the way you jut out your bottom lip. “Just one, baby,” you reason with him.

Joel tosses you to your unspoken side of the bed. “Sleep.”

“But—”

“She’ll get her kiss in the morning.”

Your eyes nearly pop out at the realization of his words. “G-Goodnight, baby,” you reply quickly.

“‘S what I thought. G’night, darlin’.”

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

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bruhstories · 9 days ago

Text

Bet IV

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

mandatory mdni because things will start to get heated up in the following chapters.

summary: you're starting to feel things for the man who hired you to take care of his cat. but he's only being nice. that's it and nothing more. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, domestic violence (reader gets slapped by her uncle), veeeery slow burn, reader's dad is dead w/c: 2.1k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can't find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"Where were you last night?"

You sighed at your uncle's question, sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. He woke up earlier than he should have, especially for a man who worked night shifts at a warehouse. He did it on purpose, just to have more reasons to pick on you, and you knew that all too well. You lived through that hell for the past ten years.

"I told you, I was cat sitting."

"Cat sitting." He repeated with derision in his voice. "You need to get a real job."

"I have two real jobs." You reminded him, and it took all your willpower not to raise your voice at him.

"Where's the money, then? Huh?" Your uncle grabbed you by the wrist, twisting it backwards.

"I'm getting paid today!"

"How much?"

"660,326!" You cried out as his fingernails dug deeper into your skin.

"I better see that money on my nightstand by tomorrow morning." He let go of your wrist. "Keep the change."

How generous, you thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped dents in your skin. At least he didn't hit you, but your small victory crumbled when he turned on his heels, smacking you with the plastic fly swatter in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice.

You didn't cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him.

But when you stepped through the doors of Mr. Hwang's penthouse, the dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. They burned when they touched the cracked, swollen skin, courtesy of your uncle, but you still smiled at the sight of Eunjoo.

Instead of waiting next to the water bowl, like she had done before, the cat jumped on the countertop, her paw gently touching your wrist, where the imprinted dents of his fingernails were still visible. You didn't know why, but Eunjoo's gesture made you cry harder, heavy tears falling onto her plate.

"Good kitty." You sobbed, daring to pet her, and she allowed it, nuzzling your hand for the first time since you met her.

Without wasting a single moment, you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and Eunjoo, and sent it to In-ho, with the caption 'Making progress!' You thought he might be happy to see her slowly lower her guard and get attached to you.

Who hurt you?

Stupid. How could you be so stupid to send a selfie when your cheek was grazed and puffy? Of course Mr. Hwang would ask about it, he was a nice man, one whose kindness you didn’t think you deserved.

I accidentally walked into a lamppost! Silly, right?

Hoping that the lie would be convincing enough, you carried on with your tasks after eating with Eunjoo, and to your surprise, it worked. It fooled him, but you weren’t proud of yourself in the slightest.

You need to be more careful next time. If anything happened to you, who would take care of Eunjoo until I return?

It shouldn't have hurt reading his reply, and yet your heart ached. What did you expect? You were an employee, he obviously wanted his cat to be safe, not you. And how could someone like him even care about someone you? You came from different worlds that could never intertwine.

I will.

No thank you, no sad face — you were bitter, even though, rationally, you had no reason to be. Besides, you lied to him in the first place. Maybe if you told him the truth, he would have sent a different reply. It didn't matter. In less than five days he would come back, pay you and never speak to you again. Just like all rich people did.

You cleaned the bathrooms that morning, scrubbing the bath tubs, the toilets, the sinks and the floors until your fingertips stung and your head pounded from the bleach fumes. The vibration of your phone startled you, and you wiped your hands to check the notification.

Have I upset you?

Okay, maybe he did care. Or maybe he was just very observant and noticed your monotonous reply.

Not at all, I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry that you worried about me, or that I seemed upset! You're right, I need to be more careful next time.

Please don't take this the wrong way, miss, but I've never met anyone who apologised for making me worry about them. You're quite special.

You did a double take when you read Mr. Hwang's reply, and a wave of remorse crushed your heart. The man was too nice for you to lie to him, but you didn't want him involved in your family affairs, either. There was a strong internal conflict within you, a battle between honesty and dishonesty, but for the time being, dishonesty won, no matter how disgraceful it was.

Choosing not to reply, as time was ticking and the Abduls would be waiting for you soon, you swiftly finished tidying up the bathrooms and put away all the cleaning products so Eunjoo couldn't get to them. With the automatic feeder full, fresh water in the bowl and litter boxes clean, you left.

In all fairness, you didn't know what to reply to his text. No one called you special before, except for that one guy you dated who only wanted to sleep with you, and unfortunately succeeded. It wasn't your proudest moment, but you moved on since then. You stared at the text, typing a reply, then deleting it, then typing again, and you did that for the duration of the entire bus ride back to Guryong Village. By the time you knocked on Ali's door, you still hadn't come up with a response.

What could you even say? Thank you? Likewise? I'm sorry I lied to you, my uncle slapped me with the fly swatter? No. In telling the truth, Mr. Hwang would pity you, perhaps even offer you more money, or food, or clothes, and you didn't want to be pitied. You wanted your hard work to be recognised, not to use your social status or depressing background as an excuse.

Mrs. Abdul couldn't feed you that day, and that was fine. They needed to prioritise themselves, since they didn't live any better than you. Luckily, you saved enough money to buy a kimbap roll for lunch and a bag of rice crackers for dinner and breakfast. Resourcefulness was, perhaps, your strongest point and the reason you survived for so long.

The theme park was packed with tourists and locals, gathering to watch the parade, and you took the time to entertain children and take pictures with them, always on your feet, always working. Back in the dressing room, you took the comically large mascot head off, sweat dripping down your face and neck. Summers were worse — there were body parts you didn't think could sweat.

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

You looked up from your seat to a man around your age, a coworker named Donghyun. He had worked there for a few months or so, but you barely spoke.

"Yes?" You smiled, resting your elbows on the mascot head in your lap.

"We're getting paid today, and a few of us are going for drinks after work. I was wondering if you would like to come." Donghyun avoided looking into your eyes, nervously pinching the soft fur of his own mascot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have another job I need to get to. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, another time." He nodded. "Hey, could I get your number?"

"Why would you want my number?" You laughed, immediately pursing your lips when Donghyun frowned. "Sorry, yeah, of course I'll give you my number!"

You were such a people pleaser, it was ridiculous, but he seemed to feel better after saving your number in his phone. And there was no harm in making new friends.

"I'll text you later." Donghyun nodded with a smile and left.

What a strange interaction, you thought. It wasn't unusual for men to like you — you were pretty, smart, funny — but you just weren't interested in any of them. In fact, it was their age and maturity that didn't appeal to you. They acted like prepubescent pricks, trying to impress anything with a vagina and a pretty face by being obnoxious and loud and downright irritating.

Older men were different. They had manners, they were respectful and caring. They knew how to dress, knew how to speak to women, kind of like Mr. Hwang.

Oh.

God, you needed to forcibly remove that thought from your mind before it spiraled into something worse. In-ho probably wanted nothing to do with you — no, he definitely didn’t want anything to do with you. He was just a nice gentleman who happened to not be married. Maybe he had a girlfriend that didn't live with him. Or maybe he worked so much he couldn't afford a relationship.

Maybe he murdered people.

You laughed at that ridiculous idea — no one in their right mind would do that, especially not Mr. Hwang. He had a cat, for God's sake. Murderers usually killed animals, surely he was just a normal man with a lot on his mind, a workaholic, or a hermit.

Walking into your boss' office, you received your pay and counted the money — 662,326. You got more than you should've, completely forgetting about the pay rise. Your uncle didn't need to know about that, and you took the extra 2,326 and hid it in a small pocket inside your backpack, along with other money you saved. Unbeknownst to him, you secretly opened a savings account in the hopes that one day you would be able to leave and rent your own place, but you only had 1,094,463.60 won, which was barely enough to cover the deposit.

One day. One day you would leave all that abuse behind and have a fresh start. But today was not that day.

Back in Gangnam-gu, you entered the penthouse earlier than normal and dropped your bag on the floor next to your worn and torn boots. You were hoping they would last through winter because you really couldn't afford a new pair. Eunjoo ran to greet you for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy at the sight of the cat rubbing against your leg. She was growing on you, and you soon realised how much you'd miss her when Mr. Hwang returned. Perhaps he'd let you visit her.

You turned the TV on and played some songs by ABBA, the sadness of the morning gone, replaced only by joy and optimism. Things would turn out well, you just knew it. You grabbed In-ho's black clothes and placed them in the washing machine, all the while dancing to the beat of Money, Money, Money. It was a song you related to, but you didn't want to find a wealthy man. You just wanted to have enough money to survive without your uncle.

"It's a rich man's world." You sang to Eunjoo, who wiggled her butt, playfully attacking your feet.

"All the things I could do if I had a little money, kitty. I would get my own apartment, I would donate to orphanages and charities. Oh, don't look at me like that." You frowned when Eunjoo stared at you judgmentally. "I would! There are people out there who need help. But you know what I would get for me? A hotteok! Ah, I would kill for that cinnamony goodness."

You placed the food on the floor and opened the pack of rice crackers.

"My dad got me a hotteok on my seventh birthday. It was the best birthday ever and- oh my God, I'm talking to a cat." Laughing at the sudden realisation, you shook your head in disbelief. "Well, you're probably my only friend anyway. You don't judge me. You don't care if I'm rich or poor. You just listen and eat. Oh!"

Good evening, Mr. Hwang! Could I ask what your favourite dish is?

You decided that would be your gift. Cooking wasn't your strongest skill, but you were confident in yourself. And who didn't want to come back to a hot home-made meal? Maybe he liked jajangmyeon, or jjigae, or something sweet, like chapssaltteok. The possibilities were endless.

Beef Wellington. Why?

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Beef fucking Wellington? How on Earth could you even afford all the ingredients? The tenderloin itself was probably over 65,000 won. But you were going to do it for him, regardless of what it cost. You felt that Mr. Hwang deserved it.

I was hoping to cook it for you when you returned. I'll admit, I didn't think it would be such a... fancy dish, but I'm sure I can manage.

Have you tried it before?

I'm afraid not. Is it good?

Exquisite. You'll have to stay and try it when I return, yes?

Chewing on your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat at his request. You knew he was just being nice, but you couldn't stop the sudden burning desire to just obey.

Yeah, I'll stay.

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn @hobiesbrownsgf @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol @mariiestfu @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm @nikos-a-clown @cchewhaz @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @red22wolf @nellabear @unabletonotlovesatoru @happiness2112 @waterjewelsspite @luna-looniesnlog @plan3t-plut0 @full-sunnies @houta-habtet-houta @alexisabirdie @riri53 @bluehourss

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho x you #hwang in ho x y/n #hwang inho #hwang inho x reader #hwang inho x you #hwang inho x y/n #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n #afab reader

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interact-if · 16 days ago

Text

Happy New Year everyone!

I’m delighted to announce that Interact-IF is officially back in business! I (Allie @allieebobo) will be taking the reins as the new mod, and I’m very excited to get this blog up and running again!

First, a heartfelt thank-you to the original mod team for everything they’ve built. Interact-if has become such an invaluable resource and hub for interactive fiction fans and authors alike. It’s a tough act to follow, but I’ll do my best to keep the spirit of this wonderful space alive :)

A little bit more about me: I’m the author of two WIP interactive fiction games, @collegetennisoriginstory and @merrycrisis-if. Interact-if was one of the first blogs/places that I discovered almost three years ago now, and it led me to so many amazing stories, authors, and resources.

When I saw that the blog was going into archive mode, with a call for a new generation of mods, I wanted to do my best to help out. I reached out to the original mod team and worked out a gameplan for the future of Interact-if, which I’d like to share with all of you today.

P.S. If you would like to join me, I’d love to have you on the team! Scroll down to the section on ‘open call for mods’.

Without further ado, here’s the plan!

My goal is to focus on retaining the aspects that made Interact-IF so special: spotlighting diverse authors, and creating a warm, inclusive space to talk about and share wonderful games.

🟢 Active:

Game Updates & Intros: If you’re an author with a new game or demo update, or if you’re organizing a game jam or event you’d like to share with the community, simply tag @interact-if in your posts, and I’ll reblog them. It would also be helpful if you added tags stating the IF's genre (e.g. horror, romance), has a demo/no demo.

Themed Author Features: I’ll continue the tradition of spotlighting authors and games based on monthly themes (e.g. Pride Month, Disability Month). These interviews are such a great way of celebrating diversity and inclusivity in the IF community, and I’d love to keep these going! Stay tuned for a detailed post on this soon!

Community Spotlight: Once every quarter, I’ll also do a call for reader recs around certain categories/themes (e.g. Fave RO, Fave Worldbuilding/setting, Fave plot-twist etc.) and compile these recommendations to share. Think of it as a bulletin of crowdsourced faves and a way of sharing a little note about an IF you love!

🟡 Remain open/active, but not modded:

Game directory: The Interact-IF repository of games (excel) will remain open for authors to update/list their games and/or readers to discover their next read. (Feel free to continue to update/populate the repository, though do note it will remain completely crowd-sourced/author-updated).

Discord: The discord will remain open and active for discussions, resource sharing, and casual chats, though again, this will not be officially modded (though I, and some of the original mods like roast, may be active from time to time)

🔴 Not active:

Asks: I will not be answering asks except for specific submissions (e.g. for author features, reader recommendations etc.). If you would like to ask for specific game recommendations, or have questions/just wanna chat, the discord channel is a great place to do just that! :)

Keeping track of events/game updates: As mentioned, I’ll rely on authors / readers to tag me in updates posts and/or flag any games with questionable content/anything that might need my attention, as I won't be able to search out update posts or do any extensive vetting.

Open call for mods:

Finally, I’d love to have some company! If you’re interested in helping out—whether with reblogs, interviews, or brainstorming new features—please reach out. Having a small team would make this space even more vibrant!

Thank you for your support, your enthusiasm, and for being part of what makes Interact-IF such a special corner of the internet! :)

If you have any suggestions or ideas on how Interact-If can be improved, feel free also to drop the blog a direct message or an ask. I look forward to getting to know all of you better. Here's to an awesome year of interactive fiction (and many more!)

#interactive fiction #interactive games #cyoa #twine #interact-if #annoucements #call for mods

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snoopychris · 13 days ago

Text

lunch date

warnings: sexual activities in a public place, orgasm denial, matt is a Freak with a capitol F.

in which... well you'll see.

this was so…

dirty. wrong. dangerous. risky. fun.

five different words running through your mind. the only other thing you could think of was matt.

your science teacher had so much trust in the both of you. he was so hopeful that if he left the room to go to his meeting everything would be just fine. everything was not fine. it started out innocent. it was supposed to be innocent.

it was supposed to be a simple game of “doctor.” the lab coat was right there! how were you supposed to go on with your day without slipping it on over your outfit and doing a check up on matt?

if anyone walked in right now, they’d see the way that you were hoisted up on one of the black science lab counters, desperately gripping onto matt’s hair. the scrunchie you previously had on your wrist stuffed in your mouth at an attempts to keep you quiet. it was not working.

for someone who had no sexual experience, his tongue sure was working magic. his grip on your thighs was tight, not tight enough to leave marks, but tight enough to hold you close. one finger was consistently pushing in and out of you, an unusual sensation, but not an unwelcome one. if you were being quite honest, the added fear of being caught almost made you more aroused. matt, who you barely felt was breathing, could definitely feel it.

“matt… matt… matt…” you whimpered, your name slipping through your lips like it was your favorite song. he simply hums in response. he glances up at you for a moment but then goes back to his previous actions, this time taking your clit into his mouth. you gasp at the feeling, further tugging on his hair. “y-you gotta… you gotta breathe baby.” you manage to speak, trying your best to pull him away.

despite your best efforts, matt continues eating like a starved man and his grip on your thighs only tightens.

“can breathe just fine.” his words send a shiver to your core. you should tell him to stop. that lunch is almost over. but you know he’ll tell you how he’s not done eating. not yet anyway.

and then just when you’re on the brink of getting pushed over the edge. just when you’re about to experience the release you’ve been so desperately waiting for… the bell rings. your mouth drops open in shock, the scrunchie touching the floor. matt chuckles when you speak. “matty please don’t stop.” and then he does. he pulls away like nothing even happened. he wipes his lips smoothly and adjusts his hair and glasses, sitting down at his desk. youre in nothing but utter disbelief. you want to strut over and tell him to just do it. that you don’t care if lunch is over. you only care when Mr. Harrison walks back into the room after his meeting.

“you guys okay? didn’t miss anything too interesting did i?” he asks. and matt can do nothing but chuckle and smirk.

dividers by: @issysh3ll

tags!: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @m4ttg1rl @princessesgarden @ikyoudreamofme @allylovescody

a/n: you guys r SLUTS holyyyy shit. i love u all so dearly thank you all for 400. when i get home im gonna make my blog so cute trust.

#⋆˙⟡snoopychris #⋆˙⟡nerd!matt #⋆˙⟡matt!#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo au #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo series #matthew sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #⋆˙⟡nerd!matt x cheerleader!reader #⋆˙⟡snoopychris writes

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simpjaes · 9 months ago

Note

heeseung taking out all his anger during sex drabble pls ❤️

MDNI.

this was originally written for jeno on my other blog but it fits so well [i rewrote it/reworded a lot of things. it's much better now lol] wc: 2.3k

tags: Heeseung hate fucks reader when he has a bad day, unprepped penetration, reader basically loses her ability to feel anything other than his cock lmao (cock drunk)

It doesn't always hurt when Heeseung has his hands on you. Really, most of the time it’s blissful. There were those nights though, when he would be rough, careless, and borderline worrisome with you. Oftentimes humiliating you in the way you can barely even mutter his name, weak and quivering under him.

It doesn’t happen happen, but when it does, you know how much you always end up…kind of loving it.

Really, even if in the moment you’re in pain, sometimes even scared, you had to tell him after the fact to keep doing it. That it’s okay. That you fucking love it.

Naturally, tonight is another one of those nights.

Heeseung, first, had you against the counter with his strong arms pressing you back until your head hit the cabinets. You were, essentially, pinned there between his frustrated eyes and the counter top with him slotting himself between your legs. Not a single word is said to you, not a single explanation, and arguably, you know better than to ask.

You already know. He’s had a bad day.

So, you just let him. Feeling his lips go from a grimace to biting and nipping against your skin. You can only imagine how bad his day went for him to be so silent, still, you let him do as he pleases because you don’t exactly want to make it worse for him. If anything, you’re fine with being an outlet. You get plenty out of this too, after all.

And there is a part of him that knows he’s doing this with you rather than at you, based on your previous pleads to be his outlet. He’s forever in love with the fact that you let him be this rough, with his bruising grip and harsh teeth. There’s nothing more in this world he could need to unwind aside from you and you alone. Solely because you let him.

When he drags you to the bedroom without a word, you simply let him. Internally bubbling with all sort of emotions. Fear, excitement, concern, arousal. He appears to be more angry tonight though, solely because his fingers gripping your wrist hurts much more than usual. You can feel your skin under them, pulling and stretching under his grip as he takes you to where he wants you.

And yet again, like on many nights like these, he doesn’t offer a single bit of foreplay. He does little more than getting his cock out with that same frustrated face, flicking his head down as if he has an expectation of you. That, he does. You know it very well, and you do as you’re directed. Rolling your pajamas down your leg and easily spreading your legs and pussy for him.

Unprepped, still mostly dry. You know it’s going to hurt, and he knows it’s going to hurt too. The understanding is mutual but the act is much needed on more ends than just Heeseung’s.

The drag of his immediate, forced, plunge is uncomfortable for both of you, but something about the feeling of getting you wet while he’s inside of you is something that grounds Heeseung beyond belief. The feeling pulls him out of his red thoughts and turns them a shade darker.

It’s always you who can distract him.

And, of course, he only goes faster and harder at that point, chasing the moment for when you’ll slick up for him nice and wet. Gripping onto your body in such a harsh way that all you can do for him is whimper and cry. Your eyes always force the tears, especially when he hasn’t kissed you yet. But even if he had kissed you, you’d be unable to kiss him back at this point. Not until the discomfort subsides anyway.

Thankfully, and like always, it doesn’t take long for your body to want it. What was once the sound of dry and slapping skin turns to that of wet, squelching sounds as you drip out and around him. The drag hurts no more, and by this point you need him to go harder, faster, fucking deeper. After all, if he’s going to hate-fuck you when you’re not even the point of his anger, if he’s not even going to kiss you, he better find a way to make it hurt more.

Heeseung does come back to himself when he feels the slide though, loving that he can come home from his awful day and have you present yourself in such a way for him. He loves you more than anything, for so many fucking reasons that don’t include that, but still. This is what you do for him, and it brings his softness back tenfold as he reaches out for your face, eyes softening for you in concern.

Fuck, he swears he learns something new about you every day too. After all the years the two of you have been together, he’s shocked when you turn your face away from him. He’s a bit defeated at the act, partially wondering if he’s really pushed it too far in terms of using you. It’s not often he doesn’t at least give you some praise as he does this, but really, he was so, so upset. His brain just….he needed this before saying anything.

And so, at that motion of you turning your face away from him and his softer hands, he only slams his hips harder. He tips himself back a bit now, using one hand to tug at your clit as if it’s a form of retaliation from your rejection.

It would be retaliation anyway, but Heeseung knows well enough how much you love to hurt. You love when he tugs and pinches against your pretty, swollen clit. The sharp pains always make you cry in a way that fucks your brain up. As if you don’t know whether to plead for him to stop or to ask for more.

Still, he’s frustrated that you won’t let him love on you now that he’s grounded himself a bit. His whole fucking day has been a disaster, and now you’re pulling away? Not making eye contact? Not letting him kiss you?

“Baby, look at me.” He says, now nearly demanding that you do as he says.

And, of course, you do.

“You want it to hurt more?” He continues when you still shift your eyes away from him, but he’s a bit amused in the way you nod to him. So out of it for him that he feels almost silly for being upset at you in the first place.

“Yeah?” He nods with a half chuckle, slowing his hips but now driving in with intent and harsh plunges. “Just like that?”

You yelp as you urge him with a nod, loving the sear and feeling of your boyfriend tearing you open. And while you know he’s being rough, he’s not quite giving you his all now that he’s softened up.

You want him to give it his ass by this point now, if the sound of your pussy is anything to go by. You want him to fucking hurt you, to the point you can’t moan, to the point you can’t breathe.

“More,” You manage to get out for him in another yelped whimper. “You’re being soft.”

“Yeah?” He asks for confirmation with his hand reaching for you cheek again, burying his leaking cock in so deep, so painfully deep. “Look at me.”

You do, showing him your blown out pupils and mess of hair on top of you head. You nod frantically, wanting him to push further than he ever has. Wondering if he’ll ever surpass his own limit for you.

It goes like this for a while longer than usual. More pain, more pleasure, and your heart rate higher than you thought possible.

He’s using you so well and you couldn’t be more proud to be this for him. An outlet, his girlfriend, his sex doll. And fuck, he bites, he bruises, he drags his hips so painfully into you that you feel like you genuinely could be split in half at any moment if he truly wanted to.

So full, you can feel it so deeply inside of you that all you can do is cry.

You lose yourself to that feeling, basking in the sensation of your walls clenching every inch of him and moaning out with each second that passes. To the point your throat is sore and your eyes are swollen from the tears.

He pulls against your hair now, holding his hips in place and burying himself just as deep as before inside of you. Instantly, you see tunnel vision now. Like you could burst, both physically and emotionally, all for him.

Him, him, him.

And he only holds himself like that to the point that you can feel your cervix bruise. He only pushes harder now, trying to inch in more of his cock despite having no more to give. He lifts your leg over his shoulder just to get a different angle at the failure, only to find a way to make you feel him deeper than you thought was possible.

God, it hurts so good and he loves it. Your pained face paired with the image of your pussy taking the entirety of him. You’re everything to him.

And now? His grunts are that of focus rather than pleasure. He wants to ruin you, he is trying to ruin you to the fucking core just to see if you’ll unravel in a new sort of way.

It’s the fact that he’s talking to you through it too. You can’t make out a single word though, tunnel vision is tunnel hearing, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his cock bruising the deepest part of you. Being torn apart by the man you love is…something you’ll never forget.

And when you do manage to catch a smirk on his face before his hips start sliding back and forth again, you realize he loves this as much as you do. Of course he does, who wouldn’t love a girl willing to let her man surpass his own limits?

Out of respect, no less.

“Are you with me?” His voice echoes through your eyes, and while he’s fully aware that you’re absolutely fucking gone with the way he’s fucking you right now, he takes your distant nod as confirmation.

Despite how far aware he seems in your head, you know that every sensation your body is feeling right now is because of him. You can’t help the quivering. The uncontrollable shaking.

It feels so good, to the point you are nearly numb to everything else around you. The swollen feeling of your body being abused is too, too fucking good. You can’t even comprehend that he’s kissing against your slack mouth, but you do your best to kiss him back.

Goddamn does he love the way you drool all over yourself and him. Good. Fucking good girl.

“Try again,” He chuckles against your tongue, waiting, just to see if you can manage to kiss him properly. Though he suspects you’re completely lost in your head right now.

After all, he’s giving you exactly what you asked for.

And all you can do in return is blink up at him with a dazed smile. Your body is moving up with each of his thrusts just to make it that much more painful, and his lips continue to lay against yours. He’s truly waiting for you to kiss him back like you have the ability to do it. Like you can truly think of anything else rather than what he’s doing between your legs.

Hah.

“You’re so gone, baby.” He smiles in a breath at your failure to do anything more than leave your mouth open for him. He’s fucking floored by how much you love this, and how you truly embrace the inability to think at this moment. “You’re loving this, hm?”

You can’t even not for him this time, feeling pangs of pain and pleasure shoot through your body with each sharp thrust.

“Try again, pretty girl.” He encourages you when he licks against your bottom lip again, gripping your hair with his other hand and craning your neck back.

”You can do it, come on.” He adds, biting against your neck and licking the mark.

You once again, can’t even try, because he accentuates each word with a drag of his pulsing cock and a sharp pressure against your clit with his abdomen. So, you stop trying, falling into the depths of the sensations and allowing yourself to lose your grasp on reality entirely.

Fucking hell, he loves it. The way you come undone, the way your entire body goes clack before shaking uncontrollably with a wet spurt of your pussy trying to push him out. He can feel you clench around him, your body acting on instinct to push, push, push, the pleasure out and all over him.

He has to hold back his own impressed moan at the way he stays buried into you as you squirt around him with that pretty, pained look on your face.

“Fuck, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts out, slowing his pace to feel you clench around him fully, enough to where he needs to brace himself to pull out slightly just to shove his cock right back into that quivering mess. “So out of it too, god–” He moans now, leaning back just to look down fully. Noting how you’ve left a mess all over him.

And you still continue to quiver, your pussy still clenches and grips him. All the way until you’re slack, still clenching, and he’s now pumping his cum into you with such a relieved moan that it almost brings you back to reality.

By the time he’s done shaking on top of you, out of breath, and pulling out, your ears are ringing save for his soft voice.

“Baby?” You hear him say as he dips down beside your head. “I got you.”

You manage to nod to him and smile in a drunken kind of daze as he lifts you from the bed for the proper clean up from a boyfriend who very much loves you.

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours

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spencerreidenjoyer · 4 months ago

Note

MORE VIRGIN SPENCERRRRR

from the start | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's a nervous mess in your bed, but you like it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: puppy bf!spencer, virgin!spencer, early seasons!spencer, hookup, friends with benefits(?), dominant fem!reader, gratuitous use of petnames (baby, darling, etc. but it wouldn't be a minnie special without petnames), praise kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

a/n: a weird dream of mine turned into a spencer self-insert (jk) so I wrote 1.7k words just to fuel my delusion. this is also a little birthday gift from me to all of you! i've hit 1000 followers (!!!!) on this little spencer blog of mine and i am so so grateful so the only thing i can do is write spencer smut to celebrate! also this lovely anon asked for virgin spencer and I literally cannot refuse (also crossposted to ao3)

You aren’t complaining, ending up in bed with Spencer Reid again.

You’d met at a bar, the usually shy genius (according to his friends) coming out of his shell to talk to you, and it had ended in a couple of drinks and you making out with him against the wall in the back of the bar.

You’d brought him home, fully expecting to fuck him. You’d gotten him into your bed when he’d confessed he’d never done anything like this before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him you could tell. Instead, you’d given him a blowjob before he fell asleep in your bed after a long week on a case. The next morning he’d bashfully woken up to breakfast, and a promise that you’d like to see him again.

“It’ll be less intimidating like this,” you pet his cheek softly, before you turn over onto your hands and knees. You notice that Spencer doesn’t move, so you turn your head to look at him.

Spencer frowns. “I thought– I wanted to see your face.”

“You’re sweet, darling,” you chuckle. “Come on. I promise this will be easier on you for your first time. You know what to do?”

Spencer hums, his eyes shyly looking to your rear now. You’re on display for him, thick thighs framing the wetness of your pussy. You know he can’t take his eyes off you, his inexperience obvious and extremely arousing.

Spencer had been a bumbling mess as you’d kissed him, as you’d undressed each other, his hands trembling through it. “You know you can touch me, right?” You tease, and Spencer whines rather petulantly. “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Spencer’s large hands are on you, gentle on your skin. His hands pet you rather sweetly, over your hips and thighs, before he feels the softness of your ass under his palms. You hear his shallow breathing, and feel his thumbs spread you open. His breath hitches.

You don’t say anything, patient as you let him explore your body. He touches you with an avid curiosity, like he wants to find out about everything that makes you tick, like he wants to commit the lines and curves of your body to memory.

His movements slow like syrup, his touch moves to your cunt, sticky with your slick. His fingers slide over your pussy; along your folds, over your leaking hole. “I’m going to…” Spencer trails off, as he presses his index finger gently to your entrance.

You moan as your head drops between your shoulders, with Spencer sliding a curious finger inside of you. He feels around, and it feels more like a medical exam than foreplay, but Spencer’s lack of experience still turns you on extremely. Spencer’s voice is strained. “You feel so warm. You’re so tight.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m not sure if you’re going to be able to fit,” you tease playfully, smiling as you look back at him. “You’re going to have to make it fit, won’t you?”

Spencer’s eyes are wide, and he swallows nervously. “Yes– Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh, you’re so cute– Oh!” You gasp as Spencer’s finger presses into you insistently, nudging against your spongy walls, against the spot that makes you lose your mind. “Mm, right there, fuck–”

Being eager to please, Spencer does exactly that – he keeps fingering you, slow and steady, and waits for your approval. You’re basically melting as he fucks you on his fingers, and you only remember you have a bigger plan until he whimpers. “Hmm, baby?”

“I want to- I wanna taste you,” Spencer says, and you moan as his thumb nudges at your clit.

“You- You sure you can last long enough for foreplay?” You jab, but you shudder in a moan as Spencer rubs at your swollen clit with more intention, pleased with the way he takes you apart.

Spencer scoffs. “I think I should ask you the same.”

“Eat me out, Spencer,” you demand. Spencer just gets his head between your thighs.

You feel his mouth on your cunt, kissing you sweetly, moaning as he tastes you. His lips are soft and plush on your skin, his lower lip massaging at your clit as he eats you out. His tongue slides over your folds, wet noises coming from his mouth as he takes his time tasting you.

“You’re stupidly good at this,” you moan, your face buried in his pillows as you’re barely able to keep yourself propped up. The pleasure Spencer gives you courses through your veins, electric from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You think you hear Spencer mumble a thank you, and the vibrations only make you moan even louder.

You want to come right now, but you know it’ll be so much sweeter to orgasm when Spencer’s buried inside of you. You don’t know if he’ll be able to handle it, the hypersensitive, easily overwhelmed genius in your bed simply might lose his mind fucking you.

“Spencer, baby,” you coo. “Wanna- Need you to fuck me now, darling.”

A high whine leaves Spencer’s throat, and he’s quick to pull away from you, as fast as he’d put his mouth on you earlier. “Please! Please, I need to–”

You giggle, beckoning him to come closer to you. He leans over your frame until his face is close to yours, and you kiss him sweetly. You taste yourself on his lips, but Spencer is giddy as he kisses you back. He tries to trail after you as you pull away, and the sight is both adorable and extremely arousing.

“You gonna fuck me good, baby?” You smile, feeling the hardness of his length pressed against your ass.

“Yes– Yes, ma’am,” Spencer stammers, swallowing his anxieties. “Can- Can I?”

“Please, baby,” you groan, your hand reaching behind you to grab Spencer’s cock. He whimpers as you tug as it roughly, your movements haphazard due to the angle, but you’re lining him up with your hole. “You know what to do.”

It doesn’t take much effort for Spencer to press his cock into you. There’s uncertainty in his movements, but it feels like heaven as your cunt practically swallows him in. He fills you up so perfectly, his thickness rubbing against your walls in just the right way until he’s buried to the hilt, his bony hips pressed against the fat of your ass. “Oh! That feels good, baby.”

You clench around him, relishing the feeling, and then you hear a pathetic little whine from Spencer. “Hurts,” he says, in a weak, wet voice, and you want to both coo at him and fuck his brains out.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you soothe. “I’ll make it feel better, yeah?”

“Please,” Spencer whimpers. “Need you.”

You lift yourself off of Spencer for a moment, pulling yourself off his cock before sinking back down on him. Spencer is big, not even knowing what he’s been gifted with when you had seen him for the first time. He fits so well inside of you, feeling so perfect as you fuck yourself on him.

You would ask how he’s doing, but whimpers and moans liberally fall from his lips, and he’s holding onto your hips with a death grip, like he’ll lose all sense of himself if he isn’t holding onto you. His nails dig into your flesh, a delicious bite of pain through the pleasure of it all.

“Pretty boy,” you groan. “You fill me up so good, holy fuck, oh my God–”

Spencer moans so loud your ears ring. “Feels good, so good, please–”

“Fuck me, baby,” you gasp, your hips slowing on him. He chases after you like he can’t control himself, as he starts to thrust into you. “Yeah, just like that, baby. Fuck.”

Spencer whines again, chasing his own pleasure as he fucks into you. His hips slap against your ass hurriedly, eagerly, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. “Fuck, oh, God–”

“You’re so deep inside of me, baby,” you groan, barely able to keep your voice steady. You reach for his hand, guiding it to splay out against your lower stomach, where his cock bulges with every thrust. He practically sobs. “You feel so good, darling.”

“Think– I’m gonna– Hhrghh– I’m not gonna last long,” Spencer finally gets the thought out, his genius clearly and understandably slashed when he’s buried in warm, wet pussy. You feel kind of proud of that.

“Cum, baby,” you groan, not unaffected by Spencer’s eager, frantic fucking. “Inside of me.”

He lets out a pathetic little sob, one that turns you to no end, and then you feel Spencer coming inside, his load hot and messy as it paints your walls, filling you up. You clench around him at the feeling, so heady and overwhelming, and Spencer’s little whine at the pressure has you orgasming too. It’s a new kind of high, a perfect storm of pleasure filling every bone in your body.

Spencer is warm and heavy as he half-falls on top of you, a sweetness to his movements as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His cock twitches inside of you but begins to soften. Your arms and legs feel like jelly, but you manage to coax him to lay down. His arms sling around your waist to hold you, and the position is surprisingly intimate.

“Thank you,” he says breathlessly. You turn around in his grasp, letting Spencer’s cock slip out of you. He whines a little, but smiles when you look up at him. Spencer repeats, sounding more earnest. “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby,” you say, smiling, and lean forward to kiss him. It’s sweet, no heat behind it as you press your lips to his. Spencer seems to appreciate the affection, his thumb tracing little circles into your hip. “You were really good. Was that good for you too?”

“Couldn’t you tell from how fast and how hard I came?” Spencer laughs, seeming a bit shy.

You coo, your hand cupping his cheek. “Even if you did, it was extremely endearing.”

“I think you just like corrupting me or something,” Spencer smiles, quirking his eyebrow.

You shrug, a teasing grin on your lips. “Maybe I do.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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novaursa · 5 months ago

Note

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

#house of the dragon #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacerys x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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clairecrive · 4 months ago

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Hey there, I got an idea for a request Alfies secretary is a quiet girl and Alfie is always flirting with her he loves to make her cheeks blush red. And one day she finally becomes brave and says something flirty back to him and he gets all flustered first as he wasn't expecting it and then he's like "fucking hell" with his cheeky grin and makes his move while he has the chance and gives her the best kiss of her life💖

A/n: Hello everyone!! It's been ages since I last wrote anything, let alone for Alfie. However, lately I 've been right down obsessed with him again and couldn't fight the urge to write for him. I found this in my inbox and I'm so so sorry it took me this long to write this!

I'm not going to tag anyone because I don't even know if there's still anyone reading this blog lol. but let me know If you want to be tagged.

MASTERLIST

"Cat and mouse"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Hello, luv."

"Hello, Mr Solomons."

"Ah, pet how many times do I have to tell ya, eh?" You had been working for Alfie for a while now. Enough time to make you a trusted employee. Even more than that actually. if his relentless flirting was enough of tell.

By now, you were on first name bases. But even though Alfie was quite outspoken about his appreciation of you, the only way you told him it was somewhat reciprocated was by flushing furiously whenever he flirted with you.

It wasn't enough. Not anymore. And while Alfie was patient and respectful of your shy nature, you were done with this cat and mouse dance. You wanted him. You're just waiting for the right time to go for it.

"There's Mr Shelby waiting for you in the hallway, should I let him in?"

Alfie groaned at the name. You knew it was only to keep up his burly grumpy man persona he got going on. Deep down, you thought he didn't mind Tommy's company much.

"Only if you come in with him, pet. I need something beautiful to look at to survive that fucking bore, right?"

Blushing at the insinuation you nodded before going to let Mr. Shelby in and retrieve pen and paper. This was actually part of your job description. Alfie's request was more because he was a flirt and he liked to see you flush.

Nothing but charm in his vein, let me tell you.

"Ms. Y/N will be with us so she could take notes and whatnot, I hope you don't mind Tommy but to be fair, I don't give a fuck if you do, right?"

"She always does Alfie." Tommy drily pointed out while lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah well, I like to be surrounded by beautiful things, don't I?"

"So do I, Alfie. So do I." Tommy agreed

"Alright gentlemen, if you could stop flirting with each other and move onto business please. Mr. Solomons. has a packed schedule, as I'm sure you have as well Mr. Shelby." Rearranging the papers and documents in front of you, you dressed the two men. You knew that they could go on for while like this. Especially alfie had a way of talking for hours without actually saying anything. It made for a perfect business strategy but you knew that he actually needed to settle things with Tommy.

The brume acknowledged her with just a light tilt of his lips while your boss sputtered in shock.

"Fucking hell, pet. What the fuck are ya on about, eh?" He looked at you, and you could see that other than the shock for your outrageous implication, there was actually surprise in his eyes. And then a pleased glimmer.

You only raised an eyebrow at him to silently suggest to just get on with the meeting.

"Fucking women, eh Tommy? Wild creature they are, I tell ya. You never can guess what's on their fucking mind, can ya."

"If you'd get on with it, then maybe you'll have enough time this evening so that I can tell you over dinner."

You had never seen Alfie Solomons speechless. Hell, you had never seen him be silent for more than one minute. You bet that he talked even in his sleeps.

Well, would you look at him now. Eyes wide and mouth almost open. If you hadn't just taken a huge leap out of your comfort zone, you'd find this situation funny.

Tommy Shelby probably did.

"You know what, Alfie? I'll come back tomorrow." And with just a tilt of his head in your direction, the brummie was off and out of Alfie's office.

Meanwhile, Alfie was still looking at you. Which was making you nervous. And when you were nervous, you tended to rumble.

"What? Is it such a preposterous idea?" you said being defensive.

"Fucking hell, pet. Didn't know you had it in ya."

"You're not the only one who can flirt, you know." You mumble, suddenly shy.

"Of course, not. And I fucking hope you're not going to stop either." He smirked at you. Pushing away from his desk he turned so that he was completely facing you.

"Now, why don't you come here and show me exactly what's on yer mind, eh?"

Burning. Your cheeks were burning red by now. But you did exactly what he said. You got up and you walked so that you were now facing him.

With him sitting down and you standing in front of him, you were almost the same height.

You didn't know what to do with your hands, with yourself really. That sudden burst of courage was long gone now.

Taking you in, Alfie could see that as well. Smiling, he gently pulled you even closer to him.

"We could wait 'till dinner and even after that, pet y'know? There's no rush, yeah?" He softly promised. He had been flirting with you for months after all, what's a few more weeks or however much you needed?

"I don't want to wait anymore, Alfie. I just don't know what to do." You looked at him under your lashes, all bashful and cute and Alfie could barely restrain himself.

"Then let me show ya, right?"

Gently cradling your face, Alfie leaned in. He let his nose touch yours in a gentle caress so that you had time to pulled away if you wanted to.

Then, when you didn't he finally kissed you.

It was gentle and soft and, in your opinion, the best kiss in the world.

#alfie x reader #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tom hardy #fluff

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rootedinrevisions · 4 months ago

Text

Enough for You: Part 2

SUMMARY: After deciding you need time away, you ask Tyler for some space to process everything. During your absence, Tyler finds himself constantly thinking about you, realizing how much he misses your presence and what you mean to him. Struggling with how to approach the situation, Tyler begins sending you small, thoughtful gifts, hoping to keep some connection alive while respecting your need for time. Each gift carries a subtle message, his way of reminding you of his feelings without overstepping. Finally, unable to stay away any longer, Tyler shows up at your door, ready to talk and confront the growing emotions between you both.

WARNINGS: More Angst. (with a little fluff)

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

OTHER PARTS: PART 1

NOTE: There will be a PART 3! I have it mostly written and just need to finish editing it. Part 2 got away from me so I decided to break it up as to not have one crazy long fic.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @callsign-diva I @starshinegrl I @willowpains I @beltzboys2015-blog

The team gathered around the RV, tension simmering beneath the surface. Things hadn't been the same since Kate joined, and you could feel the shift in every quiet conversation, every glance that Tyler cast in her direction. After the last storm chase, when Tyler sat next to you and apologized for breaking your heart, you knew it was time to make a decision. You couldn’t stay—not with the constant reminders of everything you wished for but couldn’t have.

After a sleepless night, you made your decision. You requested a leave of absence from the team—just two weeks to get your mind straight, to figure out if you could stay and watch Tyler build a life with someone else. When you approached Tyler, he looked at you with a mix of regret and reluctance, clearly not wanting you to go but knowing he had no right to stop you.

“I need time,” you said softly, your voice steady but your heart anything but. “I just…I need to clear my head, and figure out what’s next for me.”

Tyler's eyes searched yours, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “If that’s what you need,” he said quietly, “I won’t stop you. But…I’m gonna miss you around here.”

You nodded, knowing he meant it, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough, not when he had already chosen someone else. “I’ll be back in two weeks,” you told him, and without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back.

Tyler stepped into the familiar café, the warm smell of espresso and freshly baked pastries hitting him as he waited in line. He pulled out his phone, scrolling absently through messages and notifications, his mind elsewhere. You’d been gone for three days now—three long, silent days. The truck was quieter without your voice, without your little side comments or the music you always played to keep everyone’s spirits up during long chases.

Dexter had grabbed his coffee the first morning you were gone. He hadn’t even noticed at first—it wasn’t quite right, but he’d brushed it off. Just a small thing, nothing major. Today, though, as he stood in line, he realized he didn’t even know what he wanted. You always got his order just right without him even having to ask.

The barista behind the counter smiled at him, her pen poised over the notepad. “What can I get for you?”

Tyler opened his mouth, then paused. Was it a double shot of espresso or a single? Did he like anything else added to it? God, how had he never paid attention to this before?

“Uh…” he hesitated, trying to piece it together. “Just a regular coffee, I guess. With…sugar?”

The barista gave him a polite nod, but he could tell she was already moving on, another nameless face in the line of customers. He sighed as he handed her his card, feeling oddly unsettled by the whole interaction. Black coffee wasn’t right—he knew that much. He’d drink it, but it wouldn’t be what he actually wanted. Just another thing that wasn’t right anymore.

As he took the cup and left the café, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling. It wasn’t the coffee that was bothering him. It was the fact that you weren’t there to get it right for him, to know the little things he hadn’t even realized mattered. It hit him, harder than he expected. He’d taken you for granted—your presence, your attention to detail, the way you just knew him in ways no one else ever did. And now, with you gone, he felt the emptiness in every small part of his day.

Tyler climbed back into his truck, setting the coffee in the cup holder without touching it. He sat there for a moment, staring at it, the silence around him feeling heavier than it ever had before. You weren’t there, and for the first time, he was starting to realize how much it bothered him.

The truck rumbled down the highway, the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Boone was riding shotgun, his hand casually scrolling through his phone as he played DJ for the drive. Tyler had barely noticed at first, too focused on the darkening sky ahead, but as the third song in a row played, something nagged at him.

It wasn’t that Boone had bad taste in music—he didn’t. It was just that none of these songs hit quite right. The rhythm was off, the mood wasn’t there, and Tyler felt an uncomfortable itch in the back of his mind, like something was missing.

The music was background noise, sure, but when you were the one picking the playlist, it had never felt like just noise. Somehow, you always knew exactly what to play. Whether it was an old classic rock song he loved or something new that perfectly matched the mood, every song you chose seemed to be one of his favorites. It was uncanny, really, how well you knew him.

Boone scrolled through another song, switching it halfway through. Tyler’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the silence between songs suddenly feeling heavier.

“Everything good, man?” Boone asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Tyler muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He didn’t say anything, but inside, his thoughts were racing. How had he never noticed before? All those times you were riding beside him, picking the perfect song, knowing his favorite tracks better than anyone else… It was like you could read his mind. Or maybe it was something else—something deeper.

Boone finally settled on another song, some alt-rock tune Tyler didn’t recognize, and the sound filled the cab again. But it didn’t feel right. None of it did. The whole drive felt off without you there beside him, smiling softly as you hummed along to the music, your eyes flicking over to him when a particularly good song came on.

Tyler’s chest tightened. You’d always been there, quietly in tune with him, noticing things no one else did. It was in the way you picked the songs, the way you knew when he needed silence, or when to play something loud to get his energy up before a storm. It was in the little things, all the details he hadn’t appreciated before.

How had he been so blind?

He thought about you now, at home, away from the team, from him. He thought about all those moments—so many little things that added up to something big, something he hadn’t let himself see. The music was just one piece of it, but now that he was noticing, he couldn’t stop. The playlist had always been yours, just like so many other parts of his life.

Boone’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You good with this song?”

Tyler blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said, though the truth was, no, he wasn’t. Not at all.

He missed you. And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Tyler's hand hovered over his phone, thumb tracing the edge of the screen as the truck rumbled beneath him. They were pulling off to the side of the road, another quick pit stop before the storm hit. The others were already filing out of the truck, stretching and talking about what was ahead as they made their way into the gas station for drinks and snacks. But Tyler’s mind wasn’t on the storm, or the chase, or even the team. It was on you.

He should call. He needed to call. He could feel the weight of your absence settling deeper with every passing mile, every quiet moment that used to be filled by your voice or your laugh. The last few days had been hell without you. Coffee tasted wrong, the music sounded off, and for the life of him, he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest.

His finger hovered over your name in his contacts, but then it hit him, hard, like a punch straight to the gut: those words you said to him before you left. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe that there was a chance.”

He closed his eyes, the memory slamming into him with full force. The look on your face, the tremble in your voice—God, how had he let it get to that point? How had he been so blind, so caught up in everything else that he never noticed the way you felt, the way you saw him? All those moments, all those signs, and he missed every single one of them.

The phone slipped from his hand and landed on the seat beside him with a dull thud. His chest tightened, shame twisting deep in his gut. You’d believed there was a chance. And he’d taken that hope and crushed it. He’d hurt you, someone who’d always been there for him, always knew what he needed before he even asked. You’d been everything.And all he did was break you. And he hadn’t been able to see it until now.

Tyler’s jaw clenched as he stared down at his phone. He could call you, tell you he missed you. He could apologize, say all the things he should have said before. But would it even matter? You were done with him. He could still hear it in your voice when you walked away—how tired you sounded. How heartbroken. He’d made you feel like you weren’t enough, and the truth was, you were more than enough. You’d always been more than enough.

He was the one who didn’t deserve you. He was the one who wasn’t enough for you.

His hand curled into a fist, the phone still lying untouched beside him. He’d been blind, selfish, wrapped up in his own world while you quietly slipped through his fingers. The thought of you never answering his call, of you moving on without him, stung like hell. But why would you answer? After everything he’d done—or failed to do—why would you want anything to do with him?

He let out a breath, heavy and shaky, feeling the full weight of his regret pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve you. Not after what he’d done. Not after how blind he’d been to how much you’d cared.

Later that night, Tyler sat on the edge of his bed, the quiet of his room pressing in on him. The team had settled in at the small motel, the storm still hours away from reaching them. Normally, nights like these were his favorite—calm before the chaos, time to relax before the adrenaline kicked in. But tonight, there was no calm. Just the heavy weight of everything he’d been trying to ignore since you left.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tugging open his duffel bag to pull out a pair of sweatpants. But as he reached for them, his hand brushed against something solid at the bottom of the bag. Frowning, he pushed aside his clothes until his fingers closed around a book—a book he hadn’t touched in weeks.

He stared down at the cover, his heart giving a sharp twist. The Self-Help Guide to Letting Go of the Past. He had forgotten all about it, shoved in the bottom of his bag after he’d lent it to you. You’d asked for it just last week, something about being curious, but at the time, it hadn’t made much sense to him. You’d never been into these kinds of books before.

Tyler’s thumb traced the worn edges of the cover as the memory of that conversation came rushing back. You’d caught him in the middle of a busy day, the two of you sitting in the RV while the rest of the team was setting up for the next chase. You’d looked almost nervous when you asked if you could borrow it, your voice light, like you were trying to keep things casual. He hadn’t thought much of it then, just handed it over without a second thought, teasing you a little about branching out into self-help.

But now, it hit him all at once. You hadn’t wanted the book. You hadn’t been interested in the advice it had to offer. You’d been looking for something—anything—to connect with him, to spark a conversation, to get his attention. It was just another one of those small things you did that he never took the time to understand.

His chest tightened painfully as he stared at the book, the realization settling over him like a weight he couldn’t shake. You’d been trying to reach out, to bridge the gap between you two, even when he was too blind to notice. And now you were gone. You’d given up, walked away, and he couldn’t blame you. How could he, when he’d been so clueless?

His breath came out in a heavy exhale as he tossed the book onto the bed, running a hand down his face. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have missed all these little moments that showed just how much you cared? The music, the coffee, the book—none of it had seemed like much at the time. But now, with you gone, they all felt like pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t bothered to put together until it was too late.

He leaned back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the book lying open beside him. He thought about calling you again, his phone sitting within reach on the nightstand, but the same thoughts stopped him cold. You wouldn’t answer. Why would you? You were done trying to make things work with him. And after everything, he couldn’t blame you for that either.

Tyler’s hand curled into a fist, his frustration building. He wanted to fix this, wanted to make things right, but how could he, when he’d already let you down so badly? He’d missed his chance, and the thought of that—of losing you for good—made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt before.

The next morning, Tyler sat on the tailgate of his truck, absently sipping his coffee as the team went about their business. They were prepping for the day’s chase, double-checking equipment and reviewing the radar. Normally, he’d be in the thick of it, but his mind kept drifting, pulled in a direction he wasn’t ready to face.

Lily wandered over, her brow furrowed slightly as she eyed him. "You okay, Ty? You seem…distracted."

He shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee—too sweet, as usual. "Just got a lot on my mind."

Lily gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. She leaned against the truck beside him, crossing her arms. "You know, it’s kind of weird. Things have been off since she left. I mean, I knew she did a lot for the team, but…it’s more than that."

Tyler’s grip tightened around the cup, his jaw clenching. He didn’t need the reminder. Every day since you’d been gone, things felt off. The coffee wasn’t right, the music wasn’t right, hell, he wasn’t right. But he couldn’t put it into words—not without admitting what he’d been too stubborn to face.

Lily didn’t stop there. "She always knew what you liked, what you needed—even when you didn’t say it. You might not have noticed, but the rest of us did." She paused, giving him a sidelong glance. "It’s kind of strange not having her around. Things just don’t…flow like they used to."

Tyler said nothing, his mind racing as he took in her words. He hadn’t noticed how much you’d paid attention to him, all the little details you got right. But now that you were gone, it was painfully obvious. The realization gnawed at him, twisting the knot in his stomach even tighter.

Before he could respond, Boone approached, his usual easygoing smile replaced with a more serious expression. "Tyler, can I ask you something?"

Tyler nodded, relieved for the distraction—until Boone’s next words hit him like a punch.

"What’s the deal with you and Kate?"

Tyler blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

Boone raised an eyebrow. "Come on, man. It’s obvious something’s up. The way she’s been hanging around you, and now that…" He trailed off, his gaze flicking to the side. "Look, everyone’s been wondering."

Tyler let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation—but the question hung in the air like an anchor, forcing him to confront what he’d been avoiding. "Kate and I… it’s just business. We work well together, but that’s it. She’s brilliant and could really be changing the game with this theory. I care about her, sure, but she’s not…"

He stopped, his words catching in his throat. But what? He didn’t know how to finish that sentence because the truth was sitting right there in front of him, and it was something he hadn’t wanted to face.

Boone’s gaze softened. "She’s not what, Ty? What’s going on?"

Tyler swallowed hard, the words heavy in his chest. "Kate’s not her," he finally admitted, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want to say it out loud. "The one I pushed away."

Boone nodded, his expression knowing. "You mean… her."

Tyler didn’t need to say your name. It was clear who they were talking about. He nodded, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back the flood of emotions. "I messed up, Boone. She was always there, always…paying attention to everything, and I was too blind to see it. Now she’s gone, and I don’t think she wants anything to do with me."

Boone sighed, leaning back against the truck. "You know, Ty, you’re not the first guy to mess up. But you don’t have to be the guy who keeps messing up. If you care about her, you need to talk to her. And not through some half-assed text message or phone call."

Tyler glanced up, confused. "Then what do I do?"

Boone smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You have to show her. Show her that she means something to you. It has to come from the heart. Do something that proves you see her, that you care, and that you’re willing to make it right."

Tyler let Boone’s words sink in, the weight of it settling over him. He knew he’d messed up—badly—and now he wasn’t sure how to fix it. But the idea of showing you how much he cared, of putting action behind the words he’d never said… it was the first thing that made sense in days.

But could he do it? Could he find the courage to face you after everything, after knowing that he was the one who made you feel like you were nothing more than an afterthought?

Tyler stared down at his cup, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to try. He had to show you that you weren’t just another person in his life. You were the one person he couldn’t stop thinking about, the one he never should’ve let go.

Tyler stood in the parking lot of a gas station, his phone in hand as he stared at the DoorDash app. He’d scrolled through countless options, debating whether to go with something safe like pizza or take a risk. In the end, he decided on the riskier of the two options

He remembered how often you talked about that Chinese takeout place near your apartment, the one you always craved after long days. You’d even convinced him to try it once, and he’d never forgotten the way your eyes lit up when the food arrived. The memory was clearer than he expected, and now, standing alone in a parking lot, he wondered how he’d managed to let someone who knew him so well slip through his fingers.

He couldn’t remember your order. But he remembered that it was something with chicken. He used the pictures on the app and his memory to narrow it down to the dish he thought it was that you liked. With a deep breath, Tyler hit 'order' and added a note for the driver to leave the takeout at your door with a message: "For the long days. I know you love this place. —Tyler."

He hesitated before sending it, wondering if you’d even accept the delivery. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d throw the food out without a second thought. But a part of him hoped that you’d understand what he was trying to say—that this was his first step toward making things right.

You sat on the couch, the remnants of the Chinese takeout scattered across the coffee table in front of you. The familiar flavors had been a comfort, even if you were reluctant to admit it. When you first saw the delivery bag at your door, your heart had skipped a beat, reading the note that was attached.

For a moment, you’d considered ignoring it—pushing it away like you’d been trying to push away the thoughts of him. But after a long day, it felt easier to accept the gesture, at least for what it was: food. Nothing more.

Now, sitting here with your phone in your hand, you debated whether or not to send a message. It wasn’t like you owed him anything, but the gesture had been thoughtful in its simplicity. And a small part of you knew he wasn’t doing it to get something in return—at least, you hoped that wasn’t the case.

Finally, you typed out a quick message: "Thanks for the food. It was good."

You stared at the screen for a moment, your finger hovering over the send button. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t emotional. It was just an acknowledgment. Before you could overthink it, you hit send.

A few seconds passed, and you saw the notification that the message had been delivered. No reply came immediately, and you didn’t expect one. After all, it wasn’t like this was going to fix things between the two of you. But somehow, sending that simple thank you felt like a tiny weight off your chest, even if it barely scratched the surface of the bigger mess you were still sorting through.

The next morning, Tyler paced around his room, racking his brain for the next move. The takeout had been a start, but he needed to do more. He needed to show you that he hadn’t forgotten the details, even if he’d been too blind to see them before.

His eyes landed on his phone again, this time opening a florist app. He wasn’t going to send roses. You hated roses. You’d said they were too cliché, something people picked when they didn’t really know the person. He wanted to send something that mattered.

Blue. Your favorite color. You’d mentioned it a few times, and while he didn’t know which flower you loved most, he figured blue would be a safe bet.

He scrolled through the bouquets until he found one that seemed perfect—a mix of blue hydrangeas, forget-me-nots, and white lilies. Simple, beautiful, and meaningful.

When he hit send, his heart pounded. It felt like such a small thing, but at the same time, it felt monumental. He was trying to show you that he was paying attention, that he knew you better than he’d let on.

The knock on the door was unexpected, especially after the Chinese takeout from yesterday. You weren’t sure what to expect this time, but as you opened the door and saw the delivery man holding a bouquet of blue flowers, your heart stuttered.

You took the bouquet, your eyes scanning the shades of blue nestled together in the arrangement. There were no roses—just as you’d once mentioned in passing. Instead, there were lilies, hydrangeas, and forget-me-nots. It was simple but thoughtful. He remembered.

As you set the bouquet on the kitchen counter, you caught sight of a small card tucked between the flowers.

“Not roses, just like you said. I hope you like these instead. –Tyler”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you traced your fingers over the petals. For the first time since leaving the team, something stirred inside you—a mix of gratitude and maybe even the smallest bit of fondness. The forget-me-nots, in particular, caught your attention. They’d always been your favorite, and though you weren’t sure if he knew that or if it was just a lucky coincidence, it felt... special.

You sat down, flowers still in view, and grabbed your phone. Again, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But the flowers were different. They meant something more. He’d thought about this.

After a moment, you started typing: “The forget-me-nots are my favorite, by the way. For future reference…”

You hit send, and for a moment, you almost regretted it. Was that too much? But then you shook your head. No, it was just a small hint. A little crack in the wall you’d built. You weren’t letting him back in, but... you weren’t completely pushing him away either.

When your phone buzzed a few seconds later with a reply, you almost didn’t want to look. But curiosity got the best of you.

“Noted.”

It was simple, just like your message had been. But there was something in that word—Noted—that made you think maybe, just maybe, Tyler was trying to show that he wasn’t giving up. At least, not yet.

The sound of the doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. Another delivery? You stood up, your heart sinking slightly, bracing yourself for yet another gesture you weren’t sure how to interpret. When you opened the door, though, it wasn’t another delivery person—it was Tyler.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen. Tyler was at your doorstep, looking both determined and vulnerable. He glanced at you, his eyes searching for something, maybe a hint of how you were feeling.

“Hi,” he said softly, as if unsure of how to begin.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting from the floor to your eyes. “I know this is probably the last thing you expected, and I know I don’t really have the right to be here. But I needed to see you.”

You stepped aside to let him in, your heart pounding. Tyler walked into the room, glancing around as if trying to take it all in.

“I want to start by saying that I’m truly sorry,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Not just for leaving like I did, but for not seeing how much I hurt you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and it’s clear that I messed up.”

You watched him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. Tyler ran a hand through his hair, looking both pained and determined. “You know, I’ve been trying to adjust to how things are now, and I’ve realized just how much I miss you. Like, seriously. Boone’s music choices have been driving me nuts. It’s not even that he’s got bad taste, but I keep thinking about how you always knew exactly what songs I liked. And then there was the coffee—Dexter tried to get it for me, and it was all wrong. You always knew how I liked it. It’s the little things that I miss the most.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

Tyler noticed and seemed to take a breath of relief. “And Kate… she’s a great person, but she’s just a professional colleague. I got caught up in this idea we were working on, and I was so intrigued that I didn’t see how it was affecting you. I should have never left the team like that. I’m sorry for that, too.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of hope and desperation. “But the real reason I’m here is because I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve had time to think about what I want, and it’s you. I love you. I love how you’re always there for me, how you know my favorite songs, how you care about the little things. I love your smile, your laugh, and even how you get annoyed with me sometimes. I’ve realized all the ways you’ve shown me that you care, and I’ve been blind to it.”

A heavy silence fell between you. Tyler’s eyes were pleading as he awaited your response. When one didn’t come after several moments he sighed. His shoulders tensed, and he began to fidget, anxiety evident in his movements. “Maybe I’ve messed this up. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I should probably just—”

Before he could finish, you stepped closer, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Don’t,” you said softly. “I’ve waited a long time for you to say something like this. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

A smile of pure relief and happiness spread across Tyler’s face. He pulled you into a tender embrace, his lips finding yours in a kiss that spoke of all the words unspoken, all the emotions unexpressed. It was a kiss full of apologies, regrets, and hope for the future.

When you finally pulled back, you looked up at him, a sense of calm settling over you. “I love you,” you whispered.

Tyler’s eyes softened as he nodded, holding you close. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. He then leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in another kiss.

As your lips finally part, the soft hum of shared breath fills the space between you. Tyler’s forehead rests gently against yours, both of you lingering in that quiet, electric moment. You’re still standing close to the door, the rush of the kiss slowly giving way to a deeper warmth—something steady and grounding. His thumb brushes along your cheek, his gaze locked on yours as though he’s memorizing every detail of this moment.

You both stand there for a beat longer, neither in a hurry to move or speak. But then, Tyler’s eyes drift past you, landing on the bouquet of blue flowers in the vase on the kitchen counter. His lips curl into a smile, a playful glint flickering in his eyes.

“I see the flowers made the cut,” he teases, his voice soft but with that familiar hint of humor. He steps back just enough to point toward them. “Did I do okay?”

You glance over your shoulder at the flowers and then back at him with a smile. “You did more than okay,” you say warmly. “But I think I still owe you a proper thank you.”

His brows arch in interest. “A proper thank you, huh?”

Before he can respond, you reach up, pulling him back down into another kiss, this one slower, more certain, like you’re sealing the promise of something new between you.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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wintrwinchestr · 5 months ago

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strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places.

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks.

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again.

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you.

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up.

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear.

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms.

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now.

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump.

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside.

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive.

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones.

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been.

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch.

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen.

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive.

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female.

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him.

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs.

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears.

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.”

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole.

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them.

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time.

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so.

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.”

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway.

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget.

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another.

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

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